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But I can’t watch him kill someone. I can’t.
My fingernails press into my palms.
An eternal moment later, Corrick says, “Take him to the Hold. He can stand trial like the others.”
Then he wipes his blade on the man’s shirt and tucks it back into its sheath.
My heart is pounding so hard, refusing to settle. I thought I was about to witness an execution. Based on the tense silence of the shop, so did everyone else—including the man the guards are dragging to his feet.
Everyone is still staring at Prince Corrick with a mixture of horror and fascination, as if he’ll say, “Just kidding,” and cut the man’s throat anyway.
When the prince turns to look at me, his eyes search mine for a moment, and I have no doubt he can read the panic that hasn’t fully melted away.
The guards are leading the man out of the shop. One of the others has begun questioning the woman, who’s wringing her hands, casting terrified glances at Corrick.
He ignores them all and offers me his arm. “It seems we no longer have a drink to share. I do require your services at the palace. Shall we?”
I have to shake myself. “Ah … yes. Of course.” I rest a still-trembling hand on his arm. He’s so good at hiding every emotion, but I don’t have anywhere near as much practice.
He begins to lead me to the door, but he pauses before we cross the threshold to look to the counter. “Mistress Woolfrey,” he says.
Her face goes pale, and I’m sure she’s ready for him to levy an accusation that she might have been involved. When she speaks, her voice is breathy and shaking. “Yes—yes, Your Highness.”
He withdraws a handful of coins and holds them out to her. “The drinks were very good. The guards will assist in cleaning up the mess, but I’d ask that you have an accounting of any damages prepared. I’ll send a steward to cover any costs.”
She startles, her eyes widening as he hands over enough silver that he’s probably covering her costs for amonth. “Your Highness. It’s … it’s nothing.”
“All the same.” He gives her a nod. “For the trouble then. You have my thanks.”
Then he leads me through the door, and we climb into his waiting carriage.
I drew a lot of attention on the way to the confectioner’s, but that’s nothing compared to the looks we get on the way back, sitting in the prince’s burgundy carriage, trailed by half a dozen guards. My heart is still rattling around in my chest, leaving my fingers to tremble along my skirts. I have my eyes fixed on the window, so I see every glare we get.
I’ve cut men’s tongues off for less.
Every time I want to forget who he was, the world seems determined to remind me. I want to ask if that’s true, or if he only said it for effect.
But I’m afraid I already know the answer.
Corrick sits on the opposite seat of the carriage, and there’s a part of me that wants to ease to his side, to hide in the circle of his arms for the short journey back to the palace. Another part of me wants to run away from everything that just happened.
I can’t do either. Everything about our relationship is massively complicated now. When I first moved into the palace, it all seemed simple. Easy. Corrick and I could go for walks, or play games, or have a late dinner on the terrace. He could steal kisses in the moonlight, and I could taste his breath and remember what it was like to be in the Wilds, just the two of us against the dawn.
But then I learned that nothing about his life is simple. I’m an apothecary working in service for the king, and he’s second in line for the throne. I’m a girl from the Wilds, and he’s the King’s Justice. Any courtship would be watched. Studied. Judged. At dinner one night, I overheard a woman telling her companion that it was adorable how the prince allowed his little mistress to dabble in medicine.
Lochlan himself already proved it:If you’re not sharing his bed, someone is. He’s the brother to the king.
Our work to make enough medicine for everyone in Kandala is far too important to sully it with rumors that I’m only in the palace at the prince’s whim. Our late night walks ended. So did our stolen kisses and private dinners.
It’s left me feeling adrift. Uncertain.
And I resent this doubt in my abilities. That just because I’m from the Wilds, my theories and research and medicine are somehow seen as lesser, just because I wasn’t trained in the Royal Sector. That the only reason I might be in the palace at all would be for Corrick, not because I truly have something tooffer.
Maybe we weren’t helpingallof Kandala when we were delivering medicine as outlaws, but at least I felt like I was helping some.
So I sit here, and Corrick sits there, and I content myself with watching the passing terrain, longing for his touch. When I finally tear my eyes away from the window, I expect to find his gaze on the blur of greenery as well, but he’s watching me.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “The carriage can withstand a few bolts from a crossbow.”
