Page 63 of Reckless
Lie.My knees are against my chest, and I’m staring into a stone wall.
“Feel how much room you have? This cell is plenty big enough, and it’s not going to get any smaller.” I swallow before lacing her fingers with mine, feeling her breath hitch at the sudden contact. But then her breathing is slowing against my back, her hand clutching mine like an anchor from her racing thoughts.
“Better?” I ask, breathless.
I feel her nod. “Better.”
Silence stretches between us. She rests her head on my shoulder. Every bit of my being is focused on the way her fingers feel between mine. It’s absurd.
The distant sound of clicking boots has her snatching her hand out of my grasp.
Good. Fine. I’m glad that’s over with.
The man who appears outside our bars looks vaguely familiar with his streaked gray hair slicked into a tail, and bushy brows hanging over black eyes. But when I feel Paedyn stiffen behind me, I realize why it is I recognize him.
“Rafael,” she sighs. “So it’s your greed that’s behind this?”
He opens his arms as though greeting an old friend. “Oh, come on, kid. Can you blame me? No one would be able to pass up the price on your head.” His eyes flick to me. “And what I could get for the both of you is irresistible. Even I’d stomach stepping foot in Ilya for the gold I’ll get for you two.”
“How did you even find us?” Paedyn chokes out. The air has grown gradually thicker with a foul odor that is suddenly wafting toward us.
Rafael continues on, unfazed. “I’ve had my men stationed all over the outskirts of the city, keeping an eye out for you in case you ever escaped your prince.” His smile is giddy. “But instead, you brought him with you.”
The look on Paedyn’s face has him frowning. “Oh, don’t take it personal, Shadow. You may have made me a lot of silvers in the ring, but you’ll make me a hell of a lot more for taking you back to Ilya.”
He steps away for a moment to grab a dish from a nearby table. “I thought I’d bring this to you personally.” He unlocks the cell door with a rusty key before bending to place a metal tray before us, filled with chunks of stale bread. “To thank you for finding your way back to me.”
“Thanks, but I doubt I could stomach anything with this stench,” Paedyn practically coughs.
“Ah”—Rafael nods—“that’s the sewer under us.” He nods to a grate several feet down the hall. “They fill up the sewer and flush it out every few weeks. Lucky for you two, it seems they will be doing just that very soon.” He smiles as the door swings shut behind him. “I hope you enjoy your short stay in Dor’s finest.” Then he nods toward the plate of stale bread. “Have fun figuring out how to eat that.”
His steps grow softer as he makes his way down the hall. I cough, trying to clear my throat of the thick air threatening to choke me.Paedyn rests her head on my shoulder, forcing my attention back to her as she says, “We need to get out of here.”
I nod before slumping my head on top of hers. “There is no way in hell I’m returning to Ilya as a prisoner.” That alone would shatter the reputation I’ve been meticulously building since I was a boy. Every order obeyed, every mission completed, every death by my hand—utterly useless. Returning with a ransom on my head would make me look worse than weak, more pathetic than dying during a mission. It’s simply not an option.
“Okay, then.” Her voice is detached, determined. “Got any ideas, Prince?”
CHAPTER 24Kitt
There’s a knock at my door.
There’s always a knock at my door. Always a servant, or Imperial, or someone else banging on the wood and begging for my attention.
Life of a king, I suppose.
I run a hand down my tired face, then down my crumpled shirt before remembering my inky fingers.
I don’t look like a king.
I look like a boy who’s trying to fill the shoes of a man, sitting in a chair that’s swallowing me whole. Living in a kingdom full of people I’m too afraid to confront.
And yet, through it all, I pretend. Pretend to know how to live my life as a king.
“Come in.”
The command is met with creaky hinges followed by soft steps on a worn rug. My eyes flick up from the papers littering every inch of the desk. The man slowly shuts the door, every movement calm and deliberate.
Not a servant. Not an Imperial. Not someone begging for my attention. In fact, I can’t picture him doing anything of the sort.
