Imogene tripped over a loose cobblestone and hissed a word that made a passing priest cross himself in horror. "Seriously? No paved roads? I'm going to sue this entire century," she muttered, hitching up the heavy, stolen maid's skirt. Her feet were screaming. These shoes weren't made for walking; they were made for standing still and looking pathetic.
She leaned against a wooden post, breathing hard. The air in the city was thick. It smelled like wet dogs, old hay, and a toilet that hadn't been cleaned since the start of the 1800s. Back in her time, Kate could navigate a subway system with her eyes shut, but here in the late 18th century? Every street looked the same. Narrow, muddy, and filled with people who looked like they needed a long nap and a shower.
Her stomach gave a violent, twisting growl. It was a sharp reminder that the royal dungeon key was still very much a resident of her gut. "Okay, fine," she whispered to her midsection. "I get it. You're empty. Just hold on until I find a... a meat pie or something."
She looked around, her eyes landing on a small stall filled with red apples. A man with a dirty apron was busy arguing with a woman over the price of a chicken. This was it. Her first heist in this world. She moved closer, trying to look invisible.
She reached out, her fingers just an inch from a shiny fruit, when a hand slammed down on the wooden table.
"Thief!" the man yelled, his face turning a bright, angry red.
Imogene jumped back, her heart thumping against her ribs. "Whoa! Chill out! I was just checking for... rot."
The man narrowed his eyes, confused. "Rot? You tried to steal from me, you little brat! Where's your master? I'll have you whipped in the square!"
"Good luck with that," Imogene said. She didn't wait. She turned and ran.
But running in a maid's uniform was a joke. The layers of fabric wrapped around her legs like a spiderweb. She stumbled through the crowd, bumping into a man carrying a basket of fish and nearly face-planting into a pile of horse manure. She didn't stop until she ducked into a dark, narrow alleyway.
She leaned her head against the brick, gasping for air. "I hate this. I hate the 1800s. I hate silk. I hate eggs."
"You lost, girlie?"
Imogene froze. She slowly turned her head. Three men were standing at the mouth of the alley. They weren't soldiers. They were big, greasy, and had yellow teeth that made her want to gag. The one in the middle had a jagged scar running down his neck and was twirling a short, rusty knife.
"Just taking a shortcut," Imogene said, her voice steady even though her knees were shaking. She put on her best con-artist face...the one she used back home when a deal went south. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a very important meeting with a... a Duke. A very big, violent Duke."
The men laughed. It was a cold, nasty sound.
"A Duke? In that rag?" The one with the scar stepped closer. He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her face. "You've got a pretty nose. And eyes that look like they've seen a bit of gold. I know a house by the docks where they pay a lot for girls who look like you. You won't have to worry about Dukes anymore. You'll be too busy making us rich."
Imogene's brain went into overdrive. She didn't have a gun. She didn't have her pepper spray. All she had was a stolen bonnet and a bad attitude.
"Listen, pal," she said, pointing a finger at him. "You really don't want to do this. I'm a lot of trouble. Like, 'the-army-is-looking-for-me' kind of trouble. Why don't you just go find a hobby? Maybe try something else?"
The man didn't respond with words. He lunged.
Imogene moved faster than he expected. She ducked under his arm and delivered a sharp, brutal kick to his shin. He howled, stumbling back.
"You little witch!"
The other two moved in. Imogene backed up, her heels catching on the uneven dirt. She reached down, ripped off one of her heavy shoes, and held it like a club.
"Stay back! I've got a shoe and I'm not afraid to use it!" she yelled.
"Grab her!" the scarred man hissed, clutching his leg.
Just as the two men reached for her, a voice cut through the air like a gunshot.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Everyone stopped. Imogene's heart nearly stopped too. She knew that voice. It was deep, arrogant, and made her want to roll her eyes and run for her life at the same time.
