Bring Me Their Hearts(38)
“Don’t stare,” she whispers. I skitter my eyes away, but I’m not the only curious one. The crowd of nobles continues conversing with one another. Occasionally they glance over to the prince and the girl. It’s subtle but effective. I mimic them, stealing a peek every few seconds. One moment Prince Lucien and the girl are talking, the next he’s making her giggle.
“They’re…flirting,” I mutter to Y’shennria. “That’s what that is, right? The reddened cheeks, the high-pitched laughter, the crooked smiles. Flirting.”
“Obviously,” she drones.
“Trees and animal droppings don’t tend to flirt, so you’ll have to forgive my slowness.”
“Could you refrain from being witty for perhaps a single minute?” Y’shennria inquires.
“I’d rather eat gravel,” I say. She gives me a look. “Sugared gravel, preferably.”
Back in Flirt Kingdom, the prince bids Charm farewell, then moves to Grace, who smiles with all her teeth at him. She has very many teeth, and I marvel at the fact no one has slapped any of them out yet. Then I remember they don’t slap faces around these parts. If someone comes for you in court, it’ll be a dagger from behind.
They talk, laughing together. His smile is so bright and different from his past scowls it strikes me half blind. Is that what it means to be a prince—smiling at nobles you clearly dislike?
“Prepare yourself,” Y’shennria murmurs to me. “He’s undoubtedly coming your way next.”
I watch him tuck a strand of hair behind Grace’s ear tenderly. Just a moment ago he looked at her like she wasn’t worth his time, and now he’s touching her? Is he fickle or simply short of memory? I watch his expression more closely, and the edges of it look worn thin—an expression I saw on my own face in the mirror as I trained with Y’shennria. He isn’t fickle at all. He’s faking it. The crowd murmurs:
“He always does this—”
“—pays them all special attention, then never settles on one—”
“—what I wouldn’t give to have him look at me that way—”
“—a criminal flirt, if you ask me—”
Prince Lucien bids Grace farewell and walks toward us. I lift my chin and tense my shoulders, ready for him to fake interest in me, too. When he’s an arm’s length away, close enough to touch, the hunger beings to growl madly.
Take his heart, it thunders. Feast on him. Take him, right here and right now, and you have your freedom.
Images flash—images of blood and teeth and Father’s and Mother’s bodies. The pain that’s in my every breath, haunting me even now below my bodice—in one fell swoop I’d be free of it. His shoulder brushes against mine ever so slightly as he passes me by without a word. My teeth grow long and sharp instantly, ready to lunge at him, to end our suffering here and now, but I fight it desperately. Amid the raging inferno in my chest is a single moment of cold, clear silence; the smell of rainwater and leather follows him. That scent is unique. The sight of his dark eyes up close; the curve of them, the shadowed corners, the anger within—something about them is familiar. The crowd reacts immediately.
“—slighted—”
“—the first time I’ve seen him ignore a girl—”
“Is something wrong with her?”
“—the girl of an Old God family—”
“—must’ve truly displeased him—”
“Now that you mention it, she isn’t very pretty at all—”
The words lodge like that celeon assassin’s dagger did, square in my back and burning. They’re all watching me for some reaction—but I give them nothing. A snub from a prince is nothing compared to what they’d do if they knew my chest beats empty. I must never forget—no matter the compliments, the smiles, every single person in this room is my enemy.
All of humanity, the hunger whispers. Our enemy.
Prince Lucien’s gaze lingers in my mind. Those eyes. Those eyes. Where have I seen them before? And then it hits me, and I feel like an absolute moron for not realizing the moment I first saw him.
The gods must be playing a joke on me. They played one before, when they allowed me to be born into this world. And now they’ve turned to pure cruelty.
The thief Whisper, Prince Lucien d’Malvane. They’re the same godsdamn person. His dislike for nobles, his voice. The boy I chased gleefully through the streets of Vetris. The boy who, for one fleeting moment, made me feel human again. He’s the Crown Prince of Cavanos, the one I’m destined to rip the heart from. I was too nervous, too bent on not failing, to see it before.
With a great internal wrench, I suppress my teeth and whirl around, saying clearly to his back: “Do you enjoy walks about the city, Your Highness?”
The crowd goes deathly still. Y’shennria stiffens beside me, and her ingrained lessons echo—I shouldn’t be speaking to him first. It’s a breach of etiquette. But etiquette isn’t who I’m here to impress. The prince freezes, his bodyguard fixing me with his crimson eyes. Only Whisper and I know what I’m really asking. My stomach churns; maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he doesn’t remember me as vividly as I remember him.
“Occasionally,” his voice rings out, though he doesn’t turn around. “Though I prefer to walk with a lady who knows her manners.”