Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

Between everything that had happened with Prince Thorne and what I’d discussed with Grady afterward, I didn’t think I’d be able to rest. Especially with how my mind kept going back and forth on whether I had actually heard Prince Thorne’s voice all those years ago or it was just a product of a scared child’s imagination. The latter seemed the likeliest explanation, but was also one that didn’t sit right with me.

But I’d ended up falling asleep after Grady left, and I didn’t toss and turn, waking up every hour like I normally did. I slept like the dead, and somehow, I was still tired in the morning, wanting nothing more than to return to bed, but I knew better than to show that as Hymel escorted me through the halls of Archwood Manor.

Large bouquets of jasmine now lined the halls, filling the air with a sweet and slightly musky aroma, likely being displayed to impress Prince Thorne. The flowers’ sultry scent wasn’t the only thing new to the halls. There was a . . . a distinctive charge to the atmosphere. I’d noticed it this morning while I forced myself to dress. I’d kept getting a staticky charge every time I touched something, and I felt that here, flooding the hall.

It was the Hyhborn’s presence. I’d felt it that night in Union City, in the gardens, and last night. I knew it was said that the change in the air occurred if a Hyhborn was feeling a lot of powerful emotions like anger or joy or if there were several in one space.

I glanced out one of the open archways, spying the stables in the distance, where there was more activity than normal. Grooms and stable boys brushed down and fed glossy black and pure white horses beneath the run-ins— horses whose withers, the point where the body met the neck, had to stand at least six feet from the ground. That was . . . that had to be a good half a foot above our shire horse.

“They belong to the Hyhborn that have arrived,” Hymel said, following my stare. “Huge, aren’t they?”

Staring at the horses, I counted four of the beasts. Was Prince Thorne moving about the manor? My heart skipped a bit. It was still very early, but . . .

“You know,” Hymel said from where he walked a few steps in front of me, drawing my gaze to the sword strapped to his back, “it wouldn’t kill you to say good morning. Make a little conversation. Respond to a comment or two.”

I bit back a sigh. This wasn’t the first time he’d given me grief about not chatting with him. It was a rather routine thing, just as was my silence. I didn’t like Hymel. He knew that.

“Might make things a bit more enjoyable for you,” he added as we turned a corner.

The only thing that would make these walks more enjoyable was if there were a cliff involved and he walked off it.

“And just in case you need reminding,” Hymel was saying as we neared the pillared archway of Claude’s study, “you’re no better than me. At the end of the day, you’ve become little more than a whore who can sometimes see the future.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it was a surprise they didn’t fall out of the back of my head. I wasn’t sure if he actually thought that offended me as he stopped to open the door. Likely he believed he’d delivered some sort of cutting blow with his words. Most little men thought they were capable of such. He looked over his shoulder, the stare in his pale eyes challenging.

Meeting his gaze, I smiled, and that smile deepened as I saw his jaw clench. Breaking eye contact, I walked into the study.

Claude sat on the edge of his desk, his long, lean legs encased in black breeches. He looked up from a piece of parchment he held as we entered. A loose smile appeared on Claude’s handsome face, and I was struck by how there wasn’t a single hint of last night’s indulgences there. It had to be because of what he was. If I behaved like him, I’d have permanent shadows beneath my eyes.

“Good morning, pet.” He lowered the parchment to the white oak surface of his desk. “Please have a seat.”

“Good morning.” I sat on the settee as Hymel closed the study door, folding my hands in the lap of my plain, cream-hued gown.

“Would you like some coffee?” he asked as he picked up a small cup.

“No, thank you.” The last thing my jumpy stomach needed was caffeine.

“You sure?” Claude took a small, rather delicate sip of coffee. “You look tired.”

“It was a . . . late night,” I said.

Claude raised a dark brow. “And a tiring one?”

I watched Hymel cross over to the credenza, a smirk plastered across his lips. “Somewhat. I . . . I didn’t expect to meet a Hyhborn when I entered his chambers.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “Did I not tell you he was a Hyhborn?”

