Broken Prince: A New Adult Romance Novel

by Rose, Aubrey

  "I...we've gotten very close," Mark said. He quirked the side of his mouth in a kind of smile. "I suppose we're dating."

  "I suppose you are," I said. "You don't kiss random people goodbye on the mouth, unless that's a new Hungarian tradition."

  "No," Mark said, his white cheeks flushing red and blotchy.

  "Sorry," I said. "Too much snark. Uncalled for."

  "You can be as snarky as you like, Brynn," Mark said. His voice was quiet. I felt like I had broken something in our friendship, or maybe we had just lost it naturally when I had stayed away. I didn't want that, though. I wanted everything to be the same as it was before the assault, and before Mark tried to kiss me. I wanted to be friends and joke around.

  "I get a free pass on snark? Don't tempt me," I said.

  "I will take every piece of sarcasm you throw at me," Mark said, raising his hand solemnly. "I swear I don't mind."

  "So, my mom?" I asked. "What about her?"

  "I mentioned you, I forget how it came up," Mark said. "But when I said your mother was buried in the Fiumei cemetery, Mrs. Deveny—that's Csilla's mom—she asked what your name was again. She remembered it."

  "Remembered it? From where? Eliot said that the newspapers didn't mention it at all. He looked back through a bunch of records to see if he could find anything, but nothing came up."

  "Eliot?"

  "Dr. Herceg." Now it was my turn to blush.

  "It was a big deal, Brynn. An American tourist getting killed. They kept it out of the papers, claiming that it was part of an ongoing case, but Mrs. Deveny said that there are still tons of files on record. Just on private record. She remembered the case, even."

  "Could she get me access to the files?" My heart thudded.

  "I'm not sure. I didn't ask," Mark said.

  "Why not?" I asked.

  "I wasn't sure you would want to know," Mark said. "If it was... she said it was a violent murder."

  "I want to know," I said breathlessly. "I want to know the truth."

  "Then I'll ask for you," Mark said. "I'll go to her place tonight to ask."

  "I can do it," I said. "Can I call her? Do you have her number?"

  "I have Csilla's number," Mark said, biting his lip. "Not her mom's."

  "Give me the address, then," I said.

  "Brynn..." Mark trailed off.

  "What?" I asked.

  "Nothing," he said. He pulled out his phone to look up the address and wrote it down for me.

  "Maybe I'll see you there tonight," I said. It was an attempt at humor, but it failed miserably. Mark looked awkward, more awkward than normal, and didn't know what to say.

  "What are you working on?" I asked, turning away and looking at the math that Mark had been discussing with Csilla. It was the same proof Eliot had been struggling with, a subsidiary case. From the looks of it, Mark had tried to break down the proof into a smaller problem, working on the base cases before doing the induction steps. The base cases were hard enough, but I smiled to see that he had gotten stuck on the same step I had. That method would not work, no matter what. It was a good try, but it wasn't going to lead anywhere.

  "The first three parts of this proof we have," Mark said. He darted a glance over at me. "You understand how we substituted here?"

  "Yep," I said. I didn't care much for the tone of condescension in his voice. I also didn't like his use of the word we. "It all looks fine. I like the simplification you did here. Makes it easier to see what's going on."

  "Yeah, but we can't figure the next part out," he said.

  "We? You mean you and Csilla."

  Mark looked up in surprise. "Brynn—"

  "It's nothing," I said. "You just seem like quite an inseparable unit after only a few weeks."

  "I thought you didn't care about me like that," Mark said. "You said—"

  "I don't!" My voice was too loud, high-pitched. The students at the next table turned to look at us and I lowered my words to a whisper. "I don't. I just don't like her."

  "You've made that clear," Mark said, his dark eyes sparking with intense emotion. "But I do like her. I'm not going out with her to spite you, Brynn."

  "I never said you were," I said. The thought hadn't even crossed my mind until then.

  "Brynn, I want to be your friend," he said.

  "Dating the one person in Budapest who has it out for me isn't exactly the friendliest thing you could do," I said. I could see my words stung him.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "Can we just joke around, do math together? Like we used to?"

