Ignoring the curious stares, I jog down the steps and hurry across the court to catch up with the prince. When I reach him, I match his brisk pace and unsheathe my sword, then press its tip into his lower back.
“As I said,” I pant out, catching my breath. “I’m not vowed to protect you. Or any man, for that matter.”
He turns slowly, and my sword traces the dark brown cloak until its edge is flush against his side. He adjusts the hood, pulling it forward to further hide his face. “Ah, but you did promise your empress you’d guard me. That is a vow in itself. So you best keep up.” He turns and starts back on his course toward the palace gatehouse.
Tempted to sick Carina on him, I bring my transmitter to my mouth, but stop before pressing the button. She’d definitely knock him around, and that’d be fun to watch, but then I’d be found wanting in my duty. And not just by her, but by my empress. Squeezing my eyes closed and saying a prayer for patience, I pocket the transmitter in my harness and follow after him.
“You’re not my only responsibly,” I say once I’m by his side. “But your selfishness probably chases away any respect for others and their job. I should be with my Nactue right now. Not sitting a spoiled prince.”
He chuckles. “I’m sure they’re doing their duties well. Besides, your empress obviously feels they can handle themselves. Shouldn’t you trust her judgment?” His eyes cut my way. “Anyway, I need some fresh air.”
Annoyed, I press my lips together hard. “You’ve just come from a long journey across the realms. I doubt you’re in need of fresh air this soon.”
“Believe me,” he mutters. “I am.”
As we approach the gatehouse, the prince looks down to hide his face and I nod to Claudia. She allows us to pass, and we step into the bustling city.
The dusty, main street of Straver leads us down a straight path. Towering buildings peaked with domed, glinting glass rooftops casts shadows across downtown. Neon lights swirling a bright blue-white stream along the middle the buildings, just above the panels of displays showing a live event at the raceway. The sharp, electric sound of Cury-crafts hovering over the roadways echoes off the panes of glass.
Prince Paynebridge stops and looks at one of the panels. “Let’s go there,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to bet on a race.”
Dumbfounded, I stare blankly at him. “There’s a war starting. Your country is under attack. Your citizens are being evacuated. And you want to bet on a race? Shouldn’t you be with the Council, plotting how to conquer the Otherworlders?”
Without a word, he begins walking again. I shake my head. I don’t understand his shifting moods or his logic. From his arrogant, angered rants yesterday, to his frivolous behavior now, it’s as if he has split personalities. I want to shake him, slap him around, and drag him back to the palace and lock him up in the ward. I could claim he’s mentally unstable.
Once we reach the end of Straver, he looks down both intersecting streets. “Which way to a shop where I can buy new clothes?”
“Ridiculous,” I say under my breath, but lead him down Collin Street.
Sleek Cury-crafts hover past us. The buildings here are taller, cleaner, and the people wear finer clothing. I figure a prince would want to shop in the nicest part of Cavan, but to my surprise, he walks toward a store that sells work uniforms.
The glass doors part and we step inside the dim-lit shop. It smells of polyester and starch, but at least their cooling system works. A blast of cold air hits my damp skin and clothes, and my skin tightens, itchy. While the prince is hunting a new wardrobe, I covertly check my wrist. No swirls of mercury. I can’t let this man work me into a mood. With the day’s heat rising, it’s already becoming too difficult to keep the mercury checked.
He runs his hand along the racks of neutral-colored clothing until he comes to what I assume is the section carrying his size. He yanks out a pair of pants and a tunic. Next he decides on a matching cloak. I guess I was too angry to realize he’d stolen the one he now wears.
“So, I suppose you plan to return the one you’re wearing back to its owner?” I fold my arms over my chest, hiding my hands just in case.
“Unlike you,” he says as he inspects the garment, “the man was very civil and gave it to me. But it’s too small.”
I check out his broad shoulders, the definition of tight, lean muscles from his arms and back pressing against the cloak. Averting my eyes quickly when they begin to scan his lower regions, I focus on passerby while he pays the merchant and accepts the bag of clothing.