“No,” I stated flatly.

“Good gods, I thought I did. I was . . .” He exhaled slowly. “I was a bit deep in my cups last night.”

And then some.

“My deepest apologies, Lis. I truly thought I had told you he was a lord.” He sounded genuine, but at the moment, I didn’t care. “But did you enjoy yourself?”

“I did,” I answered, feeling a bit of warmth creep up my throat.

“Of course you did.” He drank from his cup. “Tell me, is it true what they say? Are Hyhborn lords hung like— ” He glanced at Hymel, brow scrunching. “What do they say?”

“They say they’re hung like their stallions,” Hymel told him, having poured himself a glass of whiskey.

“Ah yes.” Claude’s brow smoothed out. “That. Dying to know.”

I wasn’t sure why Claude needed to ask for clarification on that saying. Besides the fact that it was a rather common, crass one, he was part Hyhborn. Caelestias were quite well-endowed in that area. “I believe it would be a somewhat close comparison.”

Pale skin crinkled at the corners of his eyes as he laughed. “Look at you,” he purred. “Blushing.”

Forcing a slow breath in and then out, I pictured one of those stallions crashing through the study and trampling the Baron. And Hymel. Just a little. My smile returned.

“As much as I would love to hear all about what brought that blush to your cheeks, that will have to wait,” Claude continued. “What did you two speak of?”

“We spoke of where he was from, but not in any great detail.”

“And?”

I eyed him. “Do you know who he is? More than just his name?”

Claude raised a brow. “All I know is his name, which is why I sent you, my pet. I assume he’s some lord the King keeps close at the capital.”

“He’s not just some lord,” I told him. “He’s not even a lord, Claude. He’s the Prince of Vytrus.”

“Holy shit,” Hymel rasped, eyes widening.

The Baron lowered his mug to his thigh. “Are you sure?”

Why did everyone keep asking me that? “Yes, I’m positive. He is the Prince of Vytrus.”

“My gods, why in the realm would he come here?” Claude exclaimed.

“He’s not here to collect any tithes,” I shared.

“No shit,” Claude murmured, settling the mug onto the desk, likely staining the wood with a ring. I didn’t even know why I was thinking about that, but it was a shame to damage such beautiful wood.

“I thought you’d be more relieved,” I ventured.

“I would be, but I’m far more concerned about having such a brute in the manor.” His throat bobbed. “When the King is displeased, it is usually the Prince of Vytrus who is sent to rectify the situation, and by rectifying, I do mean spilling copious amounts of blood.”

My chest tightened. “Prince Thorne may be many things, but a brute, he is not.”

Hymel’s brows rose as he leaned against the credenza.

“Is that so?” Claude remarked.

“Yes.” My fingers tightened around each other. “I’m not sure if what’s said about him is all that true. He was a . . .” Gentleman? That didn’t sound like the appropriate descriptor. I shook my head. “He’s not a brute.”

The Baron went silent.

“Someone sounds like they had the common sense fucked out of them,” Hymel remarked.

I shot him a nasty look.

Hymel smirked.

Pulling my gaze from Claude’s cousin, I resisted the urge to pick up one of those heavy paperweights from the Baron’s desk and launch it at his head. “He’s here to discuss the situation along the border with you.”

Claude’s shoulders straightened. “The Westlands? The Iron Knights?”

I nodded.

“Does he believe that this issue will spill over into the rest of the Midlands? Archwood?”

Balls of anxiety plopped from my chest into my stomach. “That I don’t know,” I said. Here was where things would get tricky. “It was very hard to read him, even when I . . . when I was touching him.”

Claude was silent as curiosity crept into his expression. “What do you mean?”

“When I try to, you know, connect to him?” My nails dug into my palms. The story I was fabricating was flimsy at best. “I saw white— like a white wall, which made it hard for me to get a lot of information out of him.”

