Page 50 of Between Smoke and Shadow

I’m sitting in a royal carriage, and that by itself is enough to jostle my brain. Add in the fact I’m alone with the crowned princeafterhe broke his betrothal…my mind doesn’t know how to process that information. As we pull away from the Tower, departing through tall black gates and entering the Wilds, I don’t let myself look at Harrick.

Instead, I watch the passing landscape with feigned interest. Thick trees, interrupted by occasional moss-covered boulders, line our path on either side. In the distance, deep blue creatures—boars, perhaps?—graze in an overgrown field. They lift their heads as we pass, only to lower them again, unbothered. Above us, flickers of gray sky taunt me from between lush, overhanging branches.

I’ve dreamt of leaving the Tower for so long, I’m too shocked to comprehend I actually am. The more I dwell on it, the more I decide Imustbe dreaming. Any moment now, I’m going to awaken in my bed to the servant’s bell, and I’ll rush to get Viana’s breakfast.

I glance at Harrick. He still hasn’t moved. He’s watching me closely from his side of the carriage, but he hasn’t spoken sincewe left. His attention is a heavy, physical thing though, and despite my best efforts, the same thought blares continuously through my head:Harrick broke his betrothal for me.

I look away, swallowing hard.

No. Not me. He just didn’t want to marry an abuser. He said that himself.

But if that’s true…why am I still here?

I force my breaths to slow. I shouldn’t be stressing over Harrick and Viana. Practical as my fear is, there’s nothing to be done now. Ishouldbe enjoying this unexpected freedom. I’ve dreamt of leaving the Tower since I was eight, when they bound my hands and dragged me here. It’s been twelve cycles, and the farthest outside I’ve been is in the courtyard. I’ve attended executions, just so I could remember life beyond the Tower walls. To remember crisp air and the feel of wind on my skin.

Even after several cycles in the rebellion, part of me doubted I’d ever experience this again. Not that I’m free, by any means, but it almost feels like it. With Viana gone, I might even enjoy moments of this journey—whatever its purpose.

“Are you all right?” Harrick asks.

I startle and look at him, allowing myself to pause before answering. We’ve been traveling for almost an hour now, and I still can’t process what’s happened. What’sgoingto happen, now that Harrick has broken his betrothal and run off from the Tower.

Nobody will harm you again.

It’s an impossible promise, one that does something strange to my heart. There are times I worry that particular organ doesn’t work, but right now, I’m painfully aware of its existence. It feels terrified, angry—and worst of all, hopeful.

“Yes,” I say. Something on Harrick’s face tells me he doesn’t believe me. It’s the samesomethingthat compels me to add, “She will have me killed for this.”

My cheeks flush at my admission, and I can’t help lowering my gaze. I shouldn’t challenge the prince, not when he clearly thinks he’ll keep me from harm. But this is the ugly, inescapable truth. Viana will blame me for everything that’s happened, and as soon as Harrick loses interest in me, she’ll make arrangements. I doubt I’ll survive the Flood Season.

“Rune,” he says. The carriage jostles as we move from asphalt to rocky dirt. “I will protect you.”

Without responding, I close my eyes. I can’t decide if I’m being unfair. Right now, I can’t decide much of anything. Should I be grateful? Can I use this to my benefit? Could I convince Harrick to help me escape the Tower forever? Or perhaps to free the entire rebel faction?

I could barter an agreement, maybe. Convince him to let us go, and in exchange, we won’t destroy the Tower or attempt a coup on our way out. He seems genuinely kind, and if I can just play this right?—

“Rune,” his voice softens. He crouches to the floor, until he’s the one looking up at me. The sight of him on his knees before me, as ifI’mthe royal one, does ungodly things to my stomach. One of his hands rests on the cushion to my side, and the edge of his palm touches my thigh. “Can I try something?”

I glance at his mouth without meaning to. Barely an hour, and my fantasies are already taking on a life of their own. My memories distort our kiss from a panicked miscommunication to something meaningful, and suddenly I can’t think clearly.

“Okay.” I don’t recognize my own voice. The way it sounds unsure and desperate, all at once.

Harrick’s opposite hand grazes the side of my face, so tender I barely feel it. His fingers drift over my uninjured cheek, beneath my chin, and then up to the bruised and scarred side. I can’t keep myself from wincing, and Harrick’s expression echoes my flinch.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

His hand stills on my bruised cheek, firmly cupping the side of my face. Keeping his eyes on me, he rests his thumb on my cut, the pressure uncomfortable but not overly painful. I take a breath through my teeth. Harrick is no longer looking at me. His eyes are closed, brows scrunched in concentration.

“I’ve never done this before,” he murmurs. “It might not work, so tell me if it hurts, and I’ll stop.”

That’s the only warning I get before magic sparks at his fingertips. I tense, my entire body jolting at the strange sensation. Heat filters through my skin, but it isn’t painful at all. It’s impossible to describe, the way magic bleeds from his hand into my cheek. I have no idea what he’s doing, and yet, I make no move to fight him. He could be killing me for all I know, but I’m not sure I care.

It feels that good. So ridiculously warm, until I’m full of heat and light and this beautiful glow and?—

I don’t recognize the sound that comes out of my throat. Worse than the gasp when Harrick stroked my face, this is an actual moan, as if I’ve just tasted the sweetest chocolate. Imoanedat the prince’s touch, and I’ve effectively ruined anything pleasant about this moment.

I pull away, fighting blush as it scours across my cheeks.

Harrick’s eyes open too, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He certainly doesn’t look angry or judgemental. He’s simply watching me, blinking, his gaze moving from my chin to my hairline.

---