Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1)(74)

“Your Highness,” Jacinta says, finding the will to bend her body into a curtsy.

He grunts, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hair is pure gold haloing his face. “Who in the hells are you?”

Alarms play against her eardrums. No, not alarms. Her heart. She can hear her own blood pumping through her, every single beat an answer to the hard blue stare of the royal boy.

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace. Um. Lord Commander. I’m to fetch your—erm—unwanted garbs for my mistress. I’m so sorry about all of this. You don’t deserve any heartache, my l-lord.”

He is staring at her now, arms crossed like the statue of the angel San Márcos in the center garden. An angel waiting to pronounce judgment. It’s like he comes awake. He sees the wreckage of the room. The bottles. The cigars. The clothes.

Those blue eyes dart a path back to his bedchamber. For a moment, his body softens, arms coming down to his sides to rest. He takes a deep breath, as if to brace himself. The kind of breath she’d take if she were plunging into the cold common pools in the capital center. He rubs his lips together, and for the first time she realizes that she has never seen the prince this close-up before. His mouth is the shape of a bow and the pale sort of pink she has never seen on a man before.

Then she realizes she is still standing and still staring and, oh—Father of Worlds—she needs to move. But as ruined and terrible as he is, she’s loved Prince Castian since the first day she saw him.

“I don’t deserve heartache?” Castian says, tortured, hard. “You don’t know what I deserve.”

She shakes her head. Has she said the wrong thing? She always says the wrong thing.

He picks up the wine bottle and drinks. Wine spills down his chest. He makes a strangled sound. Is he crying? She hates to see him this way.

“Get out,” he says to her, so low she takes a step closer.

She can’t leave without his wedding garments. “My lord—”

He throws the bottle across the room and it shatters. “You want my things? Here.” He runs into the bedroom. He is a magnet, and she follows despite her fear.

On his bed are two women rousing from sleep. They shrink back in terror at the screaming prince, who tears through his dressing closet. He gathers his groom’s clothes and throws them at Jacinta’s feet.

“There! Take it. Take all of it.”

She gathers up his clothes. They smell like him. Like woodsmoke and salt of the sea. He’s worn them. He’d gotten dressed and worn them.

Castian retreats to the farthest corner of the bedroom and turns his back on them all. He is still as marble, the angel at a temple she would always worship.

“Please leave me,” he says.

And they leave.



Movement in the halls alerts me to let go. I relinquish my hold on Jacinta’s mind and slink back through the laundry room, past the kitchens, my heart racing. No one in the Whispers had heard of this engagement. But one thing is for sure: I have to get inside the prince’s chambers. Music spills into the smaller workrooms. If there were ever a time I could take my chance, it would be tonight.

I quickly retrieve my alman stone from my pocket. Using trembling sweaty fingers to do the clasp, I think of the drunken prince in Jacinta’s memory. Memories can’t be changed, even when someone wants them to be. She worships the prince, and all of her feelings thread into my skin. I want to tear at it until the sickening longing fades.

The moment I step into the corridor, a body shoves me against the wall. Fragrant holy oils suffocate me. A hand slaps over my mouth to keep me from screaming. I kick out hard and my attacker staggers. It’s Alessandro.

“I saw you,” he says, grunting as he recovers. “What were you doing to that servant girl, bestae?”

My heart rate spikes. I grab for the closest thing I can get my hands on. A wooden slat used to stir the lye.

“You must be confused, Judge Alessandro,” I say. “Her friends asked me to check on her.”

He keeps his distance, but I see his mind working, going through each of his options. “You’re all deceivers. Your hand works perfectly fine.”

I grip the slat tighter. If I hit him, it would be as good as treason. If I let him go to Méndez, all this will be over.

“There you are!” Leo shouts. His flop of black curls is disheveled from dancing and his cheeks are flushed. Has it truly been an hour? I have never been more glad to see anyone in my life. He takes in Alessandro and then me. “What’s happening?”

“She’s lying about her injury. I saw her preying on a sleeping girl to devour her memories. I’m taking her to Justice Méndez now,” he says.

Leo pauses, looking Alessandro up and down. Then his forehead draws together with mild concern.

“I’ll accompany you,” Leo says gravely as he stands between us. An icy feeling cuts through me. I told myself I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet, I am. “Now, just so I can help you back up your story for Justice Méndez, what is your proof? I only want to be certain, Judge Alessandro, so we do not disturb the justice unnecessarily.”

What is Leo doing?

“What do you mean, proof? I don’t have to prove anything. I will tell Justice Méndez, and he will believe me because my word is truth.”

Leo nods like he’s eating up the other man’s claim. “Of course, Judge Alessandro! But”—he glances at my chest as if he’s just noticed the stone resting there—“what will the alman stone show?”