“Huh.” Claude appeared thoughtful, and for some reason those balls of anxiety started to knot even further in my stomach. “This shield you saw was attempting to block you?”

“Yes. I thought if it was that, it could be broken.” My stomach churned upon me admitting that out loud to Claude. It left a foul taste in my mouth.

Claude said nothing for a long moment. “A prince would be far harder for you to read than a lord.” He then looked to Hymel as I frowned. “I’ll speak with you later.”

The dismissal was clear. So was Hymel’s irritation. He slammed his glass down on the credenza before stiffly exiting the study.

Claude arched a brow as Hymel shut the door behind him. “He’s a prickly fellow, isn’t he?”

“He doesn’t like it when you pull rank and he’s reminded that you’re the baron.”

“And that he is not?”

“Yes.” I watched Claude stand. “But you know that.”

“I do so love to needle him when I can.” He flashed a quick grin, motioning me to him. “Come.”

The danger of Claude somehow figuring out I’d admitted to being sent to the Prince to gain information seemed to have passed. Curiosity rose in its place as I stood, coming toward him.

He moved aside, extending a hand to the side of his desk free from letters. “Sit.”

I hopped up on the desk, wrapping my fingers around the edge of the smooth wood. My feet dangled a few inches from the floor.

Claude looked me over slowly, starting with my face and then moving lower, as if he were searching for signs of something.

Having no idea what he was up to, I held still as he brushed the strands of hair over my shoulder.

“Did you have a good evening?” he asked abruptly. “Truly?”

“Yes.”

There was a brief smile. “I want all the details of what transpired between the two of you.”

“Well . . .” I drew the word out, quickly thinking of what I could or should share. “It appears that you may have also believed you told him that I would be joining him, but actually didn’t.”

“Fuck.” His fingers halted along the strands of my hair. “Seriously?”

I nodded.

“I am sorry. Really.” His eyes briefly met mine. “I wouldn’t have sent you if I’d known it was the Prince of Vytrus.”

I wasn’t sure I believed him. Claude was capable of making any unwise decision while intoxicated.

“How did he respond to your appearance?”

“He was . . .” My brows lifted as he touched my chin, turning my head to the left and then the right. “He was caught off guard by it.”

“Did he harm you?” he asked, a lock of hair falling across his forehead. “In any way?”

“No.” I realized he was looking for a sign— a mark or bruising. “He didn’t, Claude.”

He said nothing for a long moment. “Did you service him?”

“He requested that I aid him with his bath.” I gave a little jerk as the back of his thumb brushed over my lower lip. My gaze flew to him. Claude . . . he hadn’t touched me like this in well over a year. Maybe even two years, and there was a time when I wanted him to. When I looked forward to him visiting my quarters or summoning me to his, maybe even desperately, because I could touch him without guilt, because he knew what I could do— he understood the risks to his privacy, and I had to really concentrate to read him. My intuition wouldn’t stay quiet long, though. He could always tell when that happened. I would stiffen, pull away. That’s when Claude would prevent me from returning his caresses, his touches, and there was a tiny part of me that had gotten off a little on that. Well, there was a part of me that still did.

“And?” Claude pressed.

“Then he asked for me to join him in his bath and I did.”

One side of his lips curled up. “I’m sure all baths will now be dull in comparison.”

“Perhaps,” I murmured.

“What else?” His gaze flicked to mine.

“He . . . he touched me.”

“Like this?”

I nodded as he cupped both breasts, dragging his thumbs over the peaks of my breasts. A wisp of pleasure slowly curled through me, a simple reaction to touch— to any touch, and not necessarily Claude’s. I slid my hands over the desk, leaning forward a little. His gaze dropped once more. His lips parted as his fingers pressed into the flesh. Claude had always been a breast man. I watched him slip a finger along the neckline of my bodice, his skin paler than my own— paler and so much cooler than Thorne’s. My breath snagged again, but it wasn’t the Baron’s touch that caused that.

