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The letter cametwo days later.
This hiss of paper shoved under the door drew my attention from my note-taking, but it was the purple seal that tore me from the chair. I flung open the door. Multiple people walked back and forth. Guards stood at both ends of the corridor. But nobody hurried away. Nothing appeared out of sorts.
The messenger likely wasn’t as important as the message.
I closed the door, and for a few moments, I dared not look. Purple meant only one thing. Pain.
A glance, and I had no choice but to read the swirling script.
Arin, Prince of Love
Court of War
After picking it up, I stepped onto the balcony, where the sun beat down and the sands blurred the jagged desert horizon.
Dear Arin,it began.
We are very different, you and I. Princes of Love and Pain. Yet, so very alike.
Acid burned my throat. The words on paper put his voice in my head: Razak. The elaborateRsigning off confirmed it.
I razed your court, but I assure you, it was not personal. I respect you as a prince, never to be a king, of a court that no longer exists. You have nothing. But you are not powerless. You have in your hands a solution to end a terrible suffering.
Return Zayan to me, and I promise, I will not intervene should you wish to resurrect your court. Give me Zayan and save countless lives, including that of Draven’s son. He’s so like his father. So very ripe for picking. I know you understand. And you’ll do the right thing, as the Prince of Love should.
I expect Zayan’s return by the next full moon.
R.
Vicious hate burned its way up my throat. I gagged, grasped the balcony rail, and breathed the desert’s hot, spiced air.
We’d known Razak had Draven’s son. That wasn’t the shock. The shock came from knowing the lengths Razak would go to for Lark’s return. Killing a child.
Draven had known Razak capable all along, and now I had proof in my hands. But Razak wouldn’t just kill the boy, he’d make him bleed, make him hurt, and the child would probably never know why.
By Dallin, Razak had to die.
I couldn’t tell Draven of the letter and the threat to his boy. And if Lark knew, he’d race back to Pain, because despite thinking himself wicked, he was far from it.
Damn Razak’s games.
But he’d made an error. He’d made the same error everyone always made when it came to me. He’d assumed the Prince of Lovewoulddo the right thing. He was wrong.
I scrunched the letter in my fist and pitched it over the balcony rail. The wind-tossed sand swallowed it. And now there was no letter, there never had been, and nobody need know. Razak was not dictating the rules of this war. Not anymore. And the world would have to end before I danced to his tune.
CHAPTER43
Lark
Something troubled Arin.
He’d been quiet since we’d rekindled the heat in our relationship almost a week ago. Oftentimes—when I glanced at him during council meetings, or when we visited the training warriors, or when Draven demonstrated yet another of War’s vicious-looking polearms or axe—the hopeful glimmer had snuffed out of his silvery-blue eyes, leaving them colder, harder.
My Prince of Hearts was lying.
Of course, I was lying to him too. So we had that in common.
Although, not technically a lie—as there was no other place I’d have rather been than in his arms—more a misdirection. And I’d thought it had worked. When together, he and I were brilliant, like perfect notes in a symphony. He couldn’t know I had ulterior motives for keeping him close, beside those of love. But he knewsomething, and he wasn’t telling me.
