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I lift a brow in question, but Farrah doesn’t see it, her gaze locked on Gretta. “I don’t know if a Royalist is her type,” I say, having to shout over the music.
Farrah’s gaze drops to me. “My loyalty doesn’t mean I’m a bad person. I’ve never understood that stereotype.”
“You would if you were me.” I shrug, not really caring if I hurt her feelings. “After my parents were murdered and my brother was lost, a pair of Royalists took me under their wing for a year. Then, they sold me off to whoever could pay.” I swallow but keep my chin high. “The first time, I wasn’t strong enough to fight. The fifth time, I slit their throats and the throat of the man trying to abuse me.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Farrah says, and I’m surprised to find a genuine look of distress distorting her features. “Not all of us are like that, though.”
“You’d be the first,” I tell her. “The poor are sold. Even the Bosses of the Underground are Royalists in masks. It’s just the way life is. Be tough or be up for grabs.”
“It shouldn’t be that way,” a deep voice remarks, so close to the back of my head, I feel his breath against my ear.
I spin around, and my lips part at the sight of The Prince. “You.”
He reaches out and runs a finger over the sleeve of my bicep. “You.”
I jerk away in distaste and school my expression. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“You have?” He tilts his head.
I glance back over to Farrah, but she abandoned me for Gretta. “Yeah. Do you want a drink?” I ask and trail my eyes over his face.
His brow scrunches for a moment, then he extends an arm. “Lead the way.”
I nod and move to the bar. I accept the drink Gretta ordered for me, happy she got me a straight liquor and not something frilly as she did for herself and Farrah. I take a long sip from it, savoring its sting as it slides over my tongue and down my throat, all the while keeping my eyes locked with The Prince’s. I’m struck again by their strangeness, like threads of color wish to burst free and be front and center, but a cloud of gray stands in the way.
He orders a drink and props his elbow against the bar, turning his body toward me. The corner of his mouth lifts with a smile.
“What?” I ask, self-consciousness leaking through me.
He accepts a drink from the bartender and takes a gulp, wetting his lips as he gives me a once-over. “Hmm.”
I curse the small flutter in my stomach.He’s a mark. Pull yourself together.I raise my glass and give him a fake smile of endearment. “Why don’t we go upstairs? I’m sure you have a space.”
The Prince frowns and lifts his glass to mine. “A toast first. Perhaps to honesty?”
I narrow my eyes but clink my glass against his. “To honesty,” I lie with ease.
His frown holds firm, but he leads the way to the staircase.
I glance back to shoot Gretta a quick apology only to find her tangled up with Farrah on the dance floor. I shake my head with a smile and turn back to follow The Prince.
He studies me, his frown lifting at the sight of my genuine smile. “This way,” he says and climbs up the steps.
I trail after him, using the height of the stairs to my advantage and scouting out the three exits in the bar. If I need to escape, this looks to be the only staircase, but the drop from the balcony isn’t too far. I’d probably get an ankle sprain, but that would heal over with a relatively cheap potion.
The Prince stops at one of the curtained-off VIP tables and pulls it open.
I stride in, purposefully brushing up against his chest as I do. I aim for a reaction from him, and he does seem to straighten at the contact, but…Is my heart pounding right now?I press two fingers to the pulse on the inside of my wrist and confirm as much. I run my hand through my hair and compose my nerves at the sight of The Princess and Talis sitting at the table. I’d hoped to get The Prince alone.
“Zora,” The Princess says, her eyes widening behind her mask in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“She said she was looking for us,” The Prince answers, sliding into the booth next to his sister. “Seems we need to be more sneaky, considering she found us only two hours after our last conversation.”
“Or maybe it’s Fate,” Talis amends, and his smile shines in the dim lighting. He holds up a deck of cards. “We were just about to play a game, Zora. I think you’d do well.”
I slide into the booth next to The Prince and let my leg rest against the side of his. “What kind of game is it?” I ask, ignoring The Prince’s questioning gaze.
Talis’s smile widens. “We do whatever the cards tell us to.”