“Did he fuck you?”

There was a sharper twist of desire that had nothing to do with what Claude’s hands were up to. It was his words. It was the image of . . . of Prince Thorne that those words conjured up that caused me to squirm a little. “No.”

“Really?” Doubt filled his tone as he looked up at me.

“He used his fingers and I my hand.” The all-too-clear memory of that thickened my voice and my blood. “That was all.”

“Well, that is somewhat disappointing.”

A laugh bubbled out of me, drawing his sea-green gaze. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you seem genuinely disappointed.”

“I am.” A small smile appeared as he kneaded my skin. “I don’t like that you spend so many nights alone.”

Neither did I, but . . . “I enjoyed myself.”

“Good.” His attention once more returned to my chest. If he could spend the rest of his life fucking breasts, he’d be a happy man.

My gaze dropped to his groin, and I could see he was semi-aroused. I could reach for him. Touch him for at least a little bit before he’d stop me. He was obviously in some sort of playful mood this morning. I could guide him into me, urge him to take me right here on his desk. It wouldn’t be the first time, but . . .

Neither of us really wanted it from the other. Other than the breasts, I wasn’t his type. He preferred lighter hair and slimmer frames, even when it came to the men. And me? I wasn’t sure what my type was. There was nothing in any particular trait of a man or woman I fancied more than another.

Still, if I reached for him, he wouldn’t reject me. Not just because I was a warm body. I did know Claude’s intentions. He would give me what I wanted because he wished he could give me more.

But that seemed like too much effort, and for what? A few seconds of pleasure easily forgotten.

And gods, wasn’t that telling? Especially when seeking pleasure was as common as one who sought to quench a thirst?

“Did you learn of anything else?” Claude asked, catching my attention.

My thoughts raced. Claude likely expected that I had learned more about the Prince than why he was here. He knew exactly what I could ferret out of an individual. “He hasn’t created a Rae in a long time,” I said, the first thing that popped to my mind.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” he commented, drawing his thumb back over the tip of my breast.

I nodded. “And he’s also searching for something— or was.”

Claude’s touch stilled. “What?”

“He was searching for something he . . . he believed that another Hyhborn had information on,” I said slowly, relying fully on what the Prince had shared with me.

Light blue-green eyes met mine. “Do you know who he was looking for?”

I shook my head. “That I couldn’t read from him.”

His lashes lowered, and he was quiet for several moments. “The Prince of Vytrus rode out this morning at dawn,” Claude said, running his hands over my breasts once more, and then his hands went to the table, beside mine. “He told one of the guards he’d be back by supper. I figure that is when he plans to discuss things with me.”

I searched myself for a hint of disappointment over him ceasing to touch me and found nothing but apathy. I didn’t want that. I wanted to find more. “Do you wish to inspect anywhere else, like between my thighs, for signs of the Prince’s brutality?”

Claude snorted. “Maybe later. I’m expected to join the Bower brothers.”

The Bowers were a pair of aristo sons who were as often reckless as the Baron. I really hoped he planned on keeping his mind clear.

“I want you with me when he does speak with me.”

My stomach dipped. “Why?”

“Because I want to make sure he is telling me everything,” he said, fixing the lace on my bodice. “And that he has no ill intentions when it comes to his presence.”

Shit.

I would be as much help to him as a crystal ball. He stepped back, and I slipped from the desk. The gown pooled against the floor as panic threatened to spiral.

“I’ll have Hymel summon you when he returns, so stay close.” He bent, kissing my cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

I stood motionless as Claude strolled out of the study, and I remained there for several moments. “Fuck,” I moaned, letting my head fall back.

“No, thank you.”

My head jerked upward and twisted toward the sound of Hymel’s voice.

He stood in the open doorway, the ever-present smirk plastered across his features. “I’m sure my cousin already took care of that for you today.” He paused. “Then again, that would’ve been unimpressively quick.”

