EMBER’S POV
I don’t even blink. I don’t look away from her face. I just hold my hand out to the side.
“Daxon,” I say, my voice dead calm. “Phone.”
Daxon doesn’t hesitate for a fraction of a second. He slaps his heavy, encrypted comms device straight into my palm.
Marjorie’s breath catches. Her chest heaves, panic finally warring with the fanaticism.
“What are you doing?”
I dial the King.
It rings twice.
“Daxon.” Knox’s voice is a low, dangerous rumble. He assumes it’s an emergency when his personal guard calls him directly.
“It’s me,” I say.
There is a micro-shift in the line. The danger turns into something much sharper, entirely focused.
“Ember. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I say, keeping my eyes locked on the housekeeper. “But I’m standing in the east wing service passage w
