Page 23 of Shadows of the Crown

“What?” He asks when I stare longer than is considered acceptable.

“You do realize that you are the fucking heir to the kingdom…and you’re associating yourself with the likes of me. Why in the Aether would you willingly allow others to see us together if not for malicious purposes?” I breathe deeply, confusing even myself. When he doesn’t answer, I flick my eyes his way, though he’s no longer there.

I look over my shoulder to where he stands in the middle of the street, shoulders slumped while his face says he’s trying to keep me at a distance. I’ve hurt him.

My chest squeezes.

I unsheathe a blade and spin it through my fingers while I wait for his internal crisis to pass. The emotions flitting through his features pique my interest. Do others always feel so deeply?

I think I used to—when my parents were alive. After my mother’s death, I stopped smiling as much. The colors around me dulled, temperatures were more unbearable. I began asking myself why I ever enjoyed any of my hobbies…we only live to die, anyway, so what’s the point? What about that knowledge makes anything about life enjoyable?

But then my father was killed and my heart was no longer empty. It was overflowing with anger; a rage that could level both realms. I no longer enjoyed doing anything, choosing to focus all of my energy on training for the day I would kill the bastard that took the last of my family.

But Marek saw the struggle within me, as I warred with needing to feel nothing but being forced to feel it all.

“Ari, sometimes the hardest battles we fight are within our souls. It’s a lonely journey to find a companionable peace, but you will fail at every turn if you do not train your mind as you do your body.”

“It’s useless! My head is too messed up—I can’t do it!”

“Okay. Then we’redone here.” He stands, leaving me alone on the floor.

“What? Why?”

He looks pointedly at my fists. “I cannot help you if you’re unwilling to try.” He crouches before me, the intensity in his eyes a little frightening. “I see you, Ariella. I know why you train as hard as you do. Why you fight to be the best. You have a fire in you that I have not seen in a long time, and if you would allow me to help, I will make sure you are every bit the warrior your heart demands you to be.”

The prince exhales, running a hand over his chin. He moves, meeting me several feet away, the heat of his body cracking the icy exterior I’ve forced. “I know you wouldn’t tell me if I asked why you think you’resounworthy of affection that you accuse me of being malevolent when I give you a touch of mine—so I will not ask. I’m unsure why you think so poorly of me, but it’s clear I’ve failed you in my duty to prove otherwise.” He pauses. “Well…maybe I do understand. I did try to get you kicked out of the competition not too long ago.”

A laugh escapes me, and I clear my throat to mask it.

“Did I just make you laugh, angel?” Figures. The arrogant bastard grins at me, a wild gleam forming in his eyes.

“No,” I claim weakly, spinning to continue the walk back.

“You have three strands, right?”

“Yes.” That is technically the truth—not that I hold any qualms about lying. Especially to the prince.

“And from two different affinities? That’s not very common,” he remarks suggestively. I won’t ask what he’s alluding to, nor indicate there’s anything more than what he’s stated.

“You’ve read my file, I see.”

“Of course I have—I want to know everything about you.” I laugh mirthlessly, raising a brow at the two men eyeing us from ahead. They continue to watch hungrily the closer we get.

I throw off my hood and step around the prince, daring the men to continue with their advances. The taller one sputters at the sight of me, jerking the hand that holds a cup, covering himself in a foul-smelling liquid. The other pushes at him, both stumbling as they run in the opposite direction.

I tilt my head back, feeling his eyes on me like a blazing flame. When I face him, I frown, sucking my teeth. “Where is Gavriel?” He blinks several times, brows creasing.

“I sent him back when I saw you.”

“Fuck’s sake, prince. Have you no sense of self-preservation?” My head throbs.

The fine clothing he wears—black trousers with a silken top covered by a vest that was clearly made with the highest quality leather. I will not even comment on the brandishing of the royal crest that he proudly displays on each collarbone.

“What could possibly be wrong with my clothes?” He exclaims when I look at his shirt for the third time. I will never admit it was his arms that snagged my attention.

Not even the Angel could pry such confessions from me.

“That’s the problem—nothing is wrong with them.” His head tilts. An insult rests on my tongue. “Those men were just about to do things to you that you couldn’t even imagine exists. You’re a walking target for fools like them.” I gesture to his outfit.

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