Bring Me Their Hearts(39)

Relief spreads through me like molten honey. A half insult. He does recognize me.

“I’ll be sure to bring Your Highness one such lady, then, as tribute.” I swear I hear him snort at that. He strides away, bodyguard following, and the crowd breathes only when he’s gone.

I’m still smirking as Y’shennria yanks on my elbow (is it getting easier for her to touch a monster, I wonder?) and hisses, “Do you have any idea—”

“I can explain,” I insist. “But only somewhere without a thousand prying eyes.”

Her hazel irises look me up and down for truth. “The carriage, then. We leave, now, and you pray to the Old God your reasons for breaching the most important rule I taught you are sound enough.”

We leave the Hall of Time, leave the decadent halls of gold and marble behind. The prince is Whisper—Whisper is the prince. Two very different presentations of the same personality. How did a prince learn to steal so well? How does a thief sneak in and out of the palace grounds regularly? I’m so lost in my questions I barely hear the deep voice on the way out to our carriage.

“You will tell no one.”

Y’shennria ducks into a bow instantly, and I look to my side to see Prince Lucien, waiting just outside the door. He nods once to acknowledge Y’shennria, but his dark eyes are narrowed squarely on me. His bodyguard lingers at his side, bloodred eyes lazily fixed on a butterfly settled on his long finger. I know I should bow to the Crown Prince, but the idea of bowing to the snarky thief Whisper is intolerable. My pride makes my back stiff. Y’shennria’s sideways glances demand I do, but as I bend my ankle, Prince Lucien scoffs.

“Don’t. You didn’t do it the first time we met, and if you do it now, I’ll start to dislike you.”

“I’m sorry.” I laugh. “Do you not dislike me already? I couldn’t tell with the way you shunned me and left the entire court to dogpile on my good name.”

“I warned you about the court, and you ignored it like a fool.” He breathes, tired and long, and runs his hands through his hair.

“I’m not in the habit of taking advice from strangers in dark alleys,” I retort. His eyes snap to Y’shennria, but she betrays nothing on her face. I press. “I haven’t told anyone about you. Yet.”

“And you will continue to remain silent on the matter,” he says imperiously. “I’ve worked very hard to keep it quiet. I won’t have you ruining all those years of effort.”

I can’t help my laugh. “All right. Say I keep your secret; what’s in it for me?”

“Zera,” Y’shennria says sharply. “You will speak to the prince with respect.”

Prince Lucien waves one hand at her. “I’m taking no offense, Lady Y’shennria. This girl is a…” He narrows his eyes further at me. “Special case. And an especially annoying one.”

“Don’t try to change the subject by flattering me,” I singsong. “Do you know how hard it is for me to keep my mouth shut? Spectacular compensation is the minimal requirement.”

Y’shennria watches in absolute stillness, coiled tight, as if she’s ready to pounce the moment the conversation turns sour. The Beneather bodyguard chuckles, the sound sending the butterfly on his finger into the air.

“She’s not afraid of you, Luc.”

“I’m aware,” the prince drawls without taking his eyes from me. “And I hope you’re aware you’re blackmailing the prince of Cavanos.”

I sigh greatly. “And here I was, thinking of calling this the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

“Your Highness, I—” Y’shennria jumps in, but the prince holds up a hand and silences her. Silencing stern, to-be-obeyed Y’shennria? I hardly believed it possible until this moment. He leans in to me then, so close it’s breaking at least a hundred thousand rules of decorum.

“I could run you out of this court with nothing but a single slipped rumor to my bedchamber servant,” Prince Lucien says softly. My hand twitches toward my sword—my usual reaction to men threatening me. If this were Nightsinger’s forest and he a witch-hunting mercenary, I would’ve sliced part of his ear off already. I preferred him as Whisper, not this arrogant, insincere royal pain in my ass. At least I could fantasize about punching Whisper without the fantasy immediately being ruined by the threat of dungeon-jail.

“You could,” I ponder. “Except then I would stalk the streets, wait for you. Don’t you think the lawguards will appreciate a citizen pointing out every fish barrel and shadowy alley a person”—I refrain from saying “thief” with Y’shennria right here—“of your caliber would hide in?”

Now his eyes narrow to deadly cold obsidian slits. “You wouldn’t.”

I smile sweetly. “Of course I wouldn’t. Just like you wouldn’t run me out of the court with a rumor, right?”

“What do you want from me, Lady Zera?” He snarls. “Gold? Gems? A position of power?”

And now I finally see it—real emotion. I’m getting to him, peeling away a bit of that princely shell. No more arrogance or faked smiles. Something about the way he looks at me—so intently, like a starving hawk on the hunt—makes it near impossible to lie to him. And I lie to everyone. But now my mouth and mind refuse to. Is it deep-seated pity for what I’m going to do to him? Is it pity because I know his fate, and he doesn’t? Pity is dangerous. A wildcat doesn’t pity its prey.