Bring Me Their Hearts(45)

Lucien’s dark eyes flash. “Are you here to remind me of my enemies at court or to actually help?”

“You doubt I can do both at once? I’ll have you know I’m very talented.”

“Talented at stalking me,” he groans.

“What can I say?” I shrug. “You’re an eye-catching person. Very…visible. All that dark hair, I suppose. Oh, and the palpable aura of bitterness helps, too.”

“And you prefer bitterness in your men? Or just the ones you blackmail for something as vague as their time?”

He’s referring to the note I sent this morning. I smirk. Before I can get a word out, a patch of black fire near us spits sparks, the wooden wagon it consumes giving a resounding crack that startles me out of my skin. Lucien looks me up and down.

“You’re lucky it didn’t get you.”

“I’m lucky it didn’t get you,” I say when my breathing resumes. “The other Spring Brides would have my head for not jumping between you and certain fire scarring.”

He rolls his hawk eyes, then points into the distance.

“Before we entered the temple, I saw someone suspicious kneeling at a wagon in that direction.”

“And what about them was suspicious?”

“When you’ve patrolled these streets as long as I have, you know when someone doesn’t fit into the usual crowd. This was one such person. A robe, hood covering their face.”

“Like them?” I point over his shoulder, to where the outline of a hooded person wavers through the fire. It must be the same person, because in an instant Lucien starts running in that direction. I don’t even blink before chasing after him, the heat of the fire growing hotter the closer we near, the crackle deafening as it consumes every inch of fuel its dark tendrils can reach. The hooded person bolts when Lucien gets close, and he stops, frantically looking up and down the wall of fire.

“You’re not seriously trying to find a way over that?” I yell. He ignores me, eyes settling on the low, still-untouched roof of a stable. Faintly, I hear lawguard voices shouting “Prince!” and “Secure the prince!” They’ve figured out he’s missing.

“Your Highness,” I insist. “I’m not one to give good advice, so let me give you a good idea instead—don’t scale the wall of fiery death! Let the lawguards handle it!”

“So Gavik can boast to my father about arresting yet another witch?” Lucien scoffs. He bends his knees and in one remarkable leap clears the fire and reaches the roof of the stable, pulling himself onto it. He looks down at me, lit from the dark flames below. “I think it’s time I took matters into my own hands.”

He whirls, and I lose sight of him.

“Prince Lucien!” I call. No answer. I try more creative names. “Unimpressive daredevil!” Silence. “Hey, you arrogant horse-arse!”

No response. Whoever set this fire is doing it to make it seem like the witches’ fault. Caution tells me to stay. The hunger tells me to go after the prince—he’s escaped. He’s away from his bodyguard. Now’s my chance to take his heart. Or back him up. Back him up? No—if this robed mystery wants to kill him, I just have to be there to take the heart before his body goes too cold.

I get a strange, sick feeling thinking about Prince Lucien dead, the same feeling I got seeing that boy purged by Gavik—disgust at myself, at my thoughts.

Perhaps death would be kinder. The hunger slithers into the forefront of my mind. Than what you have planned for Lucien.

I plant my feet and jump for the edge of the stable’s roof, scrabbling desperately to pull myself up. The black fire licks my boots, eager to feed on the white leather, but I push all my strength into my arms and heave. From the roof I can see the robed figure running a few alleyways down, Lucien close on their heels. This city isn’t so different from the forest, if you consider the buildings as trees. I’ve been chased—by man and beast alike—through the woods many times. I leap for the flattest nearby roof I can find, and wait. I listen carefully—the sound of panting is close. The hunger in me smells the robed figure—the warmth below their flesh faint but very much there. The figure tips barrels into the street behind them, Lucien staggering to avoid being run over. He’s losing ground, and fast. But I’m still here. When the robed figure turns into an alley below me, I jump down and cut them off, Lucien coming up behind them. The figure looks between both of us, a visible quiver in their shoulders.

“Remove your hood,” the prince commands, long braid whipping as he comes to a stop. The figure looks to me like I’ll be easier to get past, but I draw Father’s blade and smile.

“Try me.”

Prince Lucien advances, and so do I, the two of us closing in. The figure throws off their hood suddenly, revealing the terrified face of a young man a little older than Lucien, with hair like spun sunrise and freckles crowding his skin.

“P-Please!” He gasps. “Please, don’t hurt me! I was doing only as they asked!”

“You.” Lucien frowns. “I’ve seen you before. You’re one of the apprentice polymaths for the palace.”

“Y-Yes, Your Highness!” The man bends one knee to him.

“Who is ‘they,’ and what did they ask of you?” Lucien demands. The apprentice darts his eyes around.