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I glance away. “It’s like I’ve said. We can spend the rest of our lives fighting, or we can help each other just enough so that we both get what we want. Then, we never have to speak to each other unless we need to.”
“Swear your loyalty to me.”
My gaze snaps back to him. “What?”
The edge of Cyrus’s mouth curls up. “Swear your loyalty and I’ll believe you. It’s a small ask. You swore to my father.”
“When I was achild.” Because I had no other choiceif I wanted a place here, because I didn’t yet grasp what kings did. “Couldn’t I fake it? Cross my fingers behind my back?”
“Then fake it.”
The words course up my throat, but my jaw refuses to move. I flush. “No.”
“As I suspected—too prideful to truly compromise.” His arm slackens, leaving a ghost of warmth where it’d been, and he walks past me toward the river path where the cobblestone turns into dirt.
“Wart,” I mutter. I follow him, a little lightheaded. “ ‘Too prideful’says the prince too prideful to accept anything less than a prostrating Seer.”
“I have standards.”
“Is that why you’re entertaining any lady in the capital with a pair of lips?”
He doesn’t turn fast enough to hide his smile. “I should be courteous to those who show me affection.” Cyrus has a diplomatic response for everything.
The path widens as we arrive on the banks of the River Julep. The waves gleam like dragonscale, and a smattering of boats drift along its brackish waters. Idle fishermen play cards on a jetty. They look up at us briefly, pointing and chuckling, then resume their game. On the far shore, too distant for anyone to spot us, is the bustling boardwalk of the University District.
I kick up a flat rock to skip. “Aren’t you curious about what I’ve learned from my readings? You’re not the only one being hounded because of the ball. I’ve seen secret relationships, all sorts of courtiers you should be suspicious of…”
Cyrus stops walking long enough for me to fling the rock into the river, then graces me with the full distaste of his frown. “You shouldn’t be rifling through your patrons’ memories with your Sight.”
“I can’t help what I’m good at.” I grin, having grown bold during our momentary cease-fire. “I found out a few fun things about the future, too. Girls you’ll dance with. Council plans. You only have knowledge to gain, Princey—but you have to lose the moralizing.”
He shakes his head. “Violet, do whatever you want. Just…” But he doesn’t finish the sentence.
“Just what? Don’t use what I see for my terrible, wicked ends? That’s what you’re always implying. I wouldn’t lash out if you didn’t single me out—it’s that simple.” I only meant to make small talk, but it’s nice to say this aloud.
He still doesn’t respond—probably because he has no good answer. I narrow the gap between us, unwinding my hands from behind my back to splay them before him, palms turned up.
I paced in my bedroom practicing this part: I offer to read Cyrus’s threads. Tell him anything I truly see, of course—and then, pretend to see a vision of his true love. The one adorned in fayflowers and butterflies who will arrive at the stroke of eleven. The little lie gifted from his father.
But I didn’t anticipate the question leaping to my tongue, now that he’s here in the flesh: “What are you so afraid of when it comes to me?”
Something flickers in his eyes, as piercing as his earlier scrutiny—as if he knows something, like the Cyrus in my dreams knew. Lips chewed red, his coifed hair wilted andwindswept, he isn’t so far from the version of him wreathed in briars, ready for a darkness to swallow him.
My curse. My ruin.
A blink and measured breath later, the expression is gone. “You’re imagining things,” he says, stepping away, boots squelching and uncaring of the puddles on the path.
We make it back to the palace before anyone thinks we’re dead. Camilla is tapping her feet at the entrance hall steps, not at all pleased. The replacement carriage that brought her and her enormous shopping haul home has driven away.
She doesn’t let Cyrus pass inside until she gets an explanation for her missing carriage, and when Cyrus finally tells her what happened, Camilla bursts out laughing.
“I remember the first time I was chased down in the streets. You have to cultivate the attention like a garden,” she tsks. “Set boundaries early, trim it back if you need to. An overloved plant drowns.” She plucks at his raggedy sleeve. “So did you find anyone you like?”
Cyrus shakes his banyan off and leaves it pooled on the hall floor as he heads in. “Very much not.”
“Oh, thereissomeone. Is she pretty?”
“I need a long bath.”
