Page 2 of Heartbreak Prince

“Fucking incredible,” drawls Loxley. “You there, guard girl—cut off its horn for me, will you?”

I received plenty of commands at the Elite Guardians Academy, the most challenging military school in our kingdom of Belavrin. I’m used to following orders without question. But those orders usually made sense, and this is more than absurd—it’s disgraceful, not to mention illegal.

Unicorns used to be plentiful in Belavrin, with whole herds of them running wild through the mountains and meadows. Now they exist mostly on breeding farms and ranches, and those that remain in the wild are protected by the King’s law. It’s forbidden to kill them, and if they’re slain by accident, their bodies cannot be pillaged.

On farms and ranches, unicorn blood is harvested in small quantities throughout the animal’s lifetime and used as an ingredient in most types of glyph paint. Strands from their luminous manes, tails, and fetlocks are woven into magic carpets or used in various lighting fixtures. And when they pass away from old age, their horns and hooves are ground into powder and incorporated into nail varnish, to make it more durable.

It’s a system guided by rules for the protection of the creatures, but that doesn’t change the fact that we use them for our own benefit. And it’s wrong to violate this animal’s body after our carriage ended its life.

When I hesitate to obey Loxley, his grin fades. He shakes Tolgan off, steps toward me, and snaps his fingers in front of my face. “You. Girl. Are you listening? I gave you an order.”

Heat floods my cheeks and I bite my lip, trying not to voice the rebellious retort that leaps to the tip of my tongue.

I was honored to be chosen for this detail, to have the chance for a position as a royal bodyguard. But maybe I’m not cut out for the role. It’s too hard for me to keep my morals and my opinions to myself.

A tall figure emerges from the gloom behind the two young men. A pale hand covered in glyph-graven rings and tipped with long, intricately painted nails clasps Loxley’s shoulder.

“Steady there, Loxley my love,” Prince Vawn croons. “What’s got your feathers ruffled up?”

“Your temp bodyguard,” snaps Loxley. “She’s insolent.”

“Since when is that a crime?” The prince grins. “I’m insolent as fuck, and you like me.”

“It’s not her place to question my decisions.”

“What did she say?”

Loxley shifts his stance. “Nothing. She just stood there. She refused to carry out the task I gave her.”

“Which was?”

“To cut off the unicorn’s horn and give it to me.”

Something uneasy flickers in the prince’s eyes. He has the strangest irises I’ve ever seen, such a light grayish-blue that they sometimes blend with the whites of his eyes. Tonight he’s wearing makeup, heavy lines of kohl and glowing pink eyeshadow. Combined with his dark lashes and arched black brows, the effect is striking.

“Why do you want the horn?” he asks Loxley.

“For fun? As a trophy? Fuck if I know. Make her get it for me.”

The prince looks at me again.

Don’t make me do this, I say inwardly, desperately. I let my eyes and my lips soften, hoping he’ll take pity on me, the weak little girl guard. I hate pandering to men, but if it helps me get out of this situation, I will. I can’t cut off that beautiful creature’s horn. I won’t.

The prince tosses a hand through his black hair, and the pink strands at the front tumble against his cheekbones again, framing his face. At least they know their place.

He steps past me, and I catch a whiff of his cologne, spicy and dark. He presses the nail of the third finger on his right hand, where he has an inward-facing glyph for strength. Then he plants one foot on the dead unicorn’s skull and, with a cracking wrench, pulls the horn free. Its root is all pearly blood and splintered bone.

I turn away, walking quickly toward another part of the grass, where I vomit up the scant supper that I ate before I reported for this shift.

Tolgan makes a snickering comment I can’t hear, and the men laugh as they head back toward the carriage.

“Syth,” snaps Renfrow. “Now.”

I hurry after him, catching up halfway to the carriage.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” he asks, low.

“No.”