We spent the next ten minutes stuffing a box with pastries, the woman behind the counter letting us taste whatever we wanted along the way. We tried nearly everything in the shop: a lemon tart with berries on top, a chocolate mousse with caramel chips, an oatmeal cookie with swirls of butterscotch. By the time we left, a box of pastries tucked under my arm, I could barely move.
Mist had begun to gather along the bridge, turning the sona lamps into spots of blurred color that blended into each other like paints on a canvas. People talked and laughed, walking arm in arm along the pristine sidewalks.
Something was missing. I paused, scanning the length of the street. There were no patrols, no soldiers on duty.
And not a single Jin or Ambriellan.
The mist prickled at my skin. Up here was a world of light and color, while a few streets away, people slowly forgot what those words meant as they toiled beneath a regime that cared nothing for them.
Ericen slowed as we passed the tavern with the music. “Do you want to dance?” he asked.
“What?” My thoughts were still on the contrast between the city’s areas. He didn’t seem to hear me, instead taking my hand and pulling me into the tavern.
The tables had been cleared aside, leaving a space filled with people spinning and hopping to the music. I set my box of pastries on an empty table a second before Ericen drew me into the throng. I nearly resisted, but the music pried at the tension in my shoulders and demanded I let it out.
We couldn’t have stood out any more: he dressed in his Vykryn uniform, dual swords across his back, and me with my brown Rhodairen skin, so much darker than the pale faces around us.
It wasn’t difficult to pick up the moves. The pattern was repetitive, and I’d done a similar dance once when visiting the Ambriels. We hopped and spun, skipped and twirled. I couldn’t help but laugh at the incongruous sight of Ericen armed to the teeth and dancing in time to the music.
Half his attention seemed to be somewhere else though. He kept scanning the crowd, his bright eyes narrowed. I missed a step while watching him, skipping to the side when I should have gone forward, and collided with a burly man beside me. I stumbled, and Ericen caught me before I could lose my balance entirely.
“Watch it!” Ericen snapped at the man, who scowled.
“Maybe your Rhodairen whore should keep an eye on her feet.”
Ericen surged toward him, and despite the man being a head taller, pinned him easily against the wall. The music stopped. People stared, the dancers nearest us backing away to create space.
“Maybe you should learn a little respect for your future king,” Ericen snarled. The violence in his voice startled me.
The man’s eyes found the emblem on Ericen’s chest and widened. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. Please forgive me.”
I touched Ericen’s shoulder; it was solid as marble. “Leave him. It’s not worth it. Let’s go.”
Ericen didn’t listen. “It’s not me you need to apologize to.”
The man’s eyes shifted to me. My cheeks burned. “I’m sorry, my lady. Please forgive me.”
“You’re forgiven,” I said hastily. “Ericen, let’s go!”
He gave the man a final shove, then released him. I grabbed his arm, barely remembering to seize my box of pastries before tugging him out into the cool night. It had started to rain again, a thick mist obscuring the buildings and road. By the time we climbed inside the waiting carriage, we were drenched.
I set the box beside me and wiped my soaking curls out of my face. Ericen sat rigid with his arms crossed in the corner. This was the prince who’d faced Razel, the one who’d seemed determined to prove something.
“That was unnecessary, you know,” I said. “I ran into him.”
“He called you a whore.”
“Welcome to the life of a woman. Men say stupid crap to us all the time. So don’t try and tell me that was about defending my honor. It was about defending yours.”
Ericen scowled. “What are you talking about?”
“I see the way people treat you. You’re the prince of Illucia and a Vykryn, and people still don’t respect you.”
He bristled. “It’s none of your business what my people think of me.”
“It is if you’re going to use me as an excuse to demand respect from people!”
“Just because you don’t give a damn what your people think of you doesn’t mean—”
