Page 2 of Falling Princess
“I knew what you meant.”
Raina paid the driver. My friend holds the purse, since she has a better idea of how money works than I do. I have a card, but I can’t use it. The instant I charge anything, Cata’s phone lights up. For weeks, I’ve been making incidental purchases—a cashmere sweater here, a Hermès scarf there—and reselling them through Raina’s maid. The proceeds have added up to a nice evening out on the town, if we can avoid getting caught.
So far, so good.
Waiting in line to get into the club, we unzipped our hoodies and ran our hands through our hair to disentangle it from the straps of our minuscule tops. I’m braless, since I don’t have much to support. Our hair fell long and sleek to our waists; mine antique gold, Raina’s inky black. She blends in here; I don’t.
I never do. As hard as I try to belong—somewhere, anywhere—I seldom do.
We passed inspection and were waved through the velvet rope, just as people online described. Dragon’s Nest is known for lax security. It’s one reason I chose it. Less risk of being caught.
Inside, the music—if you can call it that—is deafening. I’m glad for my earplugs, pleased I remembered to handle this minor detail on my own. Excitement kicked my pulse into overdrive. I bounced on the balls of my feet as I waited for the coat check to take our hoodies, then while waiting for our first round of shots at the bar.
“To freedom!” I yelled in Raina’s ear.
She touched my glass with hers and tipped it back. Then she brought her wrist to her mouth, choking. I pounded her between the shoulder blades, the heel of my hand hitting bare skin. I only managed to sip mine, one burning drop dribbling down my throat at a time.
We ordered a second round. A third. It’s too loud to talk. We both eyed the seething dance floor and vibrated in place.
A hand landed firmly on my ass and squeezed.
Shock ripped through me. I’ve never been manhandled like that in mylife. I whirled, prepared to smack the perpetrator for his impertinence, but there was no way to tell who accosted me so rudely. The bar’s packed.
Raina grasped my elbow before I could make a scene.
“Don’t. It’s not worth it. This isn’t Auralia.”
She’s right. Getting my butt grabbed is part of the price of freedom, I guess—one I’ll pay ten times over if it means being normal, for once.
“Look!” She gestured excitedly, pulling me close around the waist so she could shout into my ear through the wax barrier. “It’s Lorcan!”
Oh, shit.
“Why is he here?” I snapped, searching. He was nowhere that I could see. The place is too crowded. All the lights in here flash wild shades of blue and pink, obscuring faces, dropping features into confusing shadows—even if the man didn’t know how to become invisible whenever he wanted.
“I invited him.”
“You didnot.” I groaned. Why am I surprised? Raina adores Lorcan nearly as much as I loathe him. “That’ll end our night out in a hurry.”
“He’ll keep our secret.”
“No, he won’t.” He’s too eager to ingratiate himself with my father. I’ve despised that man since the day he swept the competition the king hosted in honor of my seventeenth birthday. The one to win a spot on Auralia’s first-ever Olympic team.
I’ll never forget the way he looked at me that day on the playing field. I scowled at the memory, though a shiver ran through me, too. As if I were the prize that day.
Raina had a crush on Lorcan before the games. She’s been besotted ever since. Should’ve seen this coming.
“—protection, Zosia—”
I can barely hear her; it’s so loud. “I’m not your responsibility,” I yelled into her ear. “His, either.”
There’s no way the Skía arehere.I wouldn’t have risked sneaking out if it were a possibility. I’m notreckless. Though there are days when my depression whispers otherwise, I want to live.
I want to liveon my own terms, if only for a little while, before I’m shackled to my throne. A bit of independence, belonging, experience—it’s not very much to ask for, considering what they demand from me.
I finally spotted him moving through the crowd. Lorcan isn’t much taller than me. I think he’s about Raina’s age, nineteen. Possibly twenty. The less I know about him, the better. It’s his long brownish hair flopping unkempt over his forehead that I pick out first, followed by shoulders broader than they should be considering the rest of him, which is lean and muscular. Wiry. All bone and sinew. The man moves like a shadow.
Like Skía. Not that I’ve ever seen one of Auralia’s home-grown gang members, personally. They took my mother’s life when I was ten, and wouldn’t hesitate to take mine.
