He knew. Somehow, when not even Prince Ira could see through the disguise, a seven-year-old did. Suddenly, the wounds on Luci’s neck didn’t feel quite so catastrophic, considering she was going to be beheaded because of a precocious seven-year-old. Would Brielle be punished for going along with the lie? Maybe she could plead that she didn’t want Prince Ira to look foolish by admitting the truth. It was a reasonable enough excuse.
“I’m not sure who you think I am, but my name is Lucinda Blackthorn. I’m a servant in the Treveon household.” Luci tried.
Max narrowed his eyes at her before going back to his book, uninterested in his hazel eyes.
“So you were pretending to be Brielle Treveon at the ball?” he asked.
Oh goodness above, she hoped the executioner’s blade was sharp.
There was no convincing him, which meant it was time to beg.
Stepping towards him, she lowered himself before him and peered up at him, hoping he understood the desperation screaming throughout her veins. Hand shaking, she pressed it harder into the claw marks, hoping the pain would center her from picturing the crowd that would gather for her execution.
“Max, you are a very smart kid, but I need your help. No one can know it was me that night. Not even your brother. My lady, Brielle, gets sick often. She was supposed to be here that night, but a fever took her, and she asked me to go in her stead so her father wouldn’t be disappointed in her. I never meant to meet the Prince or you or go into that room. I’ve created a mess, but Prince Ira proposed to Brielle, and she accepted, and they are happy. I know it’s wrong, but please don’t tell him.”
By the time Luci was finished, the words came out breathless and desperate.
But desperation was desperation, so she added, “I really don’t want to be beheaded.”
It was like being examined on a level that was inhuman. His eyes scanned over her eyes, her face, her lips, her neck, her gloved hands, the dress she wore, each strand of her painted hair, and each rivulet of the braid it was tied into. In all her life, even when she was forced to beg for food on Picadilly street, even when Lord Treveon made her feel two inches small, not even those moments made her feel as stripped and seen as this seven-year-old deciding her fate.
When he was through, he huffed out a breath and took his seat at the desk Calcifer was hiding under, though if Calcifer felt one way or another about it, he didn’t make a single sound. Hopefully, he didn’t die of stress. Oh, pumpkins, Brielle would be devastated.
“Um- your highness,” Luci began, but the little prince shot daggers at her. “Max, is my cat alive?”
Ducking his head under the desk, he disappeared for about ten seconds, during which time, Luci imagined Brielle sobbing as she broke the news to her that not only did Calcifer kill Prince Ira, but Calcifer died of stress.
“He’s alive, but he seems very angry,” he said.
His eyes widened a fraction, bouncing between Calcifer and Luci.
“You didn’t have him travel in the same carriage as Ira, did you?” he asked.
Luci groaned and leaned her head back to stare at the golden-domed ceiling. She was going to die.
“He forgot to mention he was allergic to cats,” she said, finally.
“Idiot,” Max said, though Luci wasn’t sure if the insult was meant for her or his brother. “How bad is it this time?”
Luci scrunched up her nose and debated telling the truth. After all, the little prince had yet to promise not to give her secret away. Truth, then,
“His eyes are swollen shut, and I have no idea what he’s trying to say,” she cringed.
Max shook his head and stood, walking right past her for the door. For a moment, Luci thought he might just leave her there, but he held the door open and waved to her.
“Come on, Lucinda Blackthorn, let’s go,” he said.
He used her real name. Was that a bad or a good thing? More concerning, why was she feeling a sense of relief that he recognized her, unlike Ira? All that should have been there was dread, but a small piece of her settled into the knowledge like a comfy chair.
Deciding it was best not to try his patience, Luci followed behind him.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To go see Ira, of course,” Max said.
Oh, excellent.
Chapter thirteen