At the entrance of the alley stood Blake. He wasn't in his royal robes. He was wearing a dark, simple coat, but he still looked like he owned the ground everyone was standing on. His silver hair was tied back, and his blue eyes were fixed on the men with a look of pure, murderous boredom.
He didn't have a sword out. He just stood there with his hands in his pockets.
"Who are you?" the scarred man growled, holding his knife out. "Get lost before I gut you too."
Blake didn't blink. He actually let out a small, tired sigh. "You have no idea how much paperwork it is for me when someone dies in this district. It's a headache. Really."
He looked over at Imogene, who was still holding her shoe in the air. His eyes moved from her messy hair down to her bare, dirty foot. A small, mocking smile touched his lips.
"The Empress of the North," Blake said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Fighting off street rats with a shoe. My mother will be so proud."
"Oh, shut up, Blake!" Imogene snapped, her face flushing. "I had it under control! I was just about to... to distract them!"
"By letting them kidnap you?" Blake stepped into the alley. He didn't look at the men. He only looked at her. "You're an idiot."
"Hey!" the man with the knife yelled, stepping in front of Blake. "I'm talking to you, pretty boy!"
Blake didn't even slow down. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the man's wrist, twisted it until the knife dropped, and slammed his elbow into the man's face. The sound of a nose snapping filled the alley. The man hit the ground, unconscious before he even realized what happened.
The other two men looked at their boss, then at Blake, and then at each other. They didn't say a word. They just turned and bolted out the other end of the alley.
Blake wiped his hand on his coat as if he had just touched something slimy. He turned back to Imogene.
"Put your shoe back on," he ordered.
Imogene stood there, her chest heaving. She felt a mix of relief and pure, hot rage. "I told you I was going for a walk. I didn't ask for a bodyguard."
"You went for a walk through the worst part of the city in a maid's uniform," Blake said, walking toward her. He stopped just a foot away. He was so much taller than her, and the way he looked down his nose made her want to kick him again. "You're lucky I found you before they sold you off. Or before you died of hunger. You look like a ghost."
"I feel like a ghost," she muttered. She tried to walk past him, but her stomach chose that exact moment to cramp up again. She gasped, doubling over, her hands clutching her belly.
Blake's expression changed for a split second. The boredom vanished, replaced by something sharp. He reached out and caught her before she could hit the dirt.
"Is it the key?" he asked, his voice low.
"It... it hurts, you jerk," she panted, her eyes watering. "This is all your fault. If you hadn't locked me up, I wouldn't have had to... to swallow your stupid jewelry."
Blake didn't argue. He didn't yell. He just picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
"Put me down!" Imogene yelled, banging her fists against his back. "I can walk! I have rights!"
"You have nothing," Blake said, his voice flat. "You are a runaway wife and a thief. And right now, you're coming back to the palace."
He walked out of the alley and into the street. A black carriage was waiting, surrounded by soldiers who looked very relieved to see their master. Blake tossed her inside and climbed in after her, slamming the door.
Imogene slumped against the velvet seat, exhausted. She looked at Blake, who was staring out the window, his jaw set tight.
"I'm not going to stop trying, you know," she whispered, her voice weak. "One of these days, I'm going to get away for real. And I'm going to find a place that has a decent roast."
Blake finally looked at her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, red apple...the one she had tried to steal earlier. He tossed it into her lap.
"Eat," he said. "You're no use to me if you starve to death. I still need that key."
Imogene grabbed the apple and took a huge, angry bite. She chewed it slowly, staring him right in the eye. She was back in the cage, but as she watched the city disappear through the carriage window, she knew one thing for sure.
The Emperor thought he had won. But he had no idea who he was dealing with.
"So," she said, her mouth full of fruit. "Since we're hanging out... what's for dinner? If it's more of those boiled pigeons, I'm jumping out the window."
Blake just closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He looked like a man who was wondering if he could resign from being Emperor.
"Just be quiet, Imogene," he sighed.
"Not a chance, Blakey," she mumbled, taking another bite. "Not a chance."