I fully expect Corrick to offer me his arm and lead me to his carriage, but he extends a hand toward my seat and gives me an expectant look. “Shall we?”
I don’t know what to say. A few of the guards have fallen back to stand along the wall, with one to stand guard outside, while two stand near enough to the table that we’re still the center of attention. I don’t want to gape at the prince like half the people in the shop, so I clamp my lips shut. I’ve taken enough etiquette lessons at this point that I can avoid falling all over myself when it comes to royal protocol in public.
I take hold of my skirts and drop into a slight curtsy. “Certainly. Thank you, Your Highness.” I ease into the chair. His expression doesn’t change, but a light sparks in his eyes like he’s amused. He settles into the chair across from
me, then turns the handle of Karri’s mug in his direction. “You look so surprised,” he says.
“I am surprised.”
Mistress Woolfrey bustles over hurriedly. She’s a tall, portly woman with light brown skin and fuzzy braids wrapped on top of her head. I’ve always liked her, so I smile, but like everyone else here, she’s only got eyes for
Prince Corrick right now. Some of the people are terrified of him—but others are in awe. The king and his brother might not be well liked, but they are very definitely well respected, even if it’s a respect born of fear. Stories about the King’s Justice sitting down in a common shop will feed the rumor mill for days.
I’ll admit that once you get past his reputation, Prince Corrick isn’t difficult to look at. Vibrant blue eyes sit well in his face, which is full of angles, with just a sprinkling of freckles to steal some of his severity—though a narrow scar over his eyebrow adds it right back. It’s late enough in the day that a shadow of beard growth has slightly darkened his jaw, too. The silver buttons on his brocade jacket glisten in the light, and the jeweled hilt of an ornate dagger is revealed at his waist. I’ve learned that he spends a number of hours training with the man-at-arms at the palace, so he’s no stranger to physical exertion, but his hands are clean, with long, elegant fingers, his palms smooth and free of calluses. He looks so out of place among the laborers and dockworkers who have stopped in for a sweet treat after a hard day at work.
“Your Highness,” the shop owner says in a rush,
dropping into a curtsy herself. “Allow me to have one of the girls make you a fresh drink.”
“No need,” he says.
“Oh, I insist,” she continues effusively, already reaching for the mug.
His eyes flick up. “I insist that you not.”
His voice isn’t forceful, but Corrick never needs to be. He has a cool confidence that always seems unflappable. An expectation that things will go his way. The king is no different.
Mistress Woolfrey’s hands go still, and she jerks them back against her body. Her mouth works like she wants to
say something, but she isn’t sure what.
“We’ll alert you if we need anything,” Corrick adds.
“Ah … yes. Of course.” She bobs another quick curtsy, then returns behind the counter. Conversation in the shop resumes quietly.
Corrick picks up a spoon and stirs at his chocolate cream like he’s completely unbothered. “Why so surprised?” he says easily, as if we weren’t interrupted.
“This is hardly the place anyone would expect to find the King’s Justice,” I say, keeping my voice low. “You’re giving everyone enough gossip for a week.”
“Just a week?” He lifts the mug and takes a sip. His eyebrows go up. “That is rather good. Perhaps the King’s Justice should make this more of a habit.”
“I’m not sure Mistress Woolfrey would survive the shock.” I haven’t touched my own drink. “Why didn’t you want her to make you a new one?”
“Because I felt rather certain the one she made for your friend Karri wouldn’t be poisoned.”
He says this as equably as everything else he’s said, but it makes me hesitate before reaching for my own cup. I know the good side of Corrick, the man who wants to help his people. I forget that everyone else still sees him as Cruel Corrick, one of the most terrifying men in all of Kandala.
“Right,” I say weakly. Now I’m worried about the cup Lochlan placed in front of me. I let go of the handle.
“Here,” says Corrick, and there’s a gentle note in his voice that no one will hear beyond this table. He slides his cup toward me.
I meet his eyes and see the warmth there. The kindness.
The awareness.
This is what he never allows anyone to see. This is what people like Lochlan need to see.
“Thank you,” I say, and I’m not quiet about it at all. I take a sip.
It’s divine.
“Lochlan was right, you know,” Corrick says. “You shouldn’t be leaving the palace without protection.”
“I’m no one of importance,” I say.
“I beg to differ. He’s lucky I didn’t have one of the guards put an arrow in his back for standing over you like that.”
I choke on my next sip. “Well. That would have made for an interesting second meeting.” I ease the cup onto the table, but as I lift my eyes, a slight movement beyond Corrick catches my attention. A man and woman are sitting near the window, but the man is glaring at the prince. He’s older, with thinning hair and a thick gray beard, but his arms are heavily muscled. His shirt bears sweat stains and a few threadbare spots along his shoulders. His skin is sun- darkened and weathered like a dockworker.