Once we’re outside the shop, he says, “The palace ground. Where are the stables kept?”
“Does His Highness wish to go for a leisurely ride, now?” I roll my eyes and start walking. “Why not just purchase your own horse. And a stable, too. Hell, why not invest in a vacation home here in Cavan and spend your time there. Then I can get back to my Nactue and empress, and the situation with the Otherworlders.” I drop my voice on this last part, not wanting to upset passing citizens.
“I can purchase a horse? Where?”
As if he’s missed the whole point of my rant, his eyes widen, searching my face curiously. I halt walking and match his determined glare. What is he up to? Does he truly think he’ll best me and ride out of Cavan on horseback?
He breaks our eye contact and looks down the street. “Would I stable it at the palace court or somewhere else?”
“Prince Paynebridge—”
“Please,” he interrupts. “Just Caben. My father was King Paynebridge, and I’m yet to be crowned.” He drops his sudden morose expression and the side of his mouth hitches into a side-grin. “And, I don’t think my first name would sound as condescending coming from your lovely lips.”
Pursing my lips, trying to ignore his smug comment about them, I attempt again. “Prince Caben—”
He groans. “I was wrong. You seem to have a talent for making everything sound venomous.”
I give up. Throwing my hands in the air, I march off. As we reach the dining quarter, he glances into a window running along the side of a restaurant and stops to stare in. His brow furrows.
“Are you hungry, Prince Caben?”
“Do the men always serve the women?” he asks, his gaze trailing a man placing a steaming dish before his wife.
“Sometimes,” I say, “when they want to show their devotion and respect.” I study his eyes—blue and haunted—and wonder what he’s thinking. “How are the women shown respect in Perinya?”
He slowly backs away from the window, his eyes lost and faraway. Then he focuses them on me. “They’re taken care of.”
“What do you mean by ‘taken care of’?” I cross my arms over my chest.
He matches my stance, resting his weight heavily on the heels of his boots. “A man will marry and take care of a woman. Provide for her. A woman seeks to be married as soon as possible in Perinya.” He laughs. “I mean, why would anyone marry otherwise if not to be taken care of?”
Anger slices through me, and I feel the mercury flowing like lava through my veins. “How do you know women can’t take care of themselves? Look around you.” I open my arms wide. “Do any of the women of Cavan seem incapable?”
He shakes his head. “It’s different there. In Perinya, women don’t want to work as a man does. They enjoy being doted on and only looking after their children.”
“I don’t believe any woman would not want the right to choose her own profession,” I say, my voice low, angry. “It’s proven that a woman’s mind works differently than a man’s—”
“Oh—” He chuckles. “I have no doubt about that.”
“As I was saying.” I adjust the hilt of my sword, reminding him that he carries no weapon. “Women think faster. It’s a fact that the white matter of the brain is responsible for decision making, and neurons are packed more tightly in a woman’s, making us the more logical choice to be in a position to govern and make decisions. I don’t believe for a moment that the women there have chosen to b
e the weaker sex.”
Prince Caben shakes his head again. “You sound like a scientific broadcast. Or a brainwashed cult leader.”
I take a step forward but he raises his hands. “I’m not trying to start a war here,” he says. Then lowering his hands, he steps closer to me. “I’ve no doubt that women succeed in areas where men falter. But men are stronger physically. It simply makes sense that the stronger sex should be placed in power. To defend and rule.” His blue eyes penetrate mine. “You still have men in your army?”
“Yes . . .”
“And if you didn’t?” He raises his eyebrows. “Do you feel you could defeat an enemy with an army of women only?”
“That’s a ridiculous question. It has no merit for what we’re discussing.”
“Doesn’t it?”
I huff. “You’re only trying to upset me—unhinge me for your own enjoyment.” I scowl. “I won’t give in to your stupidity.”
He smiles, his full lips crooking into a knowing grin. He twists the silver ring—that I now notice holds a red and silver crest—around his finger. “Horses?”
“What?”
