He keeps a tight grip on my arm, like he’s afraid I might be pulled away from him. His hand ghosts over my face, wiping away the blood with his sleeve. If anyone sees . . . “Take me to Julian.” “Julian’s a fool,” he mutters. Figures appear at the far end of the hall, a pair of roaming nobles, and he pushes us down a service passage to avoid them. “Julian knows who I am,” I whisper back, grabbing on to him. As his grip tightens, so does mine. “Julian will know what to do.”
