Page 74 of Heartbreak Prince

I’m inhaling slush, choking on mud, and the lack of air makes my chest swell tight and my head feel like a blood balloon. A second person is beating me with an object, battering every part of me that isn’t covered by the weight of my first attacker.

I’ve been through some brutal training, but never have I experienced pain like this, blooming through every limb until I can’t be sure if I’m human-shaped anymore. I feel like a mushed, amorphous blob, shining bulbously, horribly red, swollen to bursting with pain, pain, pain.

And then the red light goes out.

I choke on foul water and grit, coughing it out of my lungs. Every cough is a stab wound to my chest. My saliva is thick, tinged with copper and salt.

It’s dark, except for a little watery moonlight. My right hand lies near my face, bruised and battered, shaking when I lift it. Two of my nails are broken, split partway through the glyphs, and the rest of the symbols have been scrubbed or scratched off my nails.

I’m on my stomach amid leaves, stones, and snow, but my body is slanted at an odd angle. When I shift my weight, I slide downward rapidly before my boot hits something and I stop again.

That sudden, swift descent tore the breath from my aching chest. Cautiously I lift my head and look up… then down.

I’m lying in a horribly steep crevasse that empties into the canyon. My body was dumped here. Either my attackers thought I was dead and were disposing of my carcass, or they knew I was still alive and expected the fall to finish me off. Which it would have, if my boot hadn’t snagged on a jutting rock and postponed my demise.

As it is, the dropoff is not far away from my feet, promising a deadly spill into the vast canyon below. I’ll splatter on rocks or be split by tree branches, or perhaps I’ll strangle to death in a net of blood ivy.

The upward slant is so steep that I can’t climb back up, not with my head pounding and my lungs feeling as if they’re full of splinters. Not with my very bones bruised and my skin torn. I’m fairly sure the smallest finger on my right hand is broken, and something deep inside my body is thrumming with a horrible, sickening agony.

The crevasse stinks like shit and rotten food. Ash, filthy straw, and spoiled food are mixed in with the dirt. The villagers of Weaver’s Canyon must dump their refuse down here.

Whoever those men were, they beat me and threw me away like garbage. And by now, they’ve taken Vawn. I’d bet my life they were bounty hunters—although my life doesn’t seem particularly valuable at the moment. One wrong move, and I’ll lose it.

It had to be Gwin. She betrayed us. She must have arranged the whole thing early in the morning, when she went to bargain for the unicorn hair. She watched me work with her children all day, helping them with chores, listening to their stories, laughing at the silly jokes and songs they made up—and she still sent me up the lane to the woodshed at sunset, knowing I would be attacked. Knowing that those men planned to kill me.

I’ve been stripped of my cloak and my belts. The leftover money and the vial are gone. Everything is gone except my boots. Maybe the men who assaulted me didn’t want to take the time to unlace them. They’re custom-made for me, after all. They would only suit someone of my exact size and build.

I don’t dare push any harder against the rock where my boot sole is propped. If it gives way, I’ll slide off the edge and plunge into blackness.

Gingerly I lift my trembling hand and move it down to my thigh, feeling for the beaded hilt of my hidden weapon, the needle-like blade that I used to threaten Steros. Maybe, if I can get both of the secret blades out, I can use them as climbing spikes and work my way back up the slope.

I tug at the thin weapon, trying to draw it, but even that slight movement causes a shift in the rock that’s propping my boot.

I freeze, a panicked sob caught in my throat.

Vawn. I call his name in my head, pointlessly. Help me.

There’s a chance he escaped the hunters. Maybe I should call for help. If he’s looking for me, maybe he’ll hear my cry.

Or maybe he’s not the one I should call out to.

“Severin,” I croak. “Severin…. Please.”

Gwin would have kept the carpet for herself. He’s either in his case or weighed down by the unicorn hoof she used to keep him dormant during the repair. He won’t hear me, and if he does, he might not be able to get out of her house to come to my aid.

What if Gwin gave him to the bounty hunters? Only two people can ride him at once, so the hunters wouldn’t be able to take Vawn on the carpet with them—unless they have a second carpet. Which is possible, given the village’s specialty.

I inhale a little more deeply, and a fresh wave of pain rushes through my body.

It’s very possible that I will die here, in the chilly darkness. I’m lucky that it’s not as cold tonight as it was last night, or I might have already perished from exposure.

I’m going to spend my last moments with my face in the dirt, inhaling air tainted with rot and feces. I’ll either die in this spot from lack of food and water, or the stone under my boot will give way and I’ll go shooting off the edge, plummeting to a brutal impact.

All my years of training, striving, studying—all my work at the Pink Lycan, the sacrifices I made, the effort I put in—all of it, worthless. So far, I’ve spent my youth working. I haven’t taken the time to enjoy any of it.

I’ve been disdainful of Vawn’s lifestyle. I’ve judged him, even though I had no moral high ground from which to do so. He might be an asshole, but I am too, in a different way. The things I’ve done—I try to hold myself above them, so they won’t sully or stain me. But truthfully, I’m no better than anyone else.

Maybe he’s the wiser one, after all. Faced with the state of his own mind, weighed down by a darkness he couldn’t shake, he chose to use his gift to cope with his mental state. He might have lived carelessly, but he lived.