“I envy that.” Before I can puzzle that out, he says, “Do you know King’s Ransom?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
So we play. It’s the absolute last thing I expected to do with my evening. Considering Sephran tried to kiss me and I’ve been threatened by a scraver, that’s saying something.
It’s weird. Jarring. We just talked about the possibility ofwarand he discussed sending support—but now he’s playing cards and sipping mulled wine like I’m a visiting noble from a neighboring city.
What did he just say?
I envy that.
Awareness clicks in my brain like the last piece of a puzzle. The prince islonely.
Good.I don’t care. I don’t. I absolutelydo not. He deserves it. I hope he’s miserable. I have half a mind to shove these cards in his lap and dump the wine on top of them.
But then I consider the fire that had gone to embers. The fact that he was probably sitting awake in this room, alone. The scars along his cheek that the patch doesn’t quite cover.
I consider that he has to be rather desperately lonely if he pulled out a deck of cards to play withme. In complete silence. In the middle of the night.
I bite the inside of my cheek. I really don’t care. I don’t.
Ugh.I hate myself, but Ido. I’m not heartless.
Prince Rhen lays down a five of crowns, so I lay down a five of swords, and he has to draw from the pile. He runs a finger along the bottom edge as he adds it to his hand. I don’t know what about it captures my attention, but it’s the first time I’ve seen him do it.
I have a wild card in my hand, so I lay it down. It’s a prince of stones, meant to capture a king if he has one, and I suspect he’s just picked one up.
He looks up in surprise.
I shrug.
He holds out the king, and I slip it between my cards, and we play on.
There’s a weird tension in the room that’s inescapable. I was so relieved to know that Tycho is safe, and now I’m trapped in this room because I had to tell Prince Rhen thatwarmight be on the horizon. That, more than anything, forces me to take a swallow of the wine. It’s ridiculously good.
The hell with it. I drain the mug.
The prince smiles. “More?”
I don’t smile back, but when I speak, my voice isn’t cold. “No. Thank you.”
He nods, and we play on.
“I do still hate you,” I eventually say, as if there’s any chance he wasn’t sure.
“I know. I’ve decided that I like that you hate me.”
“Why.” I don’t even make it a question.
It’s possible my veins are humming from the wine.
“I should say, I likewhyyou hate me.” He pauses, surveying his cards, and then lays down a three of crowns. “It speaks to your character. It cost you something to come here tonight, but you still did it.”
“It’s what Tycho would have wanted me to do.”
“No, I think it’s a bit more than that. Tycho didn’t send you a message about what the scravers are planning. You pulled that out of Nakiis yourself. You made the determination to tell me.”
