“Stop,” I say, stepping out from behind the prince. The man’s hard gaze locks on me, and I raise my hands. He wears a black cloth over his lower face, but what I can see of his upper half is scarred and dirty. His clothes are torn and stained. There’s a fierceness in his eyes in contrast to his gaunt form. He looks like all the men and women I’ve seen coming in and out of the workhouses in the poorest parts of Evanston. “You want money, right?”
“Aye. I’ll take your purse.”
“I don’t have a purse, but I can give you my clothes.”
He furrows his brow. “I don’t need your clothes.”
“What are you doing?” Franco asks in a furious whisper.
I ignore him, keeping my eyes on the man. “Did you not mention how fine they are?”
He looks from me to the prince. “Aye, but what use are they?”
“You may not know me, but I’m Princess Maisie of the Sea Court. My skirt is made of the finest wool tartan. The lace and pearl buttons on my blouse are enough to feed your family for months. More than that if you say it was worn by a fae princess.”
The man scans me from head to toe. “Is that so?” His voice holds disbelief, but his eyes say otherwise. Calculations run behind them, and I have no doubt he’s already wondering which stall in Black Square will give him the highest payout. He thrusts his gun and takes a step closer. “Off with your clothes then. Both of you.”
Franco puts a hand on his hip. “I’m not taking off my clothes.”
“I want your shirt,” the man says. “Those dangly necklaces too.”
“This shirt is an Amelie Fairfield original made of the finest Autumn Court spider silk. Have you any idea of its thread count?”
“More reason for me to want it.”
The prince rolls his eyes and faces me. “Get behind me and let me deal with him. I’ll break his neck faster than he can blink.”
“No, Your Highness,” I say, already unbuttoning my blouse. “He’s hungry, just like the children. He’s probably their caretaker.”
“And he’s waving a gun at us. What a charming father figure. I’m sure he’ll bring them up to be proper scholars.”
I loosen the final button of my blouse. “You said so yourself that you think he’s bluffing. Besides, would you be any better in his situation? What lengths would you go to protect your loved ones?”
He glares at me a few moments, then shakes his head. “Fine,” he calls to the man. “I’ll take off my shirt for you.”
I’m about to shimmy out of my blouse when the prince turns toward me and begins unbuttoning his shirt. “Turn around!” I squeal.
With a grumble, he does as told. Back-to-back we strip down. I remove my blouse and skirt, remembering last minute to unclasp my necklace before the man notices I have it. With swift fingers, I tuck it into my corset and adjust my chemise to cover as much of my exposed flesh as I can. Then I turn toward the man and set my clothing on the ground. Franco does the same with his shirt and strands of beads.
“I’d give you my pants too,” Franco says to the man, “but I don’t wear undergarments. Although, I imagine you could fetch an impressive price for them. I can see it now. A sign in the market square. Here lies the pants that touched the throbbing—”
“I want the shoes,” he says, pointing at the hem of my petticoats.
My pulse quickens. If I step out of my shoes, the glamour goes with them. The prince may already have guessed I wear a glamour, but the bargain I’m bound to forbids me from letting anyone see me without it. “You can’t have my shoes.”
“The shoes look more valuable then all this clothing put together.”
“She said you can’t have the shoes,” Franco says, tone bored. “If you want to leave this little meeting of ours alive, I suggest you accept what has already been so graciously offered to you.”
The man strides forward, teeth bared, gun aimed between my eyes. Now that the gun is trained on me, I’m starting to wonder if the prince might have been wrong about the man’s bluff. He seems awfully bold for someone wielding a gun without bullets. Perhaps I shouldn’t have encouraged Franco to go soft on him after all. “Give me the princess’ shoes.”
Franco growls and his shadows return. In a matter of seconds, they fill the space around us like a fog. I feel a bare arm pull me close, then the other reaches under my legs. Sudden movement sends my stomach lurching. When the shadows clear, I find the ground has fallen beneath us, leaving only the tops of trees in sight. One glance at Franco reveals a pair of enormous black wings sprouting from his back where moments ago there was only naked skin. They extend behind him, beating the air.
He looks at me with a smirk. “See what happens when I try to play nice?”
The world blurs as he flies us away.
22