Rolling my eyes, I ignored him as I headed toward the door.

Hymel didn’t move. “What did he want to talk to you about in private?” he demanded. “Was it about Prince Rainer?”

I stopped then, but I didn’t respond.

“He just asked me in the hall to send a message to the Prince of Primvera requesting to meet but wouldn’t tell me why,” Hymel said.

Surprise flickered through me. Could it be about the shadow market? If so, was he just now getting around to doing that? Weeks later?

“I’m betting you know why he’s requested a meeting,” Hymel surmised.

I honestly didn’t, but what I found interesting was the fact that neither did Hymel. I doubted it was something that had simply slipped Claude’s mind. I said nothing as I brushed past him.

He turned quickly, grabbing my wrist. Grip tight, he yanked me back. I stumbled, catching myself as my furious gaze shot to his. I yanked on his hold—

Hymel twisted his wrist sharply. I yelped at the sharp, sudden pain radiating up my arm. His eyes lit up and the tilt of his smile was sickening. “I asked you a question.”

“I know,” I seethed, watching his eyes widen in response to me actually speaking to him. “And I’m ignoring you, so let me go.”

His lips peeled back. “You think you’re so special, don’t you? Yet you’re— ”

“Nothing more than a whore. I know. I heard you the first five hundred times you said that. At least I’m getting off.” I held his stare, knowing I was about to deliver a low, mean blow that was as cruel as he was. “Can’t say the same about you though.”

The back of Hymel’s other hand cut through the space between us, aiming straight for my face, but somehow, I was faster. I caught his arm, my fingers curling into the crispness of his tunic. “Do not ever think to strike me.”

Hymel’s jaw loosened, his face paling as he dropped my aching wrist. Our stares locked, and for a moment, I would’ve sworn I saw fear in his eyes. Real, primal fear. Then his expression smoothed out.

“Or what, Lis?”

A series of tingles ran along the back of my head as images flooded my mind— horrific images of Hymel taking his own sword, impaling himself on it. My grip tightened on his arm. A coldness ramped up inside me. An energy. A power. What I saw was no future set in stone. It was what I wished to make Hymel do—

I dropped his arm, taking a step back. My heart thumped unsteadily.

Hymel eyed me for several seconds. “It’s funny, you know? You. Your abilities. One touch and you can know a person’s name and their desires. Their future. Even how they die.” His lips curved into a smirk behind the neatly trimmed beard. “And yet, you don’t know shit.”

“Maybe,” I said softly. “But I do know how you die.”

He went rigid.

“Do you want to know?” I smiled at him. “It’s not pleasant.”

Inhaling sharply, Hymel took a step toward me, but stopped himself. Without another word, he pivoted and stalked out of the chamber.

“Okay then,” I murmured, glancing down at my wrist. The skin was already turning red. “What an asshole.”

But so was I.

I’d lied. I’d never touched Hymel or pushed hard enough to see his future. I had no idea how he died. And because karma was about as real as the idea of fate, he’d probably outlive us all.

I left the Baron’s study, and it wasn’t until I was halfway to my quarters, while I pictured myself repeatedly kicking Hymel between the legs, when something about Claude struck me. It brought me to a complete stop by the windows facing the stables.

Claude hadn’t asked what Prince Thorne had been searching for information on but who.

I paced the length of my quarters, thinking over what Claude had said. It was likely just a slip of the tongue, saying who when he meant what, but . . .

My intuition told me that wasn’t the case.

But what could it even mean— if Claude knew that the Prince had been in search of information on someone? Why did that matter?

My intuition was no help there.

What I really needed to be stressed about was how I was supposed to be of aid to the Baron when he spoke with Prince Thorne. My stomach twisted as I all but stomped into my bedchamber. The lazy churn of the ceiling fan kept the room cool, but it was still far too warm. I undid the buttons of my bodice and shimmied out of the gown. I left it on the floor, too tired and, well, too lazy to hang it up.

