I slumped in defeat, a scowl upon my lips.
My fingerswere itching to draw my blade once more, until Kai spoke again, his voice hesitant. “My true name is Kairen Breno Artius Soliel, third born son of Artius Soliel, King of Tavari, and I need your help.”
The blood drained from my face instantly, I was sure. A hiccup sounding from my mouth as disbelief stole my breath.
A Prince.
ASolerianPrince.
Shadows loomed in the back of my mind, snaking through my veins, oozing malice in their wake.
Murderer.
Tainted are his hands by the blood spilt in his father’s wake. Son of a tyrant. Son of a murder.
Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.
Nausea swept through me, fast and unrelenting, as I shoved them down, casting them from my thoughts.
This was bad, so, so bad.
“Close your mouth, little menace,” that sinful voice said, snapping me out of my thoughts, my glare one of pure vexation as his mouth curved with a wicked smile. “ThePrinceisn’t yet finished speaking.”
The condescension in his tone had my anger surging once more, nearly choking upon it as fear and aggravation burned through me. “Does he truly need to be here for whatever this conversation is?”
“Hate to break it to you, but where the Prince goes, I go.”
Anger was my shield, as it had always been. It was the emotion that I clung to, a tool to push down any others that try to surface. Anger was easier, safer. A comfort. Controlled, hot and burning within my gut as it crawled up my throat. Fear was unpredictable, but anger I could thrive in.
I focused on that burning, honed it sharp as my blades as I glared right back.
Teeth gritting, I practically spat, “Yes, it seems they’ve trained you so well, little guard dog.”
He stilled, eyes narrowing to an almost feline slant, turning predatory and vicious.
I knew as soon as the words left my mouth, that I’d said something horribly wrong. The stiffening of his body, the darkening of his eyes. The way his hand clenched around the blade he still held. I relished in that brief flicker of whatever emotion stormed in his eyes. Iwantedhim to hurt. Wanted him to leave, for thembothto leave.
A throat cleared and Prince Kairen leaned forward, hands clasping, “I’m assuming you know your trials consist of three different challenges, correct?”
I tore my eyes from the fury that brewed within Roan Delmar, shifting and trying to ignore that tension that wound through his body.
Nodding, my reply was quick, “Of course I do. The first is a written test, to assess the practical knowledge of the apprentices. The second is an assessment of hands on skill, wherein the Potion Masters will give us a potion of their choice to brew,” I paused, tapping a finger upon the wooden table, “and the third trial is a quest, also given by the Potion Masters. It’s generally an endeavor to create a new, viable potion that will benefit Tavari, to prove that one is an asset to the kingdom in their profession.”
Merle had been training me for years for these trials. I had already created a variety of new potions under her tutelage, and had been prepped so thoroughly I could practically recite the ingredients of any potion laid before me.
What exactly my trials had to do with a Solerian Prince of Tavari, though, was beyond my comprehension.
The Prince's smile was grim as I spoke once more, “I apologize, Your Highness, but I don’t exactly understand what my trials have to do with helping you.”
“Now she sees the sense in using honorifics,” Delmar’s scoff had my scathing look shooting towards him.
“Enough, Roan.” Prince Kairen’s hiss was exasperated and exhausted all at once. His shoulders slumping as if he held the weight of a thousand worries upon them. I picked at the