The Cruel Prince (The Folk of the Air #1)(29)

“There is a pleasure in being with them,” he says. “Taking what we wish, indulging in every terrible thought. There’s safety in being awful.”

“Because at least they’re not terrible to you?” I ask.

Again, he does not answer.

When we get close to Madoc’s estate, I stop. “I should go alone from here.” I give him a smile that probably wavers a little bit. It’s hard to keep it on my face.

“Wait,” he says, taking a step toward me. “I want to see you again.”

I groan, too exasperated for surprise. I am standing here in a borrowed blanket, boots, and mall-bought underwear. I am smeared in soil, and I have just made a fool of myself. “Why?”

He looks at me as though he sees something else entirely. There’s an intensity in his gaze that makes me stand up a little straighter, despite the dirt. “Because you’re like a story that hasn’t happened yet. Because I want to see what you will do. I want to be part of the unfolding of the tale.”

I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not, but I guess I’ll take it.

He lifts my hand—the same one Cardan stabbed with the pin—and kisses the very tips of my fingers. “Until tomorrow,” he says, making a bow.

And so, in that borrowed blanket, boots, and mall-bought underwear, I walk on by myself, heading for home.



“Tell me who did this,” Madoc insists, over and over again, but I won’t. He stomps around, explaining in detail how he will find the faeries responsible and destroy them. He will rip out their hearts. He will cut off their heads and mount them on the roof of our house as a warning to others.

I know it’s not me he’s threatening, but it’s still me he’s yelling at.

When I am scared, I can’t forget that no matter how well he plays the role of father, he will always and forever also be my father’s murderer.

I don’t say anything. I think about how Oriana was afraid that Taryn or I would misbehave at the Court and cause Madoc embarrassment. Now I wonder if she was more worried about how he’d react if something did happen. Cutting off Valerian’s and Nicasia’s heads is bad politics. Hurting Cardan amounts to treason.

“I did it myself,” I say finally, to make this stop. “I saw the fruit and it looked good, so I ate it.”

“How could you be so foolish?” Oriana says, whirling around. She doesn’t look surprised; she looks as though I am confirming her worst suspicions. “Jude, you know better.”

“I wanted to have fun. It’s supposed to be fun,” I tell her, playing the disobedient daughter for all it’s worth. “And it was. It was like a beautiful dream—”

“Be quiet!” Madoc shouts, shocking us both into silence. “Both of you, quiet!”

I cringe involuntarily.

“Jude, stop trying to annoy Oriana,” he says, giving me an exasperated look I am not sure he’s ever given me before, but has turned it on Vivi plenty.

He knows I’m lying.

“And, Oriana, don’t be so gullible.” When she realizes what he means, a small, delicate hand comes up to cover her mouth.

“When I find out whom you’re protecting,” he tells me, “they will be sorry they ever drew breath.”

“This is not helping,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

He kneels down in front of me and takes my hand in his rough green fingers. He must be able to feel how I am trembling. He lets out a long sigh, probably discarding more threats. “Then tell me what will help, Jude. Tell me, and I will do it.”

I wonder what would happen if I said the words: Nicasia humiliated me. Valerian tried to murder me. They did it to impress Prince Cardan, who hates me. I am scared of them. I am more scared of them than I am of you, and you terrify me. Make them stop. Make them leave me alone.

But I won’t. Madoc’s anger is fathomless. I have seen it in my mother’s blood on the kitchen floor. Once summoned, it cannot be called back.

What if he murdered Cardan? What if he killed them all? His answer to so many problems is bloodshed. If they were dead, their parents would demand satisfaction. The wrath of the High King would fall on him. I would be worse off than I am now, and Madoc would likely be dead.

“Teach me more,” I say instead. “More strategy. More bladework. Teach me everything you know.” Prince Dain may want me for a spy, but that doesn’t mean giving up my sword.

Madoc looks impressed, and Oriana, annoyed. I can tell she thinks that I am manipulating him and that I am doing a good job of it.

“Very well,” he says with a sigh. “Tatterfell will bring you dinner, unless you feel up to joining us at the dining table. We will begin a more intensive training tomorrow.”

“I’ll eat upstairs,” I say, and head to my room, still wrapped in someone else’s blanket. On the way, I pass Taryn’s closed door. Part of me wants to go in, fling myself on her bed, and weep. I want her to hold me and tell me that there wasn’t anything I could have done differently. I want her to tell me that I am brave and that she loves me.

But since I am sure that’s not what she’d do, I pass her door by.

My room has been tidied while I was gone, my bed made and my windows opened to let in the night air. And there, on the foot of my bed, is a folded-up dress of homespun with the royal crest that servants of the princes and princesses wear. Sitting on the balcony is the owl-faced hob.