Page 33 of Only Flames Remain

This particular prince reminded me of the fleeting image I had seen on the dock as we approached the shipyard. The image was gone as quickly as it had appeared—I couldn’t be sure that it hadn’t merely been my imagination.

I froze, my back flush against the wall as I pressed myself against it.

Was this the prince I was destined to kill?

I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to select me or not. On the one hand, it would be easier to complete my mission if he did. I would have easy access to his quarters and his personal items. On the other hand, it would also draw suspicion in my direction if anything were to happen to him. The royals would know who I was, thus making it impossible to remain invisible and escape quickly.

Valerian was said to be young and to shirk his duties. Emrys was the dubious red arrowhead. The more I pondered it, the more I believed the one before me was, indeed, the bastard prince.

His ears were pointed, but only just. With his hair cascading over his brow and his wings hidden, I could see how he could pass as an exceptionally tall and beautiful human. It did not escape me that there was no relic blade hanging at his waist as Queen Dyata had indicated there would be.

As the prince walked down the line of humans, murmurings circulated in hushed whispers throughout the hall. That the crown prince of Gothryn was in the same room as the future king of Myros’s exiled lover.

I cringed inwardly, knowing that these hushed rumors would surely reach his ears with the superior hearing the Veytari and Vireth possessed.

The whispers did not visibly draw his attention, though I know he had to have heard them. He continued down the line, examining the humans and asking questions as the Vireth before him had. At the end of the first row, he turned, skipping the lines between and making his way down the farthest line against the back wall.

Toward me.

With no other prospective employers in the room, the tension was palpable. Each and every human was on edge as we waited for the prince’s assessment.

I felt the common magic before I saw it, a shiver dancing across my skin. It was enough to raise the gooseflesh on my exposed arms. A human had reached out to touch the prince in awe. He had lifted his own hand in turn, golden wisps of magic shoving the hand away before it could make contact. He merely narrowed his eyes, and a guard rushed forward, removing the human who had tried to touch him without a single word.

As he drew closer and closer, an unfamiliar presence stirred in my core. I grew tense as a taut bowstring, as if I might snap at any moment. A flame stirred in my chest, my mouth falling open of its own volition as if I were prepared to spill my deepest and darkest secrets against my better judgment or consent.

Was this more common magic from the Vireth prince? Or simply my nerves getting the better of me?

He was only two humans away from me now, and both were men. A flush rose up my neck to paint my cheeks as his face came into clear focus now that he was merely a few feet away.

Handsome might not be the correct word to describe the prince. His beauty was otherworldly. A perfectly symmetrical jaw with a freckle that I hadn’t been able to see from a distance dotting the unmarred skin beneath his right eye. Silken hair as dark as night, pushed back from his face to expose ears that revealed his halfling lineage.

The bastard prince may be half human, but he remained heir to the throne due to his unrivaled strength. Nothing of the sort would ever come to fruition in Myros—regardless of if he were the most powerful or not. Firstborn or not. Human blood tainted…it was as simple as that.

I continued my perusal of him, the texture of his wings drawing my attention. I could see now why the other human had wanted to reach out to touch them. Those wings were a sight to behold. Leathery and dark, though they moved fluidly as if they were silk. I imagined they would feel as if they were made of velvet if I ran my fingers over their smooth surface. Uncertainty stirred in my chest as he drew nearer.

My eyes traveled up, over the veins in his neck, the scruff on his jaw. Deep, fathomless brown eyes. So dark they bordered on obsidian. But right there—right in the center—was a spatter of honey-gold flecks.

Those fathomless dark eyes turned their gaze on me and the blood in my veins warmed. I had expected to turn cold with fear. I thought I would bristle at his nearness, my body having a physical reaction to the revulsion that ran through my veins.

But the prince’s gaze passed over my skin, gentle as a featherlight touch. He raised his dark brow in question as he stepped in front of me, his arms still crossed behind his back beneath those formidable wings.

That dark gaze dragged down to my feet, then, languidly, back up my body with agonizing slowness. My breath caught in my throat and lodged there as his gaze finally reached mine. I thought for one prolonged moment that I might pass out. Not because of the effect he had on me—though I imagine I wouldn’t be the first woman to swoon before him—but because this was the prince I was expected to kill. He was right here before me. It felt real for the first time since I had left Myros’s shores.

He was easily a head and a half taller than me and twice as broad, his generous wingspan on display as he fidgeted with them, extending and retracting them as he tilted his head to the side in thought.

“A little over dressed for the occasion?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth as spun silk.

Gooseflesh raised along my arms. I had assumed all the Blackwater princes would be rather good looking, but the prince who stood before me was more terribly beautiful than I could have imagined. The thought sent a pang through me as I thought of Kallias.

I glanced down at my dress and a quick laugh burst from my throat before I could swallow it back down. The plum-colored gown had full skirts, causing those standing beside me to keep their distance lest they step on the hem. The neckline was square, white beading along the edges with lace cap sleeves that fell delicately over my shoulders. It truly was the least formal and unadorned dress I owned.

I was always expected to be dressed the part at court in Myros. I expected the same would be true for Gothryn. Housemaid or not, staff was expected to fit in seamlessly at court. Was that not the case in Gothryn?

Everything else I had brought with me was even more elegant than this. I made a mental note to borrow more plain shift dresses from Enora who detested the fine elegance of court.

“This is the least formal dress I have.” I tried to avoid his burning gaze, but something drew my eyes back up to his. “Your Highness,” I tacked on, curtsying deeply before him.

“Unique…” he murmured, lost in thought. “I’ve never seen two different colored eyes before.”