Page 111 of Feralheart

It must’ve cost her a lot to admit it.

“Good luck with the race,” she said, turning to the door.

She opened it and stepped inside.

I didn’t leave until the lock had clicked and I could trust she was safe.

Then I strode to the guard station. The woman at the desk sprang to her feet when I arrived, giving me a quick bow.

“I want someone assigned to the commons rooms now,” I barked. “Rotating schedules so someone is always there.”

“Are you worried they’ll do something they shouldn’t, Sire?” she asked.

“I want them safe.”

Her eyes widened. “Safe,” she repeated softly. “I’ll see to it right away.”

“Good.” I pivoted on my heel and stepped back out into the hall.

My boots echoed on stone, too loud in the silence. Or maybe my heartbeat was too loud. I couldn’t tell anymore.

I’d packed supplies for a commons woman like I was her squire. Stood close enough to smell stone and wild places on her skin. Almost kissed her.

I stopped walking.

I ached to kiss her.

My hand found the wall, the stone cold enough to ground me but not cold enough to erase the memory of her hand pressed against my chest.

She saw past the crown prince to the terrified man underneath. I’d spent my entire life making sure no one saw that man. In one midnight kitchen visit, she’d stripped away every defense I had.

And instead of feeling exposed, I felt lighter.

I left the fortress and strode up the winding path to the pompous castle that was anything but home.

Terrant stood at the foot of the stairs, dressed, unsurprised to see me outside my rooms. He would’ve checked.

“You’re awake late, Your Highness,” he said in a dry tone.

“Put it in your morning report.” I passed him, taking the steps two at a time.

Inside my rooms, I stripped and lay on my bed, silk sheets tangling around my legs. Dawn was hours away, but I could already hear the castle waking. The machinery of an empire grinding forward.

My tutors would be horrified about what I’d done. My mother would call my actions a lapse in judgment. They’d both be right.

Except I’d been having these “lapses” for months now. The mine inspection. Food redistribution I’d personally signed off on last quarter. The healer I’d quietly funded to work in the lower wards while telling myself I’d done the last for disease containment.

And this week, a transfer order for a scribe named Dorresk, stamped with a seal no mine foreman would dare question, traceable to no one, two packed bags and a day’s head start included.

I’d been seeing the cracks in the system, and I’d been carefully, methodically, patching them where I could without anyone noticing. Telling myself it meant nothing.

A floating orb in my bathing chamber went dark. The sprite inside stopped moving.

I should sleep. Morning would come whether I was ready or not.

But I kept seeing the tiny hands clutching the inner bars. The sprite’s mouth opening in a scream no one cared to hear. The light dying the same way Aristus’s eyes dulled when his wing trembled.

I threw the covers back and padded across the room, the stone cold beneath my feet.