“Let’s go see the court horses.” He turns and starts toward the palace. “I assume you at least stable your horses equally. Or are only female horses thought of as good enough for the court?”
Walking up beside him, I smile. “Oh no, Your Highness. They’re all stallions.” I slant my eyes his way. “We think males are only good for mounting.”
Warm, musty air circulates as the cogs of the giant, embedded wall fan begin to turn, pushing cooler air past its blades. The smell of hay and meal cling to the burgundy and silver tapestries hanging between the stalls. They flap in the makeshift wind, and the scent wafts through the palace stable, reminding me of home—the smell of the marketplace near our apartment.
My fingers tap at the illuminated buttons of the fan’s control panel, adjusting settings so the horses aren’t suffering in this heat. Then I lean against a wooden beam and wait as the prince takes his time changing into his nondescript clothing in a stall.
I check my transmitter to make sure I haven’t missed an important message. Digging the toe of my boot into the hay, I scan through my communications. Nothing since Lilly last contacted me. I assume the Nactue are with the empress, learning vital information about the Otherworlders’ situation while I’m stuck here tending to a pampered prince. I should be with them now. I should be made aware of what orders are being given, if the empress is in any danger, what is happening at our borders.
I should not be here.
Aggravated, I stalk toward the stall. “Are you quite done yet, Your Highness?”
He grunts. “Almost.” Then he exits wrapped in the cream-colored cloak with the matching uniform beneath. If it weren’t for his smooth, nearly flawless skin and the way he holds himself upright, as if he knows of his own importance, he could almost pass for a commoner.
“Well,” I say, motioning toward the horses in the stalls. “You may have your pick of any one of them.”
“I give you some credit. At least you don’t castrate them.” He smirks.
My lips parts with a comeback on the tip of my tongue, but the prince closes the gap between us with three quick strides. My words flee my head.
His blue eyes linger on my face a moment, then scan my body, stopping at my waist. My breath hitches. “Any?” he asks, as his hand reaches up. I flinch away and he halts. Then with a deft move, his fingers sweep a stray hair from my brow.
I squint, but my confused expression doesn’t prevent the pads of his fingertips from trailing the side of my face, then my shoulder, and on to my arm. When he reaches my midsection, I take a hesitant step back but he grasps my waist, keeping me close.
“You said any . . .” His breath fans my face, and the cool minty scent of it mixes with the warmth, sending a shiver down my back.
I swallow hard. “That is not part of your accommodations, prince,” I say, angry that my voice quivers.
His lips quirk into slanted smile. “I’m sorry.”
“Your customs are different where you’re from.” I force my voice and posture strong. “It’s forgotten.”
“No,” he says, and latches on to my waist firmly with both hands. “I’m truly, very sorry.” Then as quick as the mercury racing in my blood, he snatches my sword from my belt and cracks the pommel over my head.
Sonofabitch—
Blackness covers my vision, and I’m lost.
I force my eyes open. Blinding pain shoots through my skull. Grasping the sore spot, I finger the swollen lump, and slowly rise. I cry out as pressure surges my forehead.
“Bastard.”
Getting to my feet, I ignore the throbbing pain in my head and scan the stable. The black horse that was nearest me has been taken.
Idiot. I’m an idiot.
I knew what he was planning and I played right into his scam. I should’ve tied him up in his room, but I didn’t think he could pull it off—that he could get past me. I even helped him pick out his disguise!
Clasping my transmitter, I pause, my fingers clutching the hard metal. The responsible and right thing to do would be to report him. But damn. I’d risk everything. My position, my empress’s respect, my salary—and then my mother’s means of support and the medicines she needs.
Instead, I glance at the time. It’s only been five minutes. He couldn’t have gotten farther then past the gatehouse. Maybe he’s just now entering downtown. I know which way he’ll try to leave Cavan, and I know my city better than him.
The white horse in the stall next to me nickers as I slam the latch down. I grab the bridle from the wooden post and force the mouthpiece into her jaws. “It’s okay, girl,” I say. “We’re going to catch that spoiled prince.” I sling the leather straps over her back, then grab her mane and bound up, mounting her without a saddle. I don’t have time.
