Page 72 of Heartbreak Prince

The question feels even more invasive, and I’m not sure how to answer. The carpet did answer my call once, but is that really a link? “Not that I know of.”

“It can take time,” she says comfortingly. “It will happen when it’s meant to.”

Maybe she was only making conversation. Yet she’s inquisitive enough that I clench my teeth as I unroll the carpet. I want to tell him to mind himself and keep our secrets, but delivering even a veiled warning might raise suspicions in Gwin’s mind, if they aren’t already there.

If I were in her place, I would have put the pieces together by now. But not everyone is as naturally suspicious as I am, nor are they trained to observe details and recognize patterns. Perhaps she truly has no idea who my hooded companion is. Or if she does suspect the truth, she’s choosing to take the reward I’m offering, which is a sure thing, rather than gambling on the bounty and possibly getting it wrong.

I could take Vawn and leave. But the last two days were a torture we almost didn’t survive, and we’re barely a quarter of the way through the mountain range. From this point on, the forests will be thicker in the valleys, and the slopes will be peppered with even more colonies of wimmets, not to mention the wraiths rumored to haunt the highest peaks and the constant threat of our pursuers. Without a functional carpet, I don’t think Vawn and I will make it to Anyssir Castle.

We have no choice but to stay and see this through. I will re-evaluate the situation hour by hour, and if anything raises an alarm in my soul, we’ll leave and take our chances on foot.

I’ve been absently fondling the edge of the carpet, near one of his undamaged corners. Severin has been enduring it, but finally he reaches over with his tassel and taps my hand lightly with the gold fringe. A gentle signal to cease with the physical affection.

Smiling a little, I withdraw my hand.

Gwin is fitting a rod onto the loom.

“This frame was specifically designed for making repairs,” she explains. “It can’t craft an entire magic carpet, but it helps hold the fibers in place while I re-weave and repair them.”

“Will the process hurt him?”

“Not pain as we know it, but it could cause him to blurt out strange things and experience distress as his strands are re-woven. But I have this.” She holds up a large, dark-gray hoof. “From a unicorn. When I set it on the carpet, it will place him in a dormant state while I do the work. He can still hear and perceive, but he will not be able to speak. He will remain in a state of partial rest and calm. The repair will take all day, so please make yourself comfortable.”

“I’d rather make myself useful. I don’t do well sitting still. May I assist with any cleaning, laundering, or mending?”

She protests at first, but as the only parent of several children, she yields quickly. Her mental list of tasks must be constantly full, and although her older children help out, I imagine it’s a relief to have another adult around.

Throughout the morning, I help the older children with dusting, sweeping, and baking, as well as guiding a few of the younger ones through their reading and writing lessons. In the afternoon, we wash clothes in the lean-to by the back door.

I was mistaken about the severity of the weather. The snow only lasted overnight, and the spring sunshine is surprisingly warm, beaming on the surface of the drifts and turning them wet and squishy. Rivulets of melting snow run from the eaves, a pleasant trickling sound.

Even with the sunshine, washing the clothes is a cold chore, and my hands quickly become red and chapped. The soap we’re using is mild, nothing that would erode my nail set, but I keep checking to be certain they haven’t chipped.

Once the clothes have been pinned to the line to dry, I duck into the bedroom to check on Vawn.

He’s lying half naked on the bed with one hand in his pants, the other on his bare breast, and a cigarette pinned between his lips. The air in the room is hazy with purple smoke.

“Shit.” I close the door and wave away the aromatic fumes. “I thought your cigarettes got soaked.”

“The tin kept them dry.” He keeps playing with his nipple, his fingers moving unmistakably inside his partly unlaced pants.

“What the fuck are you doing?” My face is already burning, and I can feel my pulse thumping between my legs.

He stops tweaking his nipple and takes the cigarette from his mouth. “I was bored. I exercised for two hours, and then I napped, and then I… gave in.” He smirks. “Want to help me out?”

“No! Keep your voice down.” I plant my back against the door, as if that will prevent anyone from overhearing or interrupting us. “Stop playing with your dick, put out that cigarette, and act like—” I hesitate, trying to find the right word.

“Like what?” His gaze challenges me. “What version of me would best suit you? Tell me, and I’ll endeavor to play the part.”

“No, don’t play a part. That’s not what I’m asking.” I don’t want false compliance, fakery, or a disguise that he wears to please me. I want him to be himself, but a genuinely better version. Less careless and selfish. Less obsessed with carnal pleasure.

The prince watches me through slitted eyes. “Until you decide what you want, I’m going to do as I please. But you don’t have to watch.”

I catch my lip in my teeth, fingers arched against the door, nails scraping the wood.

“But if you’re going to stay,” Vawn says softly, “open that jacket more and bend forward just a bit.”

“Lecherous bastard,” I hiss.