Bring Me Their Hearts(101)
Fione’s smile fades. “Indeed.”
“It must be hard for you, being near this place.”
Her gaze flits over the dark, serrated tops of the pine trees. “Perhaps this visit is long overdue.”
One of the guards forks off, taking her arm abruptly and leading her to her tent. I duck into my own, closing the purple door flap tight behind me and waiting as the guard instructs for the bell to ring out the all clear. Worry festers in me—I can only hope by now they’ve locked Gavik up and thrown away the key.
ThEy’LL aLL diE sCreAming iN the enD, the hunger promises with a thousand voices of rusted razor.
I sit at my little desk, surrounded by people outside and yet feeling more alone than ever before. But I knew—I knew this was what awaited me. This was my fate from the beginning, so the sadness I feel clawing at my insides isn’t justified. I should’ve been prepared for this. I had two weeks to prepare, to harden myself, and I frittered it away pretending to be human instead.
The shouts of the guards, the clank of their armor. Would it be better, I wonder, to turn myself in? I pick up a letter opener on the desk, turning the sharp silver blade over in my hand. Would it be better to walk out there, this blade driven through my heart, showing the guards, showing everyone I’m immortal, hungry, inhuman? Show them I’m a danger—always have been—to their beloved Crown Prince? To them all?
“Zera?”
The deep voice makes me drop the letter opener and turn. There, in the doorway, stands Lucien. He looks winded, as though he ran here. Before the tent door closes behind him, I spot the edge of Malachite’s armor as he stands guard outside.
“Your Highness.” I duck into a deep curtsy. “You should be in your tent. It’s probably much nicer than this, and if the bandits’ arrows find us, I’d much rather only one of us perish.”
He draws close in an instant, his gloved hand reaching out to cup my cheek and his eyes terribly, frighteningly soft.
“If you think you can make me forget your tears with a few clever words, you’re wrong.”
He’s giving me the perfect moment to take his heart—alone, the forest just behind me, the guards distracted, my sword thirsty and waiting, and my hunger thirstier.
TAKE HIS IGNORANT GIFT, the hunger scream-whispers, the distortion gone and in its place an earthshattering volume that makes my whole head throb. SLIT HIM OPEN ON YOUR BLADE AND END HIS MISERABLE EXISTENCE.
My hand trembles toward my sword, but I stop it.
WHY DO YOU HESITATE? FEAR? YOU FEAR NOTHING, ESPECIALLY NOT A SINGLE WEAK HUMAN. HE COULDN’T STOP YOU IF HE WANTED TO. TAKE HIS HEART, TAKE HIS LIFE, HE IS YOURS FOR THE TAKING!
I pull my cheek from his hand, putting space between us. The less he touches me, the farther I am, the stronger my will.
“I was simply moved, seeing your cavalcade of guards. It was quite the beautiful sight in the full sunlight.”
HE MAKES YOU WEAK. BE RID OF HIM.
Lucien narrows his eyes. “You expect me to believe that?”
I EXPECT YOU TO BLEED.
“I expect nothing of you.” I steel my jaw. “Save for the common courtesy of trust.”
“Why were you crying?” he presses.
“I told you the reason. Or did you think that was a joke? I take my appreciation of beauty very seriously, Your Highness.”
“You’re lying.”
It should be so sinfully easy. The jar is sitting right there on my desk, full of deceptive sweets. One stab, one spurt of blood, and all this agony would be over. I drift toward him again, my hand resting on his chest where my prize beats in an erratic rhythm, speeding the closer I bring my face to his, our lips hovering inches from each other’s. My hand tightens on my sword, ready to strike.
PIERCE, the hunger sneers. PIERCE ONCE, AND THE PAIN IS OVER.
Lucien’s breath mixes hot with mine, his eyes strangely conflicted beneath his knitted brows. That same heady rush of adrenaline surges through me as when I first chased him through the streets of Vetris. Happiness.
It happens all at once, like a storm from nowhere. Lucien moves like a dark blur, cradling both sides of my face with his hands, resting his forehead against mine. My hand readying Father’s sword droops, all the strength in my arm sapped.
“I’m not good at this,” he admits softly.
“Playing the heartbreaker?” I laugh. “You seemed good enough at it during the Welcoming with the other Brides.”
“It’s easy to pretend, but the real thing is”—he sucks in a breath—“dizzying.”
“It can’t be real,” I say, making my voice strong despite the aching tug at my locket. “You know that, right?”
“Why not?” His stare pierces, demands an answer.
BECAUSE I’M A MONSTER, the hunger admits with a delighted hiss.
“Because—because I’m barely a noble at all. I’m a step niece, I know nothing about the court compared to you—”
“Do your feelings not matter at all?” Lucien asks.
“I am terrified of my feelings,” I admit, the only piece of truth I can admit. His face falls.
“Then—am I the only one who feels this way? Tell me you don’t feel the same, and I swear to you I will never bring it up again.”
I can’t tell him anything. I can’t even tell him who I really am, what I really came here to do. I scrabble for something to say, any scrap that will serve as a plausible lie.