Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(40)

Thick silence draped the empty hallway; each direction stretched on identically. She had absolutely no idea how to get back to her rooms. With no orientation or memory of the route she’d taken to get to the dining room, she took a few tentative steps to the left before a voice halted her progress.

“Leaving?”

She turned to find Jack standing behind her, regal and gorgeous. He was so close, but now untouchable. She hardened her features, not looking directly at him, not wanting to give away the storm of emotions fighting for dominance within her. Her fists clenched and opened as her body stiffened with tension. Traitorous tears welled; she blinked them back.

“I’m not sure if I should bow or curtsy or what,” she said, gripping her hands in front of her to stop their movement.

“I am sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said, voice pitched low. “I wanted to. I should have. It’s inexcusable, I just . . .”

She longed to hear an excuse that would satisfy her and return things to the way they were. No words came. He shook his head and rubbed at his chest, just below his collarbone where his bullet wound had been.

“Jasminda.” He stepped closer, and she took a step back.

“That wound was healed. Does it still bother you?”

He dropped his hand to his side and drew even closer, backing her against the wall. She stared at the carpet, but he tilted her face up with a finger on her chin. Wanting to numb herself to the feeling of his skin on hers, she refused to meet his eyes and focused instead on his chest, covered in rich-looking fabric with brightly colored insignias on his uniform. He released her chin, but she stubbornly continued avoiding his face.

“Jasminda,” he repeated. Her name on his lips was more than she could bear. “If I could change who I am, I’d do it in a heartbeat. You deserved the truth. I owed you that much.”

“You can have no debt to me. I helped a captive soldier, not a prince.” As much as she tried to avoid it, she was drawn to him. Perhaps this was the last time she’d be this close to him. The tears escaped; she could not stop them. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I have urgent business in my room that needs attending to. Pleasant evening.”

She slid out of the cage of his body and gave a wobbly curtsy before picking up her beautiful skirt and running. When one hallway ended, she picked another at random. She had no idea where she was going, but she’d rather be lost in the palace for a thousand years than see Prince Jack again.

Blinded by her tears, she finally stopped in a blue hallway full of mirrors. She leaned against a little table but refused to look at her face, ashamed of her reaction to him. He could no longer be Jack. He could no longer be her hope. He could be nothing to her at all.




“One of the maids escorted her to her chambers,” Usher said, entering the dimly lit space. Jack paused mid-step from where he’d been pacing the floor of his sitting room, only half listening to the evening news.

“Thank you, Usher. Make sure she has a servant assigned to her at all times so she doesn’t become lost again.”

The old man nodded.

“But don’t let her know that I ordered it. I don’t think she would like that.”

To his credit, Usher didn’t even raise an eyebrow. The valet had been with Jack’s family since before he was born. The old man’s kindly face was a warmer, more familiar sight than his own father’s had been. Jack switched off the radiophonic, silencing the newsreader mid-sentence, then fell into an armchair in front of the fireplace. He could not begrudge Jasminda her anger and pain. It had been inexcusable for him to keep the truth from her.

But each chance he’d had to tell her—that night at the base, or the morning before they’d left for Rosira when he could have found a quiet place to explain—he’d avoided it. Reality was coming faster than he had wanted, and he’d been certain he could outpace it.

But one of the reasons he’d always hated the palace was that his time was not his own here. Even more so now that he was the bloody Prince Regent. His return had been chaotic, with the secret coronation last night and then a flurry of briefings. The bulk of the armed forces had been ordered to the eastern border in preparation for the breach, which could come any day. And a troop buildup such as this required the Council to approve the additional funds, but they had refused to meet until tomorrow.

Aside from the pending disaster with Lagrimar, he’d had calls with the leaders of their allies, Fremia and Yaly, letters to read and sign, introductions to staff and security personnel to make. He’d hardly looked up when he was being called for dinner, and then it was too late.

He’d been a fool, and worse, a cowardly one. His desire to put off any change to the way she saw him had won out over his good sense, and Jasminda had suffered. The weight of the crown threatened to press him down into the earth.

He’d never wanted to be the prince as a child, never envied his brother for being born a decade earlier. He hadn’t even wanted the title he’d been born to, High Commander of the Royal Army, but he’d had little choice and been shipped away at eight years old to begin his training. Eventually, he grew used to military life, but the world of the palace remained as foreign as ever. All the politics and backstabbing, coddling and smiling were just not a part of who he was. He hadn’t wanted to admit to Jasminda what he didn’t like to think of himself: he would now be chained to position and ceremony for the rest of his life.