“I don’t like jugglers. I find them unsettling.”
“Juggling and green food. You’re an odd prince.”
“You’re an odd thief. And now we know each other’s secrets.”
I doubted that. Who ever really knew the deep, dark room of someone else’s soul? I was aware he was trying to get me to relax, to drop my guard. Which I wasn’t going to do.
I stood up, one hand on the bed for balance. “Thank you for letting me stay here. But I’m awake now, and I’ve reported what happened, so I should go.” Except the room wobbled when I took a step forward, and if he hadn’t rushed forward to catch me, I’d have hit the ground.
My head began to throb again. “Let me go,” I said, and pushed away from him; I was dizzy and overwhelmed and I wasn’t sure how much of it was him.
He ignored that, at least until I made it to the bed, his hand at my elbow just in case. And when I sat down, he stepped back.
“You aren’t a prisoner. You can leave if you want—if you’re able to walk out the door.”
“Second time I’ve heard that recently,” I said, feeling weak as a newborn colt. “The first time was a lie.”
But he walked to the door, opened it, and stood for a moment beside it, offering escape. When I didn’t move, he closed the door and strode back to me, shoulders set like he ruled the world and everything in it. Everyone in it. Maybe someday he would.
I felt weak and helpless and penned in. And I hated it.
“If you don’t want to stay in the palace for you, considerdoing it for me. If you’re hurt because you chose to help me, I’d be exactly the kind of Lys’Careth you imagine.”
“Is it really possible for a Lys’Careth to be different?”
“I mean to find out.”
The gods in their quiet corners knew I didn’t want to believe him, because believing him felt like submitting to a grift. Willingly becoming the mark.
“I sense you aren’t used to being offered help, Fox. Or accepting it. But it’s earnestly offered.”
I didn’t like that he could read my thoughts so easily, and that had me fidgeting on the bed. “I can’t stay here while he’s out there hurting people.”
“Why? Because you could stop him?”
Shame had my cheeks going hot. “No. I can’t stop him.”
“Then you should take the opportunity to rest. And heal.”
“What am I supposed to do in a royal palace? Scrub floors? Polish royal trophies?”
“For the sake of all gods, Fox. I’m not going to put you to work.” The words barely made it past his strangled laugh. “I owe you my life. You’d be here as my guest and under my protection. And, frankly, that the practitioner attacked you proves I still need your expertise.”
Lys’Careths were supposed to be arrogant, spend coin, lounge around with wine and lute players and dancing girls. He wasn’t supposed to care. I didn’t like this. I didn’t know this man—not really. So I ignored the warmth in his voice.
“It’s not often I meet someone who actively despises royalty.” He smiled a little. “You keep me humble.”
“Please. You have a palace full of servants; you can pay them to keep you humble. I can accept why you lied to me about who you are.” Especially after my encounter with the monster in amask. “But not—” I gestured at the room, with its rich fabrics and glass windows and fine things. “All this. It’s too much to just move past.”
“So few would object to it,” he muttered. “Me being a prince and living in a palace.”
I snorted. “Believe me, there’s more than a few who object. You should hear the strongholders’ other songs.”
“I’ve heard them. They mostly amount to the same complaints. They do piss off my father, which is satisfying for an allegedly disobedient prince.”
He put his hands on his hips and considered me. I met his gaze, refusing to look away. It wasn’t an easy thing to stare down a prince, especially when it felt like he was trying to look into my soul and pull out the truth of me.
“I’ll pay you to stay here,” he finally said.