His hand is in a tight fist on his knee.
Corrick takes a lazy sip. “You look concerned.”
“There’s a man over there.” I keep my voice very low. “He’s glaring at you.”
“Ah.”
I glance at the guards to see if they’ve noticed. I can’t tell. But at least they look alert. When I look at the dockworker again, he catches my gaze and startles. He deliberately unclenches his hand, turning to look out the window instead.
I drag my eyes back to Corrick’s. “Aren’t you
concerned?”
He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “When I found the note in your chambers, yes, I was concerned. When the porters told me you’d left alone, yes, I was concerned.” He gives
me a look. “One man glaring at me is a matter of course, Tessa.”
“You didn’t need to worry. I was fine. I knew you were busy with other things.”
“People know you’re important to the king.” His voice is practical, but a bit of that gentle warmth slips in. “That you’re important to me.” His hand brushes over mine.
It’s uncommon for him to touch me in public. A blush heats my cheeks. “Well.”
He smiles, and I feel that warmth all the way down to my toes. I’ve been at court long enough to know that a true smile from the prince is rare.
When he was Weston Lark, he smiled often. Every time I earn a smile from Corrick, it’s both a reminder of who he truly is—and who he can no longer be.
The glaring dockworker is looking at him again, and it robs some of my warmth. I clear my throat. “What happened with …” I hesitate, but we’re close enough to the docks in Artis that people here have surely heard about the boat arriving from Ostriary. “What happened with the ship?” I say. “Can you tell me?”
“Not here. But that’s part of why I came to fetch you.” “Really!” My eyebrows go up. “What—”
A roar of rage cuts me off. The dockworker explodes from his seat as he launches himself at the prince. Light glints on a blade, and I suck in a breath.
I don’t know if Corrick sees my reaction or if he hears the man coming, but he sweeps out of his seat in one smooth movement, pushing me toward the guards before I even realize he’s tugged me out of my chair. The man slams into him, and they crash to the ground together. They skid into the table, and the drinks wobble before tipping over, spilling to the floor. The mugs shatter on impact. Chocolate splatters my skirts.
“We’d be better off without them!” the man is shouting. He lifts a dagger, and my heart stops. “Finish the revolution! Kill him! Kill the—”
Corrick punches him right in the throat. The man’s words break off with a gurgling sound, but he swings that dagger anyway. The guards will never be fast enough.
They don’t need to be. Corrick blocks, then flips the man onto his back. The blade goes skittering across the floor. I don’t even see the prince draw his own dagger, but it’s there, against the man’s throat, just as the guards move in, crossbows aimed and ready. One restrains the man’s companion, because she squeals when her arm is twisted back. One of the other guards draws back the bolt on a crossbow, aiming for the man’s head.
I inhale sharply. One of the girls behind the counter lets out a cry.
“No,” says Corrick, and his voice is just as quiet and even as when he told Mistress Woolfrey that he didn’t need a fresh drink.
The guard with the crossbow hesitates, looking up, waiting for an order.
Corrick’s blade is still against that man’s throat. The man’s breathing shudders—but then his eyes narrow, and he spits in Corrick’s face.
A line of blood appears around the blade, trickling toward the floor. “I’ve cut men’s tongues off for less,” Corrick says, his voice as low and vicious as I’ve ever heard it.
I’m frozen in place. So is everyone else in the shop. I
wait for Corrick to let him up, to order the guards to take him out of here, but he doesn’t move.
That line of blood darkens. Thickens. The blade has gone deeper.
The man hisses a breath, then chokes on a sob, rebellion shifting into fear. “Please,” he gasps. “Please.”
I’m thinking the same word in my head. Please, Corrick.
Please. I have to bite my tongue so I don’t say it out loud.
Corrick leans close. Blood still flows. “So you beg when it’s your life in question.”
A tear leaks out of the man’s eye, finding the blood to trail down his neck.
My stomach is tight, and I don’t know what to do. No matter who Corrick is to me, he’s the King’s Justice to everyone else. I can’t interfere.
But I can’t watch him kill someone. I can’t. My fingernails press into my palms.
An eternal moment later, Corrick says, “Take him to the Hold. He can stand trial like the others.”
Then he wipes his blade on the man’s shirt and tucks it back into its sheath.
My heart is pounding so hard, refusing to settle. I thought I was about to witness an execution. Based on the tense silence of the shop, so did everyone else—including the man the guards are dragging to his feet.
Everyone is still staring at Prince Corrick with a mixture of horror and fascination, as if he’ll say, “Just kidding,” and cut the man’s throat anyway.
When the prince turns to look at me, his eyes search mine for a moment, and I have no doubt he can read the panic that hasn’t fully melted away.
The guards are leading the man out of the shop. One of the others has begun questioning the woman, who’s wringing her hands, casting terrified glances at Corrick.