  "Sure," I said, crossing my arms and turning back to the board. The numbers swam in front of my eyes.

  "Have you looked at what we—what I'm trying to do here?" he asked.

  "Yeah," I said.

  "And?" he asked.

  "And what are you getting to with all this?" My hand waved at the lines on the whiteboard.

  "Not much. The proof for this last case seems impossible," Mark said.

  "That's because it is," I said coldly.

  "I don't see—"

  I reached out for the whiteboard marker and wrote rapidly. The last simplification led directly to a dead end, the same dead end that we had eliminated weeks before. Mark watched, his eyes widening in comprehension as the formulas changed into their familiar structure. The wrong structure. I finished the line, then drew a sharp slash through the entire proof.

  "Impossible," I said. "Completely impossible. The proof is wrong." I capped the marker and tossed it down on the table.

  "Brynn—"

  "Call me if you figure out anything new," I said, a hiss underlying the syllables. "You and Csilla."

  "Brynn, I'm sorry—"

  "I have to go," I said, picking up the slip of paper with the address on it. I left Mark staring at the board filled with numbers. No solution. At least, no solution I could see.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Eliot

  “It is not enough to have a good mind. The main thing is to use it well.”

  Rene Descartes

  Music played as Eliot paced back and forth in front of the shelves of books. Behind him, on his desk, the mathematical work he had started lay abandoned, dimly lit by the lamp which cast his moving shadow onto the wall. His mind was filled with thoughts of Brynn.

  Brynn. He had put on his favorite recording of Satie, telling himself that it would inspire him to work faster on the math problem. But after the first chords rung out, he was transported back to the first time he had played the piano for Brynn. His mind could not relieve itself of worry. She was gone—where? To the Fiumei cemetery? She would not still be there after so many hours. To the Academy, to study? Perhaps. Perhaps she was having fun, shopping with a friend, or eating out somewhere in a little cafe. He should have taken her out to dinner. She needed him, and he had been so selfish. It didn't matter that people would stare at him. Let them stare. They could eat out somewhere out of the way, maybe. Now perhaps she was out eating dinner with that other student, Mark—

  "Stop it, Eliot," he said out loud. "You're being ridiculous." Then came the thought that talking to himself in the middle of his study was also quite ridiculous. He sighed heavily and sat down on one end of the leather couch. On the other end, the gray kitten flicked his tail at being interrupted in the middle of a nap. The soft melody of Satie's Gymnopedie floated through the air.

  Relax. Marta had told him before she left that he gave himself too many burdens, that he should relax. Eliot shifted uncomfortably on the leather cushions, trying to get comfortable. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, then opened them again.

  Relax. Turning sideways, he pulled his feet up onto the couch, trying not to step on any part of the kitten. His long frame was almost too big to lay out completely, but he stretched his feet over both kitten and armrest. Lucky stood up in a kittenish stretch, irked to be displaced, and hopped over onto Eliot's stomach.

  "Hello," Eliot said. The kitten cocked its head, looking straight into Eliot's face. His tail flicked ba
ck and forth.

  "I'm not feeding you again," Eliot said. Lucky curled up onto his chest and went immediately to sleep, his warm body vibrating against Eliot's with a low purr.

  Eliot petted Lucky with one finger, stroking the little head with his knuckle.

  "I wish I could relax so easily," Eliot said. He yawned. Perhaps he could read a bit before taking a nap.

  His eyes scanned the bookshelves and caught on an old book, one of the books he had read as a child. The Little Prince. Trying hard not to disturb the kitten sleeping on his chest, he reached over the back of the couch and hooked his finger on the spine, pulling it out. He flipped to a random page and started to read. His eyelids drooped and he fell into darkness as he read about wandering through the desert, and finding a garden full of roses...

  "Eliot?"

  The voice carried through his sleeping brain and tickled him into consciousness. He picked his head up and looked over. Brynn was standing in the doorway. Her sweater had slipped down over one shoulder and a curl of her dark hair had slipped out of its bun, snaking its way down her neck and to her collarbone.

