Page 181 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

“There are at least seven ways that could have ended differently. I’ve counted, you imbecile.”

Ezander’s face was perfectly calm, considering his next words. “I love when someone insults me. It means I don’t have to be polite anymore.” The princeling grabbed the spymaster’s collar, and Silas merely lifted his head with a cold curl of his lip. “Get rid of her. Before she burns the damn castle to the ground.”

Alora glimpsed Silas’s face as Ezander released his collar. The spymaster melted into his careless composure as he straightened his lapels and brushed the fabric like Ezander had soiled it. Never taking his blood-gaze off the prince.

Then Ezander said so quietly Alora had to lean into the door, “I mean it, Silas.”

In silence, Alora witnessed Silas cup his hands behind him and walk around Ezander, fading from view. The princeling ran a hand through the golden waves side-swept over his head. The flaxen flecks of his gaze brightened, observing the wall as if it held answers he searched for.

She surveyed him, biting the inside of her cheek to distract her from breathing too heavily when those russet eyes flickered to her door.

“You can come out now, my lady.”

Her heart stopped.

Ezander didn’t look her way, just stared down the hallway and deepened a breath before he called out, “Your mistake was not in the hiding place. It was in believing you could hide in my home in the first place. I know every corner, every unlocked door, every shadow.” The golden metal tips spiking his hair glinted in the faelight as he, at last, glanced her way.

Alora cautiously pulled the door open, meeting that russet stare.

“Want to tell me what you were doing in there?” He raised a brow.

Starfire sparked beneath her skin in warning. Ready to unleash if need be. But Alora closed the door behind her, crossed her arms, and dropped her back to the wood, smirking. “I got turned around after preparing the escort.”

“Hmm,” the princeling hummed. “So you decided instead of asking for my aid to … hide,” he said it with about as much skepticism as she had after hearing his conversation with Silas.

“I thought it’d be fun to jump out and scare you.”

Ezander barked a sharp laugh. “Sure.” Even she didn’t believe it. The princeling finally moved his feet, pivoting to face her as he looked down the hallway and inquired, “So where is the High Prince?”

She shrugged. “In the throne room dealing with the Mystic. Where else?”

Ezander’s eyes narrowed. A subtle smile grew up the side of his face. “I’m too tired to entirely care about lies and trickery tonight. It must be said. My brother is still in there. Not this Savage Prince shit. I think he’s not as dark as he wants everyone to believe.” And paused. Scanning her dress, the twin to his attire, and the heels dangling in her hand before he continued, “The same as what you heard may not truly be what you believe.”

Alora’s face remained neutral. There was no point in denying it. Of course she had heard what was said. Instead of excuses, Alora asked, “Who is the female, Zander?”

“Someone causing a problem.”

“Me?”

His brows furrowed. “Why would I want to get rid of you? Is there something I should know?”

She said nothing, only raised her brow, expecting an answer.

“No, my lady. Not you.”

Alora scoffed. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I’m hoping you can trust me a little longer.”

Trust.From the moment she left Telldaira, that was all everyone asked of her. To trust the hands that rescued her—that did nothing but protect her. And up until now, Ezander hadn’t given her a reason to think differently. Even walking in the High City when he carefully chose his words.

Not quite excusing what she’d heard, Alora shoved the thoughts away and pushed from the wall. “We’ll see,” she said, and he smiled.

Ezander remained unmoving, never crowding her or backing her into the wall. Not reaching for her or stirring to clamp her in shackles. “I’m a patient male. I look forward to proving so many things wrong,” he conceded and offered her an elbow?—

“What. A. Surprise.”

The princeling’s breath stopped short; his face drained of color.

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