Page 65 of Prince of Masks
His words come out in a growl, “How many?”
My face tightens. “Ah—ow, fuck, let me go! I’ll shout, I’ll shout right now, I swear to the fucking gods, Dray.”
But I don’t—and we both know why.
The chaos that would ensue, if Father even came to my aid, could be catastrophic.
Dray knows as well as I do, he said as much:
‘How difficult it must be for him to love you—for the sake of your mother…’
The unspoken threats in his eyes glint at me, the question burrowed deep:
‘How far are you willing to go to find out just how little he loves you?’
Dray shoves my leg free, hard enough that my body is flung sideways, and it hits the floor with a thump.
I throw a glare at him, but he’s already standing, towering over me.
Strands of his hair fall into his stone face, the hue of sand and wheat. But beneath his dark eyebrows, those eyes are icebergs ready to sink me and the boat, take everyone down in their thirst for blood.
My blood.
That’s what I see in him.
A violence deeper than anything I’ve ever known.
His heart is hammering as fast as mine. But mine is fear, his is pure rage. Rage enough to fist his hands at his sides, to flare his nostrils with every other breath.
Dray runs his hand down his face with a mutter that sounds a lot likefuckingslut—then, he turns his back on me and storms off.
I stare for a while, long after he’s climbed the stairs to the top deck, and I can’t see him anymore. Even then, I just stare at the spot he stood.
My mind slingshots back to Star Theory.
The classroom.
The words that came wryly from my twisted, smiling lips, sarcasm dripping off of me: ‘So Dray put Teddy in the infirmary for saying my ass is nice in breeches?’
The mockery that oozed from me then, in that ridiculous conversation with Eric, is fading now.
I blink on it.
Then I shake it off with a rattle of my head, because that is a thought I can’t even begin to process, and I stumble to my feet.
I brace myself for the nose of the boat, where I’m hoping I can grab my tote without being noticed, and tug on my linen trousers and shirt.
I discard Dray’s shirt on the floor.
14
We anchor near a grotto.
Here, the waters are soft and calm. My father dives in for a swim, Mother, too, and Oliver.
Dray swims the longest.
Long after everyone else has come back onboard and found their way to their afternoon teas and coffees, Dray keeps to the water, backstrokes morphing into breaststrokes, over and over.
