“Because I am a prince.”
She stopped dead in her tracks. The weight of his words were like heavy blows to her chest. Harlow and Knox hadn’t treated him with any kind of respect, so she thought the royal title was given out of mockery. “You lied to me.”
He shrugged as if his title was as dull as discussing the weather. “I didn’t think it was important. It doesn’t change anything.”
More than a dozen questions flew through her head all at once, making it difficult to process a singular thought. Why was the Prince of Shadows in Ghelvina? He had a kingdom of followers; surely, he was needed elsewhere. Why had he rescued her? Was she actually safe with him? “It absolutely does. Had I known you were a prince—”
“It doesn’t have to change anything. I’m still me.”
She stared at him, at the tight lines wrinkling his forehead. Slowly, she reached up, her fingertips gliding over those creases.
His eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into her touch. Just like that, the tension carving his features softened . . . if only slightly.
“Just Damien,” he whispered as if the title itself was a weight pressing down on him.
She understood. More than anyone, she knew what it meant to long for something as simple, as impossible, as normalcy.
And so, she stilled the questions wildly whirling in her mind. “Okay.”
“Thank you,.” His shoulders relaxed and he opened his eyes.
A small smile curled at her lips. He had done so much for her—treating him like she would anyone else seemed like the least she could do. Besides, they weren’t in his territory; him being a prince didn’t truly matter right now.
The further they walked down the rough dirt path of the village, the more the air itself seemed to scream with the cries of the dead. Though she couldn’t see the villagers’ bodies, she felt them. Death’s hold grabbed at heras if she were willing to join them, and flashes of the ballroom played out in front of her. Everywhere she looked, there were red cloaks. Red blood. So much red. Too much red. Venita’s beautiful frame stood among the chaos, her beautiful hair cascading in waves down her back. Her smile so pure and innocent. But her eyes were dead.
Sunken in.
Soulless.
A reminder that she was gone. That death was careless with whom it consumed, and none were safe from its permanent hold.
Luna moved closer to Damien and instinctually reached for his arm, drawing him close, clutching him to her chest like a safety blanket. He glanced down, and the shadows around them darkened. “We need supplies . . . then we’ll leave.”
She nodded, fully understanding what he was saying. They were going to take from the dead; they needed to. A pit formed in her stomach, sinking like a rock. It was wrong to steal from the living, but from the dead was even worse.
They stopped in front of a building with its walls bending inwards, on the verge of collapse. A wooden sign sat beside a set of makeshift stairs with the words ‘Dante’s Shop’ carved into it. Before Damien led her inside, he slung the reins of the horses around a low-hanging branch of a tree, securing them to the spot.
Food and hunting supplies were scattered on the floor of one side of the room, and various travelling gear on the other. Whoever Dante was, he’d cared for the shop like a child; neatness and order hidden underneath hapless pillaging.
Damien picked up a small knife from one of the tables and stuck it in his belt. “Why don’t you pick out some clothes and boots that actually fit.”
She nodded again as Damien’s shadows gathered mainly around the register, not so subtly hiding the evidence of murder. Not wanting to be here a second longer than necessary, she didn’t argue with Damien and went over to the clothes.
She grabbed a bag off the shelf and stuffed the first things that came to mind into it. The fabrics were pitted and felt rough against her hand, unlike the wares she was accustomed to in the palace. Not that she was going to complain. She was alive and free, unlike the residents of Hazelwood.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a necklace hung on a nail in the wall. It was a black braided rope that had a pendant shaped like a vine on it. It was similar to the vine shape of her mother’s ring but not exact. The brass leaves of the necklace were thin and long, and each wrapped around one another in a spiral.
Damien popped up beside her with an armful of goods held against his chest. “These look about your size,” he said, then passed her a pair of tall black leather boots. Luna slipped off her shoes and slid on the boots; they fit well enough.
He looked at the necklace she had been admiring. “Humans typically make necklaces from unicorn hair,” he explained as he lifted it off the nail. “They believe the remnants of the unicorn’s magic will bless the wearer with good fortune.”
“Do you think this one is made from a unicorn?”
“I don’t believe so.” Softly, he spun her around and placed the necklace over her head, settling it around her neck. The warmth of his breath brushed softly across her bare skin, sending a delicate shiver through her entire body.
When he finished, Luna touched the pendant with her hand. It was gorgeous but also unnecessary for this new chapter of her life; she no longer needed pretty things.No.She needed useful items, like well-fitting boots. She tried to remove the necklace, but Damien grabbed her hand, shoving it gently to her side. “Keep it. It looks nice on you.” He then grabbed her bag and stuffed his things inside too. Before they left, Damien withdrew a few coins from his pocket and placed them on the counter. A pointless gesture, considering everyone here was dead, but one Luna appreciated nonetheless.
Chapter 24