After confirming that my dagger is still in my chest harness, I press my heels into her sides. She stomps her hooves and trots out of the stall.
The palace walls circle the whole court. There’s no other way out besides the gatehouse, so I steer my horse toward it, not slowing as I pass Claudia.
Speeders and Cury-crafts buzz past me as we trot along the sidewalk. I’m breaking a lot of rules riding out in the open, but the emblem on my uniform stops authorities from questioning me. There’s nothing to stop them from attacking the prince, though. Not dressed as he is now. I veer off the main road toward the barren desert. He’s probably taken the quickest route out of the city, which is the east border. The border closest to Perinya.
Kicking my heels, I command the horse to gallop over the open flat. Before me is divots in the dirt, and I know this is his trail. “Let’s go!”
A cloud of dust stretches across the horizon. The prince is ahead of it.
I duck, sinking low, and place my head beside the horse’s to block the dust from my eyes. Her hooves thunder over the plain and I grip the straps tighter as she bounds on.
The prince cranes his head and gets a good look at me coming up on him. “That’s right,” I mutter. “I’ve got you.”
As we ride up next to him, he grabs my sword from his belt and extends it.
“What are you doing?” I shout. “You’re going to kill yourself if you fall.” Why did I warn him? Let him fall. Then he’ll stop being a pain in my ass and I can do my duty.
Lowering the sword, he hesitates before sticking it back in his belt. “Go back!” His eyes spear me.
“No—” Guiding my horse closer to his, I reach for the reins and scoop air. Damnit. I try again, and this time I snag the leather between my fingers.
He steers his horse into mine, knocking into us, but I hold on to the reins. “You’re going to kill us both—and how can you be so cruel to a horse?” I pull the strap taut. At first the horse nearly careens into us again, but then slows to a stop. The horse is probably just confused, and has simply decided to stop to get away from the crazed hum
ans.
The prince jumps off, landing sloppily on his feet and nearly falling on his ass. He quickly rights himself and draws my sword.
Releasing my own reins, I dismount and stalk toward him. “You have no thoughts for anyone or anything other than yourself.” I wipe the dust from my mouth with the back of my hand, then unsheathe my dagger. “I’ll enjoy teaching you some respect.”
“You don’t understand,” he says, and spits the sand from his own mouth. “I can’t be here. I have to get back to my people. I refuse to be looked after as if I’m some child.” He takes a step toward me, advancing. “How will I ever rule them if they think of me as a coward?”
I scoff. “Again, you’re only thinking of yourself.” I sidestep him, slowly circling, wishing I had a sword.
“I’m thinking of my duty to rule my kingdom!” He lunges and swipes the air, missing me by a full foot. He keeps the blade extended and I move in, capturing his hand and turning into his unguarded stance.
“You should think harder if you actually want to live to see the day you rule.” I kick his legs from under him and follow him to the ground where I press my dagger to his neck.
His gaze latches on to mine, and he swallows, his Adam’s apple working. He truly believes I’m going to end his life. I give him credit; there’s no fear in his eyes—no regret. He must have lived a full and pampered life despite his age.
Still, I’m disgusted with the weak fight he’s barely put up. I remove my blade from his throat. But his eyes don’t convey relief as they linger on my face, wide and curious, and I’m suddenly wary of the mercury.
“Get up.” I turn my face away and climb to my feet, dust off the terrain from my uniform, and sheath my dagger. I take in calming breaths, count to three, then say, “Grab the horse. Let’s get back before the empress has cause to be alarmed.”
The prince doesn’t move. He’s still lying in the dirt, his eyes trained hard on me. “I was taken off guard. And I don’t usually fight girls.”
“The knot on my head states otherwise, Your Highness.”
“And besides,” he continues, ignoring my sarcasm and glare. “I knew you wouldn’t harm me.”
Of Silver and Beasts (Goddess Wars) Page 6