  "Eliot?" Her voice was soft, needy. As he brought himself into full awareness the book he had been reading slipped from his hand and fell to the floor with a clatter. The kitten still laying on his chest perked up its ears.

  "Brynn," he said. He coughed, pulling himself up on the couch. Lucky hopped off and looked back at him peevishly. He brushed the gray hair from his shirt as he stood up from the couch. Brynn's eyes were sad, and he thought that she looked at him with disappointment.

  "Brynn," he said, not waiting for her to respond, "I'm sorry about this afternoon. I want to apologize for being so irritable lately. It's nothing to do with you. It's just—"

  Brynn stepped forward and hugged him hard. He stopped talking, his hands clasping her head close against her chest. He kissed the top of her hair. Her hands were tight around him, her fingers pressing into his back greedily. The hug was an apology and a plea, all in one. Under her sweater he could feel her heartbeat pounding against the skin.

  "Hold me," she said, her voice cracking. "Please."

  "Of course," Eliot said. He rocked softly from side to side, pulling her against him in a complete embrace. The piano record finished, then started again automatically. The notes of the Gymnopedie trickled out of the speaker, too loud for their silence.

  "Eliot..." Brynn began to say, then stopped.

  "What is it?" he murmured, his lips against her forehead. "Brynn, darling. What is it?"

  "It's my mom," she said.

  "You went to visit her?"

  "Yes, but not that. Mark—Mark said he might have more information about her death." She looked up at him, her eyes troubled.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. Brynn had never been open about her family. Eliot knew that her father had left after her mother died, leaving her to stay with only her grandmother. He got the impression that she never wanted to talk about her father's side of the family. And her mother—well, her mother had died.

  "What do you know about her?" Brynn asked. "I know you looked her up." Eliot frowned, and she went on. "I saw the name on your computer one night. You were looking through newspaper records."

  "I was curious," he admitted. "Since she died in Hungary. You never told me how."

  "What did you find?" Brynn asked.

  "Nothing," Eliot said. "I looked through all the public records. There was no mention of her name." He looked up to Brynn. "I'm not saying I don't believe you. I thought perhaps she went by another name here."

  "No, there's nothing in the public records," Brynn said.

  "Then how would you find anything?" Eliot frowned.

  "Mark says that there might be police files."

  "Police files?"

  Eliot held her hands tightly as she recounted her conversation with Mark. The poor girl. To lose her mother to a violent death? She did not deserve this.

  "Do you really want to know what happened?" Eliot said.

  "Yes," Brynn said. Her mouth was set in fierce determination, and Eliot could not help but lean forward to kiss her. Her strength was a marvel.

  "Would you like me to come with you?" Eliot asked. "To find the police files?" Immediately as he spoke he regretted the offer. He had been forced to deal with the police all too often in the time before he left Hungary.

  "Would you?" Brynn said. Her upturned face begged him for help.

  "Perhaps... perhaps it would be better if Marta took you," Eliot said, stroking her hand with his fingers. "She has more friends in the police department. With Otto's political connections, she might be able to help you more."

  "Alright," Brynn said. Eliot could tell that she was disappointed. He wanted to hug her tightly, to confess all of his hidden anxieties, but he could not. She had enough to deal with, plenty of stress from other sources, that he could not justify easing his own mental burdens onto her. And, in a deeper and more secret part of his heart, he worried that she might not believe his side of the story, or at least she would have doubts.

  In Hungary he was a prince, yes, but he was also a criminal. What would she think of him?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Brynn

  Snow covered the trees and made them silent, the sun filtering through the branches thinly to the frosted ground. The only sound in my dream was the call of a bird echoing through the forest. It faded away. I heard a branch break and turned around, but there was nothing there.

  I looked down and saw my shadow, the tracks from where my shoes had marked the ground coming through the woods. Footsteps in the snow do not leave a permanent trail, I thought to myself, no more than breadcrumbs. Eliot would not be able to follow me.

