Though the manner in which Solomon carried Rose was utterly unceremonious, she couldn't help feeling safe. Her physical torment was over for now. But she'd know that face anywhere, that of the man she looked in the eye as she ended his life. Feelings of security turned into guilt. He had no reason, no reason at all, to go out of his way to save her. Anyone in their right mind would have instead given her a little nudge down the stairs for revenge.

Not this man.

What was this feeling? Gratitude? She hadn't felt it in ages. As soon as he was out the window, Solomon dropped her to the ground where Princess Amalthea could clearly see them both. Every muscle in her body struggled to express the guilty gratitude welling up within her, but strength failed her. She could only look at him, clutch the edge of his shirt, and pray he understood.

The Princess had a completely different set of thoughts.

All Solomon had to do to make them both happy was to believe her lie. Seeing his killer face death should have torn at him, with his desire for revenge on the one hand and his sense of compassion on the other. She could have saved him the agony of making that decision, or of making a morally gray one in letting her die. Moreover, he'd single-handedly introduced a love rival into the equation, one whom, if Solomon didn't kill her, Amalthea definitely might for trying to take her crush.

All he had to do was believe her, and everything would have been fine.

Princess Amalthea couldn't bring herself to do anything except stare at the other girl for nearly half a minute.

Finally, she picked up her jaw off the ground and moved to help Solomon get up. Perhaps the situation could be salvaged if they got well away so the assassin girl couldn't find them again. "Come on, let's get moving. I don't want to know what happens if anyone comes back looking for survivors."