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I roll my eyes violentlyand try not to look at the messages that keep zipping through. Elena is only going to distract me, and I just want to snap a shot of the president’s son and get the hell out of here. But, as per usual, I have absolutely no luck. There’s no sign of a kid standing with any of the president’s entourage, just this random little boy that’s currently wandering closer and closer to the road. And when he walks right upto oncoming traffic to scoop something off the ground just opposite me, I decide that Tzelik’s son is obviously not here today, but this kid clearly needs help to get back to his parents. And that’s more important than stupid Elena and her stupid pretend son.
Imagine if this really was Tzelik’s kid, though, I think to myself with a snort as I cross the road. Wouldn’t that be just my luck…
But what are the odds that a dictator as apparently paranoid as Tzelik would allow his son to just wander around unsupervised?
By the time I cross, the boy is playing with a pile of rocks against a low stone wall, and when I reach him, I slide my backpack to the ground and crouch to be at his eye level. His silver brows are scrunched and his pink tongue is poking out from between white lips in concentration.
“Hey, honey,” I say gently, “what’s your name?”
The boy’s face instantly goes blank as a pair of shocking, impossibly bright blue eyes dart across to meet my gaze, and he doesn’t say anything.
“Where’s your mom?” I try again.
“What do you care?” he says, his sharp little row of teeth flashing as he speaks with a downward curl of his lips.
I blink in surprise. That’s a strong attitude for a kid so young.
“I noticed that you’re here all by yourself,” I say, trying to hold my frown back. “I wanted to check to see if you were okay, if you needed help getting back to your parents.”
He scoffs and turns away from me, knocking his tower of rocks over and starting on reassembling it. “No, I don’t need you,” he says without looking back. “You can leave.”
And then he flicks his pale little wrist at me, his sharp black nails wriggling in my face, and I have never felt so thoroughly dismissed in my whole life.
“Wow, kid,” I mutter, leaning back in my crouch. “Who taught you such horrible manners?”
“That would be me,” a deep, smooth voice replies as a shadow falls over the both of us, and a sinking, unsettling feeling washes straight through me as I turn and look up.
And up.
And up.
Polished black boots. Crisp, storm-gray trousers. A stiff, double-breasted military jacket with a high collar and platinum embellishments woven along the sleeve cuffs, etched into the gleaming buttons, curling across the ornate metal belt on which hangs a very shinythin sword with a glistening pommel and a few glittering black gems.
My eyes travel across a broad chest lined with polished badges, all of which connect to the left shoulder-pad via delicate, shining chains, and even before my gaze lands on his strong jaw line, paper-white skin, and intense—terrifying—electric blue eyes, I know exactly who I’m looking at…
“I suppose a slew of incompetent nannies would have made an impact, too,” he continues, and he quirks a sharp eyebrow at me as I struggle to even remember what the last thing he said was. His silver hair is pushed neatly back behind pointed ears, and there are three small black dots that line along the very ends of his pin-straight eyebrows, serving to further emphasize his aloof expression. “Why, do you think you could do a better job raising my son?”
I try very, very hard not to choke in terror as President Vahadr Tzelik II clasps his hands behind his back, and stares at me.
