Page 42 of Heartbreak Prince

An hour later, two of the purple soldiers re-emerge from the Guild, flanking a thin, nervous-looking man in a ruffled black shirt. We’re close enough that I can see smudges on his throat. Bruises, maybe?

The two soldiers standing with him exude threat, their shoulders squared and their boots braced apart. They carry no weapons, but they keep their hands crossed in front of them, fingers extended. Their nails are exceedingly long, painted with two glyphs each, like the ones I saw at the Lyre & Vice. A risky move, but popular with some assassins, mercenaries, and bounty hunters.

The man in the ruffled shirt steps forward, clears his throat, and speaks loudly to the lines of waiting people.

“Due to the recent political unrest, today’s sample drop of the new glyph paint has been canceled.” He raises his voice as the crowd starts to roar in protest. “All samples are being confiscated by the Redemptive Authority.”

At the word “canceled,” nearly everyone in line stands up and voices their protest. Vawn is on his feet, too, shouting through his head wrap along with the others.

During one of my years at the Academy, I had an afternoon class in crowd dynamics, mob mentality, and movement prediction. The professor never taught in a classroom; she was always taking us into the streets of nearby towns and cities. Once she even took us to a sheep farm and made us stand for hours, observing the movements of the animals with and without the influence of the sheepdog.

All those hours of observation surge to the forefront of my mind, and suddenly I perceive, with frightening clarity, what’s about to happen.

A mob will form. They’ll rush the Guild entrance. The uniformed soldiers will retaliate. Bloodshed will ensue.

The last remaining prince of the ruling family, the heir to the throne, cannot remain anywhere near this place. And yet we desperately need the glyph paint.

Maybe I should have brought the carpet with us. I could fly up to one of the windows of the Guild, get inside, maybe steal a vial or two.

Or I’d get shot down in the attempt and potentially draw too much attention to my companion with his shrouded face.

“Come with me,” I whisper to Vawn as the outrage from the crowd around us grows louder. We slip out of the line, heading away from the Guild along a side street—but the second we’re far enough from the plaza, I cut down an alley.

“What’s the plan?” Vawn asks.

“There is no plan,” I reply. “But there must be a back door, a side entrance, something.” We pass a deep recess in the wall, and I hesitate. “If I asked you to wait in that hollow while I commit thievery, would you do it?”

“And miss the chance to commit thievery with you?”

“I’m faster and more agile. It will be easier if I just do this myself.”

“Maybe, or maybe not. Do you have any idea how much security this place has, darling? How many locks, both traditional and magical, seal their vaults?”

“We need the paint,” I tell him. “We need it desperately. Without it, we won’t make it to Anyssir Castle.”

Vawn is about to answer, but his gaze moves past me, to something in the alley. I turn and spot a short man in a hooded cape walking swiftly toward us. His hurried steps and the nervous glances over his shoulder raises an immediate suspicion in my mind.

He’s coming from the Guild.

The man falters when he spots us, but he makes an effort to appear nonchalant as he continues along the alley. Despite his heavy clothing, I discern the audible clink of glass as he moves.

He’s nearly past us when I dart in front of him, twirling my knives casually.

“Good morning, sir.” I grin at him, and he gives me a watery attempt at an answering smile. “Where are you coming from?”

“Nowhere,” he says.

“The Guild, possibly? Bit of trouble that way, from what we saw. Isn’t that right?” I look past the man at Vawn, who’s closing in behind him.

“An uproar, one might say,” Vawn adds smoothly.

“That’s right. Terrible for business.”

“I’m just a clerk.” The man’s voice trembles. “Whatever you’re looking for, I don’t have it.”

“You don’t? Not under those voluminous robes of yours?” I step forward and use the tip of my knife to swish back a fold of his garments. “Looks as if you have a couple pouches of goods there, sir.”

“By the fates!” Vawn releases an exaggerated gasp. “Might those be sample vials of the new Guild glyph paint?”