Page 12 of Heartbreak Prince

He makes a faint sound—a laugh or a sob—and looks away into the trees. Moisture glimmers at the edges of his eyelids. “You’ve never been the youngest of five royal children.”

“Oh yes. Poor prince. How difficult life must have been for you.” I step back and scoop up the carpet again.

He smokes in silence as we walk, and when his first cigarette is done, he takes another. “Want one?”

“No.”

We don’t speak again until we’re at the forest’s edge. Beyond a stretch of patchy grass lie several rows of huge, dingy tenement buildings, their shapes blurring and morphing with the rest of the city in the distance.

I press my fingertip to deactivate the illumination glyph. “I’ll take that cigarette now.” When the prince hands over the narrow box, I slide it into one of the leather cups of my corset.

“What are you doing?” he exclaims. “I need those.”

“I’m going to trade them and get you some different clothes. The ones you’re wearing are too conspicuous. Wait here like a good boy. And hold the carpet.”

He accepts the bundle grudgingly. “I disapprove of the way you speak to me.”

“Too bad.” I throw him a saucy smile as I saunter out of the trees.

On my way, I remove the cheap painted pin from the left side of my chest—the one that depicts the emblem of Belavrin, a stained-glass crown with panels of blue and purple. If I’d stayed on as a royal bodyguard, the temporary pin would have been replaced by a beautiful enamel one.

I consider tucking the pin into my pocket, but instead I toss it into the bushes. If I’m going on the run with the prince, the last thing I need is an item on my person that could identify my role to the wrong people.

It doesn’t take me long to find one of the street folk who prowl this area at all hours, dealing in small, low-cost items. The woman I approach looks cleaner than others, and she has a cart with various scavenged wares. She lets me dig through it until I find a set of worn clothing roughly the prince’s size, relatively clean and only slightly musty. No bugs, thank fate. The vendor only has one mask, a battered pink animal face that could belong to a rabbit, a cat, or a rat. It’s better than nothing. I keep two of the cigarettes, pay her with the other three, and head back to Vawn’s hiding spot.

He has wedged the carpet into the crook of a tree branch so he doesn’t have to hold it, and he’s stalking the small clearing with his hands in his pockets and displeasure on his face.

“Here.” I toss the clothes to him. “Change, and stuff what you’re wearing into the hollow at the roots of that tree. Cover it up with leaves. We can’t have anyone finding it.”

He shucks off his coat and pulls his loose shirt out of his waistband. “If you wanted to see me naked, you could have just asked.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You really can’t help it, can you?”

His sheepish grin almost makes me like him a little better. Almost. Until he slowly undoes his pants, watching me, and I remember with vicious clarity how I saw him being fucked by that girl in the Lyre & Vice.

Turning my back on him, I try to keep my voice casual. “Here’s the plan. We’ll go into the Brasspool District and sit down at one of the all-night noodle bars. They’ve always got the latest news from the gossip runners. We’ll confirm what has happened. If it’s not as bad as Lord Praxid said, I might be able to take you back to the palace, or to the home of a trusted friend.”

“And if he was right?”

I draw a long breath. “If someone has killed off not only your immediate family, but your relatives as well, it’s a coup, an intricately planned and well-funded one. Assassinating so many people on the same night requires intimate knowledge of everyone’s habits and schedules, which means they had informants in many places, and probably support from local nobles and military personnel. Which means…”

“I can’t trust anyone.” His smooth voice is pitched lower than usual, hollow and dark.

“We’ll hope for the best until we find out the worst. Are you dressed?”

“Unfortunately.”

When I turn around, I grimace. He’s clad in the worn street clothing, brown pants and an ivory peasant’s shirt. He still looks rich, somehow. Too clean, too smooth, too handsome.

“Take off the rings, the necklaces, and the earrings,” I order. “I’ve got a little pouch on my belt, I can tuck them in there for safekeeping. Keep your hands in your pockets as much as possible to hide that fine set of glyphs. I’ll get you some gloves when I can. Put the mask on, too. It should disguise the pink parts of your hair well enough for a poorly lit street.”

As much as I want to bring the magic carpet with us, it will attract too much attention in this part of the city. We might need it later, but for now, I adapt the prince’s idea and wedge it among the branches of a tree. I choose one with knots and grooves that look like a face so I can locate it again easily, and I climb halfway up to stow the bundle. When I hop down, I brush my hands off and crane my neck to make sure no one can see it from the ground.

With any luck, it will remain hidden here until we have a use for it.

I lead the prince through the grid of the narrow neighborhood streets. His pink mask tilts up as he gazes at the gigantic tenement buildings with their rows of cracked windows, rickety balconies, and chipped stonework. Countless laundry lines stretch across the street, forming a web high above us.

A man lying against a rubbish barrel reaches out, grabbing for Vawn’s ankle. The prince kicks at the clutching hand, and I grab him, pushing him ahead.