  A chill ran through my arms and I rubbed my finger against my palms to warm them. I looked down again and there was another shadow, bigger than mine, from something just behind me. I tried to spin around but I was frozen in place. In dreams, that is always the most frightening part—not being able to control your own body. Not being able to move a muscle, your limbs sluggish and limp, your whole being aching to move but not being able to.

  As I watched the shadow grow larger, the entire forest seemed to darken. The footsteps I had left began to turn darker, and I realized that they were full of blood, blood that seeped up from the ground and overflowed, turning into a stream that ran scarlet over my feet. I felt the blood soaking into my shoes, and then I heard my mother scream.

  "Help!"

  It was her voice, it was the thing I remembered most clearly. Her voice that always used to tell me stories and sing me to sleep.

  "Help!"

  From behind me, a hand grabbed my arm, and I shrieked. My arms lashed out at the dark figure above me.

  "Brynn," Eliot said. His shirt was undone, his hair tousled. His hand wrapped around my wrist, holding it gently but firmly.

  "Ahhh!" I cried.

  "You had a nightmare. It's okay," he said.

  "Eliot? Eliot?" My thoughts were a jumble. At first my instinct was to flee away, into the woods, but then I blinked and I was back in the dim light of my room, the canopied bed over me.

  "I heard you cry out," he said. "I was working in the study. Are you alright?"

  I sobbed as he pulled me against his chest to soothe me. My nightshirt was soaked in sweat, and even in the summer heat I felt the chill of the snow in my dream.

  "It was her," I said. "He got my mom. He got her again. And I couldn't see anything, not even who it was."

  "Shhh," Eliot said, pressing kisses on top of my head. His lips were as light as sparrows. "It's okay now. I'm here. I'm with you."

  "I don't want to dream again," I said. He rocked me slightly as I murmured the words against his bare chest. "I don't ever want to have those dreams. I want it all to go away."

  "It will," Eliot said consolingly. "It just takes time. It will always take time for things to go back to normal."

  "Let me sleep with you," I blurted out. "I mean... in your bed
."

  Eliot seemed taken aback.

  "Of—of course," he said. "I just thought you needed your space."

  "I'm scared," I said. I felt foolish, stupid. Like a small child, needing to be comforted. I hated this feeling. I wanted to be strong, like the goddesses of legend. I wanted to be independent. I didn't want to have to lean on anyone for comfort. But here I was, leaning against Eliot yet again. He was always my savior.

  "Anything you want," Eliot said. He brought my hands up to his lips, kissed my fingers. "You're my princess, aren't you?"

  "Yes," I whispered. "And you're my prince."

  "Now don't worry about those nightmares," Eliot said. His large thumb brushed away the tears on my cheek, leaving only a damp streak. "They'll go away soon enough. But perhaps you shouldn't try to do impossible proofs before bedtime."

  I forced out a small giggle.

  "I doubt that's what my nightmares are about," I said. "Unless it's the ghost of Gauss haunting me."

  "It could very well be," Eliot said gravely, a twinkle in his eye. "The spirit of incomplete sets."

  "Of undecidable theorems," I said.

  "Of proofs by contradiction," Eliot said. "A mischievous demon indeed."

  I yawned. The nightmare had already faded into the corners of my mind, although the dark sense of foreboding lingered.

  "But now," he said, throwing back the covers, "it's time to bring the princess back to my bed."

  I squealed as he lifted me up, my feet kicking helplessly in the air. His arms held me tightly against his broad chest, and I flung my arms around his shoulders.

  "Come," he said. "Come with me, princess, and I will save you from the evil monsters that lurk in the cracks of number theory."

  "It doesn't look like I have any choice in the matter," I said happily, as he marched down the hallway with me in his arms.

  "You always have a choice, Brynn," Eliot said. His voice was quieter, and I hugged him around the neck, placing a small kiss on his collarbone.

  "Then I choose to be with my prince," I said.

  He carried me through the doorway and lay me down on top of his bed. It was huge, the leather headboard embroidered with gold thread, and downy white pillows lay perfectly fluffed at the top of the bed.