Page 24 of Heartbreak Prince

He coughs out something like a laugh, lips curving in the barest of smiles.

“You two are such compassionate and dedicated friends,” drawls the carpet.

“More like reluctant and temporary allies,” I reply. “Now hold still while I roll you up.”

“How long do you think you will stay here?” asks the carpet. “And what is your plan for crossing the—”

His words cut off as I roll him up and he goes dormant.

“That was rude,” says the prince. “Interrupting him like that.”

“He’s a carpet.”

“He’s a living thing.”

I glare at him. “You kicked at a real living person when we were walking through the city. I don’t think you have the right to judge me for how I treat a magical textile.”

“I’ll judge you for whatever I please.”

“Just walk,” I seethe. “It’s a few hours after dawn, so if we’re lucky, this place will be offering day rates on rooms and baths. Maybe we can swing two rooms so I can get a moment’s peace.”

“Unwise.” Vawn takes the carpet from me and tucks it beneath his arm. “You should stay as close to me as possible, so you can protect me.”

The coquettish twist in his voice barely hides the anxiety beneath it. He’s worried. As he should be.

“I’ll stay with you,” I concede. “But do me a favor—walk in the roadside grass, not on the road itself. Remember how a certain carriage full of rich nobles ran down that unicorn? We could be next.”

“I doubt anyone will be careening along this country lane at magically enhanced speeds,” Vawn retorts. But he steps to the side, following me through the swishing grass instead.

The dew beads on the surface of my thigh-high boots, and the ground squishes muddily with each step I take. The air is more richly scented now that we’re closer to the earth. Winter’s lingering breath still chills the night, but spring has turned the head of every tree, decking them out in bright yellow-green leaves or pale, delicate petals.

Spring is a clever time for a coup. It comes after the deprivation of winter, when people are just waking up again, thirsty for change, for something new. The plans for the takeover were laid in the darkness and cold of winter, in smoky, firelit rooms behind closed doors.

What I don’t understand is why. And as we walk, I decide to voice the question. “Why would someone want to oust your family and take over?”

“You have thoughts on everything else,” Vawn mutters, picking up his pace until he’s walking beside me. “Surely you can guess.”

“I’ve tried to stay abreast of the goings-on in Belavrin and the neighboring countries, but sometimes it’s hard to discern political posturing from actual events. At the Academy, we were actually discouraged from becoming too politically aligned one way or another. As a guard or a soldier, one’s job is to carry out orders, to serve without question.”

“And you thought you would excel at unquestioning service?” He throws me a disbelieving smirk.

“In retrospect, I might have mistaken my calling. Or maybe I just need to find someone I can believe in, someone I can serve who shares my code of ethics.”

“That’s quite the ask. No two people will ever agree perfectly on everything. You’d be hard-pressed to find any royal, noble, magnate, or general who is consistently an upstanding pillar of moral fortitude.”

“You’re probably right,” I admit. “But back to my question—I would think that you, as a prince in line for the throne, would have some idea about who might have done this, and why.”

“Power, money, control,” he says. “The usual motives. As for who—I have no idea. It may surprise you, but as fifth in line for the throne, I never thought I’d have to deal with the political intricacies of the kingdom.”

“What did you expect to do?” I wave away a cloud of gnats hovering in my path.

“Enjoy myself until I was married off in some bargain with one of our allies.” He smiles ruefully at my expression. “Yes, it happens to princes too. Especially the pretty ones. My father had offers for me before anyone offered for my sisters. The first one came eight years ago, when I was fourteen. Some pirate captain who promised to turn King’s man if I was gifted to him on my sixteenth birthday.”

“Holy shit,” I exclaim.

“He was batshit insane, of course. But still, the offer was real. Lucky for me, my father always drove a hard bargain. No marriage contract ever made it off the bargaining table.” He pats his pockets. “Ah, fuck, I forgot that you gave away all my cigarettes.”

“They were useful. They bought you those fine clothes.”