He ignores them all and offers me his arm. “It seems we no longer have a drink to share. I do require your services at the palace. Shall we?”
I have to shake myself. “Ah … yes. Of course.” I rest a still-trembling hand on his arm. He’s so good at hiding every emotion, but I don’t have anywhere near as much practice.
He begins to lead me to the door, but he pauses before we cross the threshold to look to the counter. “Mistress Woolfrey,” he says.
Her face goes pale, and I’m sure she’s ready for him to levy an accusation that she might have been involved. When she speaks, her voice is breathy and shaking. “Yes— yes, Your Highness.”
He withdraws a handful of coins and holds them out to her. “The drinks were very good. The guards will assist in cleaning up the mess, but I’d ask that you have an accounting of any damages prepared. I’ll send a steward to cover any costs.”
She startles, her eyes widening as he hands over enough silver that he’s probably covering her costs for a month. “Your Highness. It’s … it’s nothing.”
“All the same.” He gives her a nod. “For the trouble then. You have my thanks.”
Then he leads me through the door, and we climb into his waiting carriage.
 |
I drew a lot of attention on the way to the confectioner’s, but that’s nothing compared to the looks we get on the way back, sitting in the prince’s burgundy carriage, trailed by half a dozen guards. My heart is still rattling around in my chest, leaving my fingers to tremble along my skirts. I have my eyes fixed on the window, so I see every glare we get.
I’ve cut men’s tongues off for less.
Every time I want to forget who he was, the world seems determined to remind me. I want to ask if that’s true, or if he only said it for effect.
But I’m afraid I already know the answer.
Corrick sits on the opposite seat of the carriage, and there’s a part of me that wants to ease to his side, to hide in the circle of his arms for the short journey back to the palace. Another part of me wants to run away from everything that just happened.
I can’t do either. Everything about our relationship is massively complicated now. When I first moved into the palace, it all seemed simple. Easy. Corrick and I could go for walks, or play games, or have a late dinner on the terrace. He could steal kisses in the moonlight, and I could taste his breath and remember what it was like to be in the Wilds, just the two of us against the dawn.
But then I learned that nothing about his life is simple. I’m an apothecary working in service for the king, and he’s second in line for the throne. I’m a girl from the Wilds, and he’s the King’s Justice. Any courtship would be watched. Studied. Judged. At dinner one night, I overheard a woman telling her companion that it was adorable how the prince allowed his little mistress to dabble in medicine.
Lochlan himself already proved it: If you’re not sharing
his bed, someone is. He’s the brother to the king.
Our work to make enough medicine for everyone in Kandala is far too important to sully it with rumors that I’m only in the palace at the prince’s whim. Our late night walks ended. So did our stolen kisses and private dinners.
It’s left me feeling adrift. Uncertain.
And I resent this doubt in my abilities. That just because I’m from the Wilds, my theories and research and medicine are somehow seen as lesser, just because I wasn’t trained in the Royal Sector. That the only reason I might be in the
palace at all would be for Corrick, not because I truly have something to offer.
Maybe we weren’t helping all of Kandala when we were delivering medicine as outlaws, but at least I felt like I was helping some.
So I sit here, and Corrick sits there, and I content myself with watching the passing terrain, longing for his touch. When I finally tear my eyes away from the window, I expect to find his gaze on the blur of greenery as well, but he’s watching me.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “The carriage can withstand a few bolts from a crossbow.”
Well, I wasn’t worried about that until now. “You think someone is going to shoot at us?”
“No, but I didn’t expect someone to leap at me with a dagger in a candy shop either.”
“Are you frightened?” I try to be as even-keeled as he sounds, but my voice is hollow.
Any dry humor fades from his voice. “I’ve been attacked before. I know how to defend myself. The guards did their job, and they did it well.”
I smooth my hands along my skirts, then frown. He could have been killed. He could’ve been the killer. How does he go through every day like this?
I wonder if he’s regretting the way he told the guards to take the man to the Hold. I imagine the King’s Justice from a month ago might have let that blade go another inch, just to send a message. I don’t want to think so—but again, I’m afraid of the answer, so I don’t ask the question.
Corrick is studying me now, and his voice turns very careful. “I know Karri is your friend, but I don’t trust Lochlan.” He pauses. “You shouldn’t either.”
I glance at the window again, because I don’t want to meet his eyes. “Lochlan told her the same thing about me—
in regards to you.”
“He was very displeased with the way the meeting progressed. It could have been a trap.”
“It wasn’t a trap.”
“He wouldn’t even have to coerce Karri. She wouldn’t have to know. He just needed to get you there.” The prince’s eyes narrow. “As much as I hate him, he’s not a fool. He could have drugged your drink, made you feel a bit woozy so they’d have to help you outside—”
“Corrick.” I bring my gaze back to his. “It wasn’t a trap. He’s right to be anxious. It’s life or death for them. You remember.”
“It’s life or death for us, too.” Corrick’s eyes don’t leave mine, and his tone is unyielding. “He used you against me once before.”
When we were captured together, and Lochlan figured out that Weston Lark was truly Prince Corrick. They nearly beat him to death. I don’t want to think about that.
I don’t want to think about Lochlan using Karri against me either.
“That was different,” I say. “Was it? How?”
He’s not challenging me, not really, but my skin feels hot and prickly. I don’t know how the whole day has gone so wrong. I scowl and frown.
After a moment, he says, “Are you frightened?”
I swallow, and my throat feels thick. I can’t look at him, but I nod.
“The guards will take the man to the Hold. He’ll stand trial. You weren’t his target.”
I don’t know how to respond, so I keep my gaze trained on the window.
“Or,” he says quietly, “are you frightened of me?”
I don’t answer, and he makes an aggravated noise and runs a hand over the back of his neck.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Lord, Tessa, I don’t want you to be sorry.” He pauses. “He was going to kill me. That was his goal.”
“I know. I heard him. I just—” I break off and hold my breath. Sometimes, I think about my position and what I’ve accomplished. I’m helping the king find a better path to medicine for the people.
But when I think about everything they’ve done wrong, I question whether I’m on the right side.
“I wasn’t going to kill him,” Corrick says. “But I had to make him think it. I had to make them all think it.”
I hate that he made me think it. “Why?” I whisper.
“Because the King’s Justice can’t go soft overnight. The people are already emboldened. No one would have dared to attack me in public a few weeks ago.” He makes an aggravated sound again. “This was so much easier as outlaws.”
I want to disagree with him, but I can’t. It was easier. “No one trusts anyone now.”
He sits back against the cushions. “Welcome to life at court.”
I scowl. My fingers have ceased their trembling, but my insides feel tight and unhappy. “What happened with the ship from Ostriary? Did you really need me for something, or was that to get me out of the shop?”
“Oh. Yes. I want you to look at some flower petals and tell me if they’re truly Moonflower.”
“The palace physicians weren’t sure?”
“They are, but after they didn’t detect the difference in the petals Allisander was supplying to the palace, I still can’t decide if they’re incompetent or traitors.”
“Where did they come from?”
“Captain Rian Blakemore arrived with a chest full of them.”
“The emissary?”
“The spy. His father was supposedly sent by my parents years ago. He says he has two dozen crates of Moonflower on his ship—and the means to get more. He claims that the king of Ostriary would like to begin trade negotiations, because they are lacking in resources for iron and steel. Kandala, of course, has quite a bit.”
There’s a note in his voice I can’t quite parse out. “You don’t believe him.”
“I’m not sure yet. But Harristan has invited him to dine with us.” He pulls a jeweled pocket watch out of his jacket and glances at the face. “We should arrive in time for you to prepare.”
My eyebrows go up. “I’m to join you?” “I’ve surprised you again?”
“A little.”
“Quint will attend, too. Captain Blakemore has made more than a few references to my reputation, so Harristan felt it would do well to have you attend to keep the conversation a bit more …”
“Honest?”
Corrick smiles. “Social.”
“Will Harristan be bringing someone as well?”
“No.” He seems startled. “Haven’t you noticed? My brother never invites a companion.”
I hesitate. I haven’t been at court very long, but I’ve spent enough time in the palace that I’ve become accustomed to the usual players. Some of the consuls are married, like Roydan Pelham, an older man who’s rather devoted to his wife, while others seem to rotate through courtiers as regularly as I wash my face.
Until this moment, I hadn’t considered that Harristan never has someone at his side. I haven’t even seen him engage in so much as a casual flirtation.
Though honestly, the thought of Harristan doing
anything in a casual manner is almost laughable.
When the sector was under attack from the rebels, Harristan and I slipped through the woods of the Wilds together. He’d once told me that it was easy to love your king when everyone is well fed and healthy, but not so much when everyone is sick and hungry. Harristan is always stoic and reserved, but I remember seeing his composure crack, just a little, when I told him that he could be loved.
Corrick watches me work through this in my head. “He doesn’t trust anyone, Tessa. Too many people have tried to take advantage of us.” He pauses, and his voice drops, even though we’re alone. “And it would be difficult to keep his lingering illness a secret. I don’t think he’d allow anyone to get close enough.”
That makes me sad. I can’t chase Lochlan’s comments out of my head, so I find myself asking, “What about you? Any frequent companions for the King’s Justice?”
I’m trying to keep my tone light, but he holds my gaze, and I know he hears the true question there. “Ah, Tessa.” There’s something simultaneously wicked and warm in his eyes. “No one dared, until you.”
