EMBER
Cool air beats all around us. I cling tight around Franco’s neck, my heart slamming against my ribs as he flies high over the treetops.
I’ve always wanted to fly. Always wished I could shift forms and become one with the wind like my mother could. But in all my fantasies where I soared through the sky,Iwas always the one doing the flying. Not being hauled hundreds of feet in the air by an infuriating prince.
Vertigo seizes me, and I close my eyes, tucking my head under Franco’s chin. My cheek comes up against his collarbone. The feel of my skin on his has my eyes flying open, my stomach tightening in a way that no longer has to do with being dizzy. My breath hitches with my awareness of Franco’s arm beneath my knees, the other around my waist, holding me close to his bare chest. If that weren’t unsettling enough, a secondary realization comes over me—that he could drop me at any moment. On purpose. Because he knows I’m a liar, and after everything I said to him outside the coach, he has every right to despise me…
I pull back as far as I dare. “Put me down,” I say, but my words are swallowed by the wind. Not willing to risk my life to remove my arms from around his neck, I tap a finger against his shoulder to get his attention. When he looks down at me, I raise my voice. “Put me down!”
His feathered wings shift and our momentum glides to a stop. We hover in place. Franco remains upright, his wings beating the air at intervals to keep us in place while I continue to cling to him. “What did you say?”
I level a furious stare at him. “For the thousandth time, I said put me down.”
“I’m flying you back to the palace,” he says, voice rich with agitation. “I’m taking you to safety so I can come back for Donna and Dominus.”
Safety? Does he mean straight to the dungeon? “I’d rather walk.”
He quirks a brow, an amused smirk playing over his lips. “What? In heels?”
“Yes.”
As if the shoes realize they’re the subject of conversation, I feel one start to slip from my foot. I lift my leg high enough to catch a glimpse of the offending shoe and see the back has come free from my heel. My pulse races as sweat beads at my brow. “Your Highness, put me down,” I say, an edge of panic cutting through my tone. “Put me downright now.”
He slices me with a glare. “You’re not in any position to make demands of a prince.”
“Please,” I say. “I’m begging you.
“Fine.” With a muttered string of curses, we begin to lower.
My breathing begins to calm, but my relief is short lived. Our descent has lodged my shoe even farther off my foot. I shift and squirm to get a better angle, then try to use my other foot to push the loose shoe back on. The ground is still over a dozen feet below us, but if I can keep my shoes in place…
Just when I think my efforts are working, the shoe slips off completely. With a yelp, I tug my head back under Franco’s chin, but my shout seems to have startled him, and I feel our momentum come to a halt. “What is it?” He tilts his chin down at me.
But I can’t let him see me. If my shoe is gone, the glamour is too. Which means I’m in violation of the terms of the bargain.
You must wear the glamoured shoes in public and let no one see you without the glamour…
Has he already seen me? I shove my hand in the prince’s face to keep it averted just as a flash of agony strikes my gut. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out. Franco, of course, must sense my shift in energy, for he again tries to look at me. “Put me down, damn you!”
He squirms against my hand and continues our descent, his flight haphazard as we careen to the forest floor. I keep my hand in his face despite his protests, ignoring the muffled complaints he shouts against my palm. When we finally touch down, I wriggle from his grasp, looking everywhere for a hint of pale blue discarded amongst the bushes and brambles. I catch sight of a glass heel several feet away, and I can only hope it isn’t broken. If a glamoured item so much as tears a seam, the enchantment breaks too. Franco releases me, stumbling from my frantic movements, and I take the opportunity to shove him forward in the opposite direction of the shoe. He falls to his hands and knees, and I make a mad dash for the slipper. In a matter of seconds, it’s in my grasp, and I dive behind a large bush with it.
Once fully hidden, I scramble to secure the shoe back on my foot, noting how my hands shift from my paler shade to Maisie’s dark tan in the blink of an eye. Relief floods me. The pain of the compromised bargain dissipates at once, leaving exhaustion in its wake. Then comes the dawning realization that I just accosted a prince.
A prince who already hates me.
Too soon the sound of his footsteps come tearing across the forest floor.
* * *
FRANCO
I stand before the impostor with my hands on my hips, my wings splayed out wide, every muscle twitching with agitation. “What the hell was that?”
With a guilty expression, she slowly rises to her feet, not bothering to brush off the dirt, sticks, and brambles that now cling to her undergarments. “I’m sorry,” she says, not meeting my eyes.
“For which part? Where you impersonated a princess? Where you argued with me over my inadequacies as a prince? Where you made me give away my best shirt? Or how about when you nearly blinded me mid-flight and then pushed me over into a cluster of rotting mushrooms?”
“I didn’t realize there were mushrooms,” she mutters.
