Bring Me Their Hearts(40)

It’s a small mercy that my lie is also a truth. I throw on my best genuine smile.

“I simply want your heart, my prince.”

Y’shennria goes terribly stiff and pale beside me. The Beneather raises one blade-thin gray eyebrow. Prince Lucien doesn’t so much as blink as he studies my face. The naked truth hangs in the air, too bright. I have to shade it.

“Oh!” I clap my hands. “And perhaps a dress or two along the way. I’m awfully fond of pretty dresses.”

“I hate to disappoint you,” Lucien starts finally. “But I have no heart to give.”

“That’s strange. I could’ve sworn princes who give golden watches to beggar girls qualify for at least one whole heart.”

Y’shennria’s eyes dart between us, and the prince scoffs. The heart that pumps his blood, moves his breath—that heart that lets him scoff so is exactly the one I need. Something like bewildered amusement melts the stone in his eyes, that bitter, thorny exterior he keeps up, but it’s cut short by the newcomer who exits the door just then. In a blur, Lucien separates from me, his courtly reflexes quicker than mine.

“What’s the meaning of this, Your Highness?” Archduke Gavik approaches, Y’shennria and I bowing to him only slightly. The prince refuses to bow at all. “A nigh-private rendezvous with Lady Zera? Have you already chosen which Bride will be yours? Impressive. I counted you more particular than that.”

It’s a sly insult to both of us, but I do my best to look stupid and unaware of it. The dumber Gavik thinks I am, the more I can get away with. Prince Lucien’s whole face changes in an instant at Gavik’s words. The slight warmth and humor in his expression fade rapidly, until all that’s left is the princely mask.

“I don’t recall asking your opinion on the subject of my future wife, Archduke,” Lucien says.

“Of course not. But your father asked me to oversee this Welcoming,” Gavik interjects, smoothing his silvery mantle between two fingers. “Considering the last three have been such…disappointments for you.”

The prince and the archduke stare each other down in a moment of utter stillness. I know I’m supposed to be polite to Gavik, but I can’t get out of my head the image of him ordering that boy to be purged. It’s all I can do not to sneer at him constantly.

“Your Graces, please,” Y’shennria slides her words in sideways, smooth as fresh cream. “My niece would be heartbroken if you gave her false hope as to the prince’s affections. Let us remain on neutral ground until the Verdance Day announcement, shall we?”

Gavik reluctantly pulls his veiled glare from Lucien’s more outward one and glances at Y’shennria with white-hot venom. “Indeed. Does your ladyship plan to attend the blessing this week? I didn’t see you at the temple last time.”

Y’shennria’s eyebrow gives a little twitch. It’s the same twitch I’ve seen the last few days every time I’ve done something to irritate her.

“I was traveling to retrieve my niece then, Your Grace.”

“So you were. Yet my lawguards in Northgrove tell me you came and went through the town without joining in the midweek blessing.”

Y’shennria’s brow grows sharper. “I’m sure Kavar, in His infinite kindness and wisdom, would forgive a woman who’s lost her family some urgency in retrieving her last living relative.”

“Perhaps He would,” Gavik agrees. “But a mortal such as myself, who knows your family’s proclivity for heresy, wouldn’t.”

“You’ve forgotten far too soon what it’s like to lose someone dear to you, Archduke,” the prince says coldly. Gavik fixes him with a look.

“I’ve never forgotten, Your Highness. Not once in fifty-eight years.”

There’s a taut sinew among the three of them, dangerous and barbed and heavy with history I’m not privy to. Fisher pulls the carriage up to the bottom of the stairs then, and I grab for it as an escape route.

“Auntie, I’m terribly fatigued.” I put on my best whiny noble voice. “Can we go home now?”

The tension fractures as Y’shennria excuses us, and we bow. I sneak one last smirk at Prince Lucien over my shoulder, the carriage a welcome rest from pretending to be oh-so ignorant and empty-headed. Y’shennria is quiet as the carriage rolls away from the palace, and I look upon the grand fountains, thoughts swirling in me as the water of the man-made rivers swirls.

Of all the nobles Whisper could have been, it had to be the prince. Of course it was. Fate has never once shied away from the opportunity to take a massive shit on my life, and this time is no exception. Whisper could’ve been anyone—someone harmless, someone without a target painted on his back. Someone I could’ve been friends with, instead of enemies. Equals, instead of predator and prey.

When the palace is just a distant white glow behind the trees, Y’shennria lets out a breath.

“I never thought I’d say this.” She looks at me. “But I’m grateful to you, Zera.”

“For what?”

“Pulling me away from that man,” she says. I gasp.

“You don’t like the archduke? Is it the rancid attitude or the genocidal tendencies?”

Y’shennria scoffs. “Both, and more. No one in court likes him. They simply pretend to because they must.”