Page 107 of Heartbreak Prince

I’m no grizzled, weathered guard with a frame toughened by years of experience. Much as I want to deny it, I’m too new for this, too young and soft. I want a comfortable bed and a hot meal and a glass of wine. I want my body to stop hurting for just a few minutes. And then there’s the constant, gnawing worry underlying every breath I take—the fear that something bad will happen to Vawn. I would love some relief from that.

The prince reaches over and places his furry glove on top of mine. I glance at him, shocked, my weary brain momentarily convinced that he read my thoughts.

“Thank you for getting me here.” He nods toward the palace up ahead.

The palace of the Twin Lieges is built on a jutting slab of gray rock—a comforting sight after the sinkholes we’ve seen. It should be a safe place to rest, thanks to its solid foundation. Bells chime from thin, pointed towers as we approach.

Vawn takes a flask from a pocket within his furs and sips from it. He’s been partaking of its contents regularly for the past hour.

“Liquid courage?” I ask.

He voices a reckless chuckle. “If I’m forbidden to use my podalic glyphs, I have to find some other way of facing what’s ahead.”

“I didn’t forbid you—I gave you a suggestion. When it comes to the health of your mind, I might make recommendations, but I would never command you to do one thing or another. I haven’t experienced what you endure. I don’t live inside your head.”

“Thank the fates,” he mutters, sipping from his flask again.

“Take it slow, please,” I beg him. “You need to be keen and wise for this negotiation.”

“Oh, the bargaining won’t happen today. There will be some sort of dinner or feast tonight, and then we’ll hit the negotiations tomorrow. I’m fortifying myself against the Twins. I haven’t visited this city before, but I’ve met them twice. They are… well… you’ll see.”

Our carpet sails through the tall double doors of the palace into a room lined with pillars and paved with blue marble. The room might have been huge once, but there’s barely enough space for three magic carpets because piles of items fill the space, reaching about two-thirds of the way up the pillars. I’m not sure what all of the objects are, but I glimpse brass-banded trunks, barrels, bolts of cloth, packages wrapped in soiled brown paper, small bits of statuary, wooden carvings, broken chairs, painted dressers, and embroidered pillows. There are clocks and quilts, candelabra and ceramic bowls, crumpled brocade curtains and tarnished silver.

As we dismount from our carpet, servants hurry forward to take Severin’s case and our satchels. The servants are all clad in the same livery—long robes of pale blue, overlaid with thin vestments embroidered in snowy swirls of gray and white.

“As the prince’s bodyguard, I need a room next to his. Preferably adjoining his suite,” I tell them.

“It shall be done, ma’am,” says one of the servants with a respectful bow.

While more servants remove our furs and usher away the magic carpets, I survey the cluttered room.

“Have the people of Tularesk brought some of their belongings here for safe storage?” I pose the question partly to Vawn and partly to the attendants.

One of the servants exchanges a look with her companions, then replies, “No, ma’am. All these items belong to our Lieges. This room, like the rest of the palace, is full of their treasures.”

“Oh.” I look to Vawn for an explanation, but he only shrugs and holds out his flask toward me. As if I’m going to need liquid fortification as well.

A beautiful middle-aged woman with bronze skin approaches us. Her dark hair is pulled back smooth and tight, then woven into a braid that arches high at the back of her skull and falls all the way down her back, its curled end brushing her skirts. Her uniform is very similar to that of the other servants, except she has red fur epaulets.

She curtsies deeply before Vawn. “Your Highness, King to be,” she says. “I am Inaya, Stewardess of the Seat. Welcome. We bless the goddess Lune that you have made it here safely, thanks in part to the bravery of your esteemed bodyguard.” She curtsies briefly to me as well. “I understand that you are weary from your journey. We will let you rest soon, but if you would kindly indulge our Lieges with a brief audience, they would be most grateful.”

“Of course,” Vawn replies, with his most sunny, gracious smile. “Anything for the Twins.”

“Right this way. Please excuse the abundance of our Lieges’ treasures.”

Following Inaya, we weave our way along a narrow path between the mountains of objects. As the fresh air from the entrance fades, I begin to detect a strong odor, musty and sour, with occasional hints of something truly foul.

The Stewardess reaches the entrance to a hallway—or what used to be a hallway before it was choked with piles of possessions. The floor is covered with objects, jammed so closely together that they’re like the pavers of a garden path. Inaya has to walk on top of the compacted mess in order to proceed.

“Watch your step,” she says, without looking back. Her shoulders are rigid, and I realize how difficult her job must be—trapped in this overstuffed palace, possibly forbidden to clean it out the way she might want to. Yet she stays, because everywhere else is crumbling.

“Did you know it was like this?” I whisper to Vawn.

“I’ve heard the stories, but seeing it in person is quite different.”

“I’ll go first. Be careful.”

We worm our way through the narrow passage, bumping our elbows on jutting pieces of furniture, nearly choking on the dust that puffs up from discarded bolts of fabric and rolls of fur. On the wall, barely visible above the piles, I spot the head of a moharganth, the extinct predator Vawn mentioned. The moharganth has sleek black fur, red glass eyes, and shining scarlet tusks curving upward from its lower jaw. Long, rabbitlike ears brush the ceiling. Their tufted tips look silky-soft even in death.