Rise of Fire (Reign of Shadows #2)(17)

His arrogant tone pricked at me. I knew he was born to privilege and all the honors of his rank, and it stood to reason he should sound so haughty. It shouldn’t bother me. And yet it did.

Being born to privilege didn’t mean you had to be full of such arrogance. Fowler didn’t sound or act that way.

I couldn’t stop myself. I spoke up. “He is who he claims. We’re not lying.” Hot defiance draped my words.

Fowler reached for my arm again, squeezing for me to hold my tongue. He should know me better by now.

“Is that so, little one?” Prince Chasan took a step in my direction, and I instantly had second thoughts about calling his attention back to me.

Fowler slid a step closer to me, as though he would shield me—he who could hardly stand on his own two feet.

“I’m not mistaken, Your Highness,” Breslen offered resolutely.

“Interesting.” Mint breath was on my face again. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, and I resented that. Unpleasant people shouldn’t smell nice. “I cannot decide whether I trust your judgment, Breslen. Especially since you are so glaringly wrong about the boy here.”

I jerked at this reference to me. I was standing right in front of him. I felt his stare on my face, and yet he spoke about me as if I were some inferior species.

“What do you mean, Your Highness?” Breslen asked, indignation thrumming in his tones, robbing him of his usual reverence despite his formal address.

The prince did not seem to note it. Or he simply let it slide. “This boy is not a boy at all. He’s a girl. Trust me. I’m an authority on the subject of girls.” Dry humor spiked his voice, which did nothing to lessen my burst of panic. He knew. He took one look at me and knew.

Breslen sputtered as Prince Chasan continued, “You failed to notice this most obvious truth, but I’m to believe you’re perceptive enough to remember and recognize the prince of Relhok?”

My mouth worked to say something. How? How did he know? What had I done to give myself away to him so quickly and not the others? For three days I had traveled among them, my true gender undetected.

“You’re wrong,” Fowler offered beside me, clinging to the lie, unwilling to give up. He forced out a cracking laugh as if it were an absurd suggestion and only worthy of mirth. I swallowed miserably, knowing it was a lost cause even if Fowler wasn’t willing to admit that yet.

“Indeed. Am I?” Prince Chasan asked in a mild manner, his elegant tones as slick as glass—as if he were remarking upon the taste of his soup and not something significant. Not something that could spell death for me. “Because it would be an easy enough matter to prove.” There was a beat of silence as this sank in. My stomach dipped and then heaved back up. “Shall I?” he asked, testing us.

He snapped his fingers, and suddenly two soldiers grabbed me by the arms and hauled me away from Fowler’s side. I struggled, but they were bigger and stronger.

They held me in front of Prince Chasan, arms stretched wide at my sides like some sacrifice. And that’s how I felt. Exposed and open for whatever awful thing he wanted to do.

Fingers slid down the skin of my throat, warm to the touch, but that didn’t stop my shudder. I yanked my head to the side, trying to escape the brush of the prince’s fingers. The hard hands holding me only tightened their grip, bruising me through my garments. The pads of his fingers were surprisingly callused, rasping my dirty skin as they roamed, stopping to rest at my hammering pulse. An egg-sized lump lodged itself in my throat.

Shivering, I tried to wiggle away from the contact, but I was pinned to the spot, held up for inspection—for anything and everything the prince wanted to do to me. It was a hard bite of reality. I could do nothing save wait for him to make his next move. My utter sense of helplessness was perhaps the worst thing I had endured so far.

His liquid voice was close, sliding on the air and sinking through me like falling rocks. “It’s hard to tell beneath all the mud and filth, but I would hazard to say she’s a fetching thing.”

I forced my chin up, not cowering, swallowing back a whimper as his fingers dipped lower, stopping at the center of my throat, in that tiny hollow between my collarbones. “The softest skin,” he mused. “How could you think her a boy, Breslen?”

There was a violent surge of movement to my left. “Take your hands off—” Fowler’s voice stopped abruptly, almost saying it. Almost confirming I was the girl.

My heart hiccuped painfully as I turned my face in Fowler’s direction. I felt his gaze and tried to communicate with him, tried to convey that maybe we should just confess the truth and be done with it. Anything to get Chasan’s hands and attention off me.

“Her?” Prince Chasan finished for him, sounding so smug and satisfied that I wanted to claw his face. “You’d like me to get my hands off her?”

Fowler didn’t answer. He sucked in an angry breath, but said nothing.

“Fowler,” I croaked.

“Still won’t admit it, then?” The prince tsked and paused, giving me and Fowler time to volunteer the truth that was fast becoming unavoidable.

I waited, dread pooling in my stomach, my voice lost deep inside me as I listened to the rasp of Fowler’s breath, wondering at his next move. Prince Chasan sighed as though greatly aggrieved. “Very well.”

His fingers curled into the throat of my shirt and yanked down hard. The sound of fabric ripping was violent and obscene on the loam-soaked air.