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The Prince curses and ducks at the last second.
I don’t hesitate and pull free a second knife. I draw my arm back and aim for his chest as he stands back up.
“Stop that,” he grunts and strides toward me.
I laugh, this time fully and aloud.No more hiding. I slam my arm forward and watch with a wicked grin for the knife to land my victim, but this time The Prince is ready.
He spins away and drops to the ground where the first knife landed. He yanks it into his grasp, then flings it toward me without an ounce of hesitation.
Shit. I launch myself backward, but the knife snags on the fabric of my gown at my waist and pins me to the wall at my back. I furiously grab the hilt to tear it free, only to shriek in surprise as the second dagger pins the other side of my gown. Before I can help myself, magic locks from each hilt and meets at the center of my torso, forcing me in place with an invisible chain.
I glare at The Prince. “Let me go.”
He smooths his hair back and closes the distance between us, his silver eyes glinting with amusement. “Calm down. I only came after you to give you your thread back.” He lifts his pouch for reference. He must’ve taken it back from his sister.
My brow furrows. “Why?”
“I’d taken it as payment for your involvement in the tournament to win Prince Cristen’s hand in marriage. Clearly, you’ve declined.” He shakes the pouch. “Do you want it back, or not?”
I snatch the pouch from him and grip it to my chest, my nostrils flaring with rage but my mind warring with reason. I have been stuck on the streets forced to kill my way high enough up the Underground hierarchy to keep myself away from prostitution or worse. I have searched all my life for the reasons why my life has been this way — who I am, why my family was murdered when I was only two, where my brother was lost to. Everything about my past is riddled with foggy lies, and I have this pulsing need within me to bring vengeance upon whoever created my life to be like this.
I have tried every magic, every potion, visited every lead and followed every clue. I have foundnothingin the form of answers.
But I haven’t had access to a Fate, to a man with the ability to tell me the truth, and this opportunity The Prince dangles before me will be my only chance. I can feel it. If I don’t compete for Cristen Estal’s hand in marriage, I’ll never get close enough to him to force an introduction and gain access to his power.
I grind my teeth as I force myself to pry my grip off of the pouch. I push it into The Prince’s tattooed chest, prepared to pull away and disappear through the exit. That would be answer enough.
But The Prince’s hand falls atop mine, keeping my fingers splayed against his chest and the pouch. His grip is firm and warm, as he runs his thumb over the back of my hand.
I hesitate and lock eyes with him, unsure what more he could want from me and also a little terrified of what it may be. Heisa Boss, and I’ve done nothing but disrespect him.
He holds my gaze for several long seconds, his lips twitching as if he has a million things to say, but he remains silent.
I chew on my lip, and it draws his eyes to my mouth, catching him off guard enough for me to pull my hand free. “Let me go,” I command a second time, proud of the strength in my voice despite the pounding of my heart.
The Prince lingers close to me for a few more moments before he gently brushes his fingers over my torso.
The magic holding me against the wall unravels, and I tug the daggers free from my gown. I strap them back to my thigh, then straighten, prepared to give The Prince my best snarl and walk away.
But the room empties with a flash of burgundy disappearing against a black curtain.
Chapter Two
There’snoplacemoredangerous than the streets of Gronem.
But there’s also no better place to play.
I sneak into a darkened street corner and quickly slide out of my dress and diamonds, finding my bag stowed behind a dumpster where I left it earlier. I replace my glam with my favorite black canvas trousers, long-sleeved charcoal blouse, and a fitted but well-worn black leather corset. Next, I thrust my feet into my boots, lacing them to my mid-calf before tousling my hair out of its slicked-back look. The white of its strands hit just below my ears, lightweight and out of the way, which is how I like it. Finally, I use my fingers to smear out the eyeliner around my eyes.
I toss my gown, heels, and jewelry into my bag, throw its one strap over and across my body, then step out of the shadows with a smile — my first genuine one of the night. At the sight of me, the regulars of Gronem nod or look away. One of them calls out to me, and I recognize her short brown curls in an instant.
“Gretta, how’s business?” I ask and pull to a stop before her flower cart — a front for the bags of drugs hidden behind a trap door at its base.
Gretta gives me her best smile, her teeth white and glittering. She once told me it was the only illusion she pays for.People find beautiful smiles more trustworthy, she told me over a drink, the grin on her face at the time full of total mischief.
She leans toward me. “I’ve got a new bag for you,” she whispers.
I shake my head. “No, I’ve got a job to finish tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”
