Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(71)

“Fine.” Finn pushed off the wall she leaned against and walked to the door, raising her arm to pull the hood of the cloak over her head. “Then I’ll head out and be back in the morn—”

“No, wait. Stay,” Alfie said. His voice always had the quality of a hand outstretched, open to help, to guide. She wondered if he knew how soft and horrifically vulnerable it made him sound.

Finn turned to him, her eyebrows raised. When her eyes darted to the bed, the prince’s face reddened.

“I didn’t mean—I meant—I—” He put a hand over his eyes and sighed.

Finn couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re very precious, you know. This is why it was so easy to distract you when we first fought.” She shook her head, remembering when she’d jokingly asked if he’d wanted to join her in bed to throw him off his game. His lips had parted when she’d said that, as if her words had laced the air with honey and he hoped to taste it.

He seemed to be remembering it too. Alfie’s hand moved from his eyes and up into his curly locks. “And you’re very sure in your opinions.”

“Only when I’m absolutely right.”

Alfie shook his head at that. “I meant to say you can stay here, in my rooms. I’ll stay with Luka for the night.”

Finn looked at the bed again. Each pillow must’ve cost a goose every last one of its feathers. The thick sheets of red and gold called to her aching body—a night of comfort instead of wondering how many more days she could afford in an inn almost felt worth the horrors of the day. But with the prince’s eyes on her, she stopped the relief from spreading over her, cool and healing as a salve.

Finn turned in a slow circle, surveying the room with its plush bed on its raised dais. The floors and walls lacquered with brightly colored tiles. She’d been here once before and never thought she’d be returning, let alone to sleep in his bed.

“Is that a good idea?” she asked as she stepped forward and leaned against the poster of the bed, its stiff pressure between her shoulder blades. The prince looked at her, concern already tugging his features. “Won’t your servants die of shock when they come in and find a girl in your bed?”

Alfie breathed a long sigh through his nose. “I will inform them that they are not to enter my rooms for the time being.”

A silence fell between them and she could see him struggling to swallow down a retort. He fought and lost.

“And it’s hardly any of your business, but it’s not as if I’ve never had anyone in my bed.”

Finn’s lips quirked up. Did he know that each time he hurried to defend himself, he tossed a rope down to her that she could use to pull him clean off his high horse?

“Well, did you at least wash the sheets after?”

His face reddened and he sputtered before speaking. “Are you always this rude?”

“Depends on the company.” She plopped onto the bed and kicked her shoes off. One boot landed on its side, revealing the sole that was still caked in blood from the pub. The air changed then, and the remnants of her joke sat sour on her tongue.

The silence stretched on. The prince’s eyes clung to the shoe, his throat working. If it went any longer she would fill it with thoughts of Ignacio, of his strings, of the pub slick with blood.

“You know, making you look like a due?o won’t be enough,” she said. “You’ll need to embody a due?o, move like one.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “You assume I haven’t considered this?”

“I’m sure you’ve considered it.” She rolled her eyes. “Considering is different from actually doing something right. You walk like a maldito peacock, and I doubt it’s a habit you can kick overnight.”

“I walk like a peacock?” he repeated as if he didn’t know if he should be insulted or just confused.

Her gaze dropped to his narrow hips. “You strut.”

“Qué?” He started where he stood and brought his hands forward, clasping them before him as if he could block her view. “No I don’t.”

“All I’m saying is that you move like a prince and if you want to move about the prison without drawing attention to yourself, then you’d better do it right.”

The prince crossed his arms then, and again she saw the internal battle inside of him. His pride and the desire to get this right clashing in his mind. The latter won out.

“Show me,” he said, his face open, asking for answers. “Please.”

Finn stood from his bed and worked with him, showing him how to walk, to hobble and hunch instead of strut with the pride of a crown. She taught him how to lower and soften his voice into that rasp that wise bruxos of a certain age seemed to master.

When he had it down he looked at her, impressed. “You truly are knowledgeable about this.”

“It’s my life,” she said. Or it had been, she thought with a frown, before Kol took it from her.

At her words, Alfie held her gaze, his gold eyes round with a concern so genuine that it made her skin crawl.

Finn did not like it when the prince looked at her.

She’d spent her life impersonating others. She was the master of looking past someone’s facade to the truth that beat within them, hard and fast. Yet when he looked at her, his head tilted, thoughtful, cautious, it was she who felt laid bare, pages of secrets open at his fingertips.