Page 8 of The Uncrowned Prince

“Not that there aren’t plenty of people in the world whowouldlike to stab me, but thus far, I’ve managed to avoid them.”

The light in the room began to fade, and he recalled he had not renewed the enchantment since morning.

“Not to be rude,” he remarked casually, “but we are about to lose our light unless you free me.”

“I do not require light to kill you, and no one needs light when they are dead.”

“Fair point.” He forced himself to relax. “In that case, perhaps I should simply relax and enjoy this more romantic atmosphere during the last few moments of my life.”

The cloaked head turned briefly to glance at the fireplace. What she saw evidently startled her in some way, because she released him and stepped back. “There is no fire,” she stated flatly.

“No,” the man in the black coat agreed pleasantly. “There is not.”

She seemed to consider him anew. “Then… you are a mage.”

If this was the only way to establish trust…

“I am.” If only he knew what she would make of that information.

“Whom do you serve?”

What an odd question. Then again, if he was correct about her origins…

“No one,” he replied. “Unless I choose to. For now, I serve the people of Abreia.”

Gloved hands suddenly lifted and removed the concealing hood. As it fell back, the man in the black coat reflected that he was likely closer to death at this moment than he had ever been in all his twenty-five years, and yet he wouldn’t have changed a thing.

She was not what he expected.

Her hair was pale blonde and braided tightly against her head, her features lightly tanned and almost delicate, and yet her golden brown eyes blazed with intensity and purpose. There was no curve of a smile on her lips, no hint of softness in the slant of her cheekbones and the firm line of her jaw. Only those full lips lent a sense of mobility to her face, as if they were meant for smiling, for frowning, for anything other than the thin, assessing line that seemed her habitual expression.

The eyes though…

They were the same eyes he’d seen in the portrait, and the discovery left him scanning her face anew, looking for more similarities.

They were there, he realized—in the shape of her nose and the tilt of her brow—but where the face in the portrait had been utterly forgettable, the man in the black coat would have sworn this woman’s features had already been branded into his memory, and he could not even say why.

He’d known many beautiful women. In his former life, they’d tended to throw themselves in his path, and he’d flirted with most of them as a part of the disguise he’d chosen.

But this one… Set beside the women of court, she would not be considered astonishing, and some might call her attractive rather than beautiful. But she pulled at him as though they were still linked by the enchanted string. Something about her lit a strange fire in his soul, and he did not want to look away.

Wait…

“Are you doing this on purpose?” he asked, trying to slow his racing heart and clear his mind of this uncomfortable attraction. He was accustomed to being in control of such things, and this… this was nothing like control.

“Doing what?” Her expression did not change. She seemed to have no fear of him, even after what he’d done to her.

“Messing with my head.” He was usually more suave and diplomatic, but such niceties seemed to have deserted him.

She regarded him quizzically. “Why should I care about your head? It is your hands I am considering removing.”

“But I have already apologized,” the man pointed out, eyes fixed on her expression. Watching for the smallest twitch. “Or do apologies count for nothing where you’re from?”

“What do you mean?” The words were trivial enough, but her tone told him he was treading a razor edge.

“I mean,” the man in the black coat replied evenly, “do citizens of the Zulleri Empire not believe in apologizing for their mistakes?”

When she froze, regarding him out of stunned but wary golden eyes, he broke the tension with a crooked grin and crossed to the fireplace. Turning his back on her with studied casualness, he crouched to set his hand on the head-sized chunk of river stone and focused for a moment on pushing magic into the delicate spell-tracings etched across its surface.

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