Page 10 of Heartbreak Prince

After a few minutes, I press the issue again. “I saw most of your glyphs during the carriage ride. I identified seven of them, but there were three I didn’t recognize.”

“Is that so?”

“Your glyphs are mostly designed to enhance either your pleasure or your partner’s. Nerve stimulants, flexibility, stamina. The stamina glyph might be more useful if it applied to your whole body instead of just your dick, but I noticed the serif on the bottom of the design, limiting its effect to that part of your anatomy. Not the wisest choice.”

He vents a scoffing laugh. “You’re going to be in so much trouble for speaking to me like this. You have no respect for my position at all.”

“Do you still have a position?”

It’s a cruel thing to say if Praxid’s message was true, but he’s so infuriating I don’t really care.

“I fucking hate you,” the prince mutters.

“The feeling is more than mutual, I promise. If you don’t want my help, I’ll be happy to leave you here in the woods and let those soldiers find you.”

“You’re contracted to protect me tonight,” he counters. “You can’t leave.”

“I think I can. I think this coup or rebellion means that you have no more authority over me.”

He stops walking, and I turn to face him. A shaft of moonlight illuminates his pale face, turning his eyes icy and ethereal. He looks stunned, like the reality of what’s happening just registered with him.

Or perhaps it’s a calculated expression, intended to throw me off my guard.

“Please.” His full lips form the word softly. “Please stay. Help me.”

I shift my stance and renew my grip on the carpet.

Despite how irritating I find him, he has a point. I’m under contract. I took a job and made a commitment to serve as his bodyguard. If there was one thing the instructors drilled into us at the Academy, it was to operate with a sense of pride in our work—to do it well, whether we liked the client or not, whether the pay was good or not. We were trained to be dependable and trustworthy, and no matter what I think of the prince as a person, I refuse to be someone who bails on a job when it becomes dangerous.

“Look, I think your family has its issues, but your father has ruled better than the last king, that’s for damn sure. If this coup is real—if your family was murdered—they didn’t deserve that. And you might be an asshole, but I don’t think you deserve death, either. So I’m willing to help you, but when it comes to matters of your safety, you’ve got to listen to me and do what I say.”

“I can do that, beautiful.” His lashes lower seductively as he smiles.

Oh gods, that’s a dangerous expression. “No. Don’t start looking at me that way either.”

“Why not? Afraid you might like it too much? I saw the way you were looking at me earlier, when I was with Yufia.”

Shit, I hope he can’t tell that I’m blushing. “Since you brought it up, let’s be clear on one point. You and I will never fuck, ever.”

“Never ever?” His eyebrows lift. “So sure of that, are you?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. Especially since you just swore that you hate me, and now you’re smiling and flirting right after finding out that your entire family might be dead.”

His grin vanishes, shadows deepening on his face as he looks down at the forest floor. “That can’t be true. We have guards, defenses, safe zones within the palace. Secure chambers. Even if there was an attack, it can’t be as bad as Praxid said. He was mistaken.”

“I hope so,” I tell him, with all the gentleness I can manage. “For now, let’s focus on getting out of this forest. If we keep heading northwest, we’ll come out in the Brasspool District of the capital.”

“Brasspool?” He makes a face. “That part of the city is a maze, and it’s filthy.”

“Which means it’s the perfect place to hide you while I make inquiries about what happened. We need information and money. And probably masks, too, because you’re so damn obvious.”

“Won’t it be obvious if I wear a mask?”

“Not in the Brasspool District. Plenty of people who go there don’t want to be recognized. Do you have any coins or notes on you?”

Vawn shakes his head. “I don’t carry money. The places I visit—bars, clubs, brothels, fine dining establishments, circuses, what have you—they bill the palace for my drinks, food, and entertainment. My father doesn’t enjoy getting the bills, but at least I can always count on him speaking to me once a month when they come in. Well… speaking might not be the right word. He yells. Gets red in the face. It’s adorable.”

He’s grinning again, but it’s a fragile smile, bright and hard, one that might crack any minute.