Dressed only in a thigh-length chemise, I plopped down on the bed and lay flat on my back, resting my aching wrist on my stomach. I tentatively turned it. It was definitely going to turn a lovely shade of blue by the day’s end, but it wasn’t sprained or broken.

I was lucky for that.

There had been times in the past, when I’d been caught stealing food or being where I wasn’t supposed to be, when I hadn’t been so lucky.

I stared at the ceiling, thoughts returning to this supper. I couldn’t read the Prince. Unless I cracked the shield. Something that Claude seemed to think I could do, and I wasn’t sure if that was because I’d led him to believe that or if he already knew.

Gods, maybe I should’ve just told the truth. Too late now. Now, I was just going to have to . . . figure something out.

I snorted, wanting to smack some better life choices into myself, because it was unlikely that I would think of something less idiotic than lying.

Gods, I was going to be seeing him again.

An edgy nervousness swept through me. It wasn’t a bad feeling, nothing like the anxiety of dread. It felt a lot like . . . like anticipation, and that did worry me. I had no business being excited when it came to any Hyhborn, especially one such as the Prince of Vytrus. Even if I hadn’t seen him incinerate a Hyhborn with his hand or rip out a lowborn’s throat, the very last thing I should feel was anticipation.

Any interaction with a Hyhborn was potentially dangerous when they could learn of my abilities and assume I was a practitioner of bone magic. Especially within Archwood Manor, where there were one too many who knew of my gifts. What I should be anticipating was the moment the Prince left Archwood.

But I wasn’t.

Maybe Hymel had been somewhat right, and I’d had the common sense fingered out of me.

Sighing, my mind found its way back to Claude. I thought back to the first time I’d met him, and how his features had turned from anger to surprise as I warned him about the man who was set on robbing him.

But that surprise hadn’t lasted long. He didn’t doubt or question what I told him like many did when I first warned them about something. He’d simply accepted that what I knew was true. He wasn’t the first to do that, but he was definitely the first aristo that believed me without question. Maybe that should have raised some questions, but I was just too damn grateful when Claude showed his appreciation by offering a place to work and stay, not just for me but also for Grady. I wanted a warm, safe bed and I didn’t want to have to steal stale bread to not starve. I didn’t want to ever again have to watch Grady sicken and have there be nothing I could do to help him.

But maybe I should’ve asked questions?

Instead, I had confided in Claude, telling him a lot. How Grady had gotten so sick when we were younger. The orphanages that were more like work homes. Even about Union City. And he had told me about his family, the Hyhborn blood that came in from his father’s side and how Hymel had believed he would be named baron upon the elder’s passing. But I didn’t ask questions.

That was another thing that was too late, but if Claude knew something, like if he had met another like me in the past, why would he keep that from me? Claude sometimes went to extremes to make sure I was happy. Would he really run the risk of me finding out he knew something and kept it from me? Eyes drifting shut, I rolled onto my side.

My thoughts finally floated their way back to last night as I lay there— to Prince Thorne and the time with him. Not the pleasure he gave me or the release I provided him, but those brief moments where he’d . . . he’d simply held me.

I tucked my legs close to my stomach in a sad attempt to re-create that feeling of being held, of . . . of belonging.

Of rightness.

It was a silly feeling, but I dozed off to it, and when I opened my eyes again, the dappled sunlight had shifted from one side of the wall to the other, signaling that it was the afternoon. I lay there for several moments, my eyes heavy, and I was close to falling back to sleep when I realized that the change in sunlight wasn’t the only thing that had shifted into the chamber.

The air was different.

Thicker.

Charged.

A shivery wave of awareness danced down the curve of my spine. The cobwebs of sleep cleared from my mind as my heart stuttered.

I wasn’t alone.

Slowly, I straightened my legs and rose onto my elbow as I looked over my shoulder to see what I already sensed— already knew on some sort of primal level— and saw Prince Thorne.