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His fingers twitch at his side as if he wants to reach for me. He notices me watching them, and he curls them into fists, locking his arms at his sides. “Were they your first kill?” he asks his second question.
“No,” I answer honestly, shocked I’m doing so at all. But some part of me needs to say this, to get it out of the dark crevice I’ve been holding it in. “My first kill was the first man they sold me to. I went back to him disguised as a whore, and I took his life. Then, I sought out every last one of them, and I made sure the only image of my naked body seared into their mind was one where I was holding a knife to their neck. Then I went back to the Royalist bastards who sold me, and I tore their business apart. I taunted them, tortured them with their loss of wealth, and when all their hope was lost, I snuck into their home, and I gutted them like the feral animal they made me.”
Silence rocks between us at my admission, and I breathe in heavily, my body shaking and shaking and —are those dark spots in my vision? Am I going to pass out?I sway unsteadily, but strong arms wrap around me, and before I can protest, I’m pulled against The Prince’s chest, his chin resting atop my head as he holds me.
“Whether you win that tournament or not,” he whispers into my hair, “you will be the strongest woman in that arena.”
My vision clears as I involuntarily nuzzle into his bare chest. His scent calms me, something like chamomile, honey, and pine. My arms loop around him as the constant anger always in the background of my mind falls completely and beautifully silent. I don’t understand it, but maybe I don’t need to. “It’s my turn,” I mutter.
He trails his fingers over the back of my head and down to my neck. He plays with the opening to my blouse before he dips his fingers below the collar and touches my spine.
I shudder, goosebumps rising along my arms. I try to shake myself out of this trance or whatever this is, but my feet don’t move. Instead, tears prick at the corners of my eyes. This touch, this simple embrace — does he know how much it means to me? To be touched without lust or desire? To be held as if I’m a fucking woman and not somethingto be manipulated and bought?No. No, how could he know that?And yet…It’s like he does, because he doesn’t let go, and some part of me wonders if he needs this as much as I do. If he has scars across his soul that are in desperate need of healing.
I clutch the back of his suit jacket tighter. “Who are you?” I whisper.
His fingers still along my spine, and he gently tugs his hand out from under my collar to pull himself back and look at me.
My heart falters as he does, knowing I just cost myself time in his arms. He can’t tell me who he really is. He won’t.
Except for the soft, vulnerable look he gives me says otherwise. As if he wants nothing more than to tell me about the man behind the crimson mask. He opens his mouth. “I’m —”
“There you are,” Talis shouts.
We rip apart from each other instantly, and my arms suddenly feel heavier not being wrapped around The Prince. I frown to myself and stare at my boots.What is happening to me?
Talis strides toward us, The Princess on his heels. He looks between The Prince and I with concern, then grabs The Prince’s bicep and pulls him further away from me. They fall into angry whispers, and The Princess looks me over with apprehension.
I give her a similar look of distaste.
“We have things to attend to,” The Princess snaps toward me. “It’s time for you to fuck-off.”
I straighten at her tone. She’d been sopeppyearlier that, until now, I didn’t think ‘fuck’ was in her vocabulary. “Or what?” I taunt like a stupid five-year-old, but after whatever it was I just shared with The Prince, I can’t bear the thought of leaving him.Shit shit shit — that is not an emotion I should have, my brain screams at me, but my heart gives an excited thump.Maybe I just need to get laid. Ithasbeen months since my last time. I force myself to take a step backward, then another and another, until I can’t see The Princess’s glare, only her shadowed form.
“You can’t!” Talis suddenly shouts.
“I said:stop,” The Prince barks.
I don’t stay or try to understand their argument. I twist around and take off into a sprint. I hope to breathe easier if I put more distance between myself and them, but my shoulders only fall under more and more weight as I go. Any amount of peace I felt in The Prince’s arms vanishes as I round the corner before slamming open the front door of my house and careening up into my room. I collapse to my knees on my palette of blankets, gripping my thighs as I rake in one sob-like breath after another.
At least I have the information The Beast needs, I remind myself, but for some reason, that doesn’t even remotely cheer me up.I ran away, I realize.He’s right. I ran away from him after the Underground, and I ran away now. I chew on my lip and rake my hands through my hair.He makes me weak, and I can’t be weak.
I’ve waited so long to have answers, and I’m so,soclose to having them. If The Prince sabotages that, I’ll never forgive myself for letting him in.I need to stay away from him. I’ll get my payment from The Beast, then I’ll enter the tournament and move on.I reach behind my back and hastily unfasten my corset before I toss it atop the small pile of my other belongings. I curl into my blankets.There’s no reason for me to see The Prince again, I tell myself, and I repeat the phrase in my mind until my tense muscles turn to liquid and my breaths soften toward sleep.No reason except for one, the little voice in the back of my mind rears its ugly head,he could read your memories from the night your parents were murdered.
I bolt upright, sweat lining my forehead. “Fuck.”
Chapter Four
Isplashwaterovermy face, stifling the heat beneath my skin before it comes back in full force. I glare at myself in the house’s community mirror. Cracks and decade-old writing blur my face, but my eye bags are clear as day.
I didn’t sleep. Not that I’m surprised. When my mind latches to a plan, it’s hard for me to get any rest until it’s executed. The thing is, I havetoo manyplans at the moment, and I’m not sure which one I should chase first: marriage to the Heir of Fate, securing a firm lead on my parents’ murderers from The Beast, or having The Prince dig through my memories. None of them sound fun, and a headache blooms to life every time I think too hard about any of my options. More than that, I’m starving and out of money after paying my rent this morning with the two threads from The Beast.
Gretta,I remind myself.I’ll get what remains of my dress and jewels from Gretta and pawn them for some food.I give myself an affirmative nod in the mirror and head outside.
With the sun up, the streets of Gronem are trashed and quiet. Everyone is still in bed at this hour, which makes getting to Gretta more difficult. Morning is when the Royalists flock forward to reclaim the city, and already several groups have staked their claim — enough to make me keep to the shadows.
“I got it this morning,” a shorter, petite woman with a long blonde braid says. She flashes what looks to be an invitation, and her posse gasps in excitement.
“He’s probably gorgeous,” one of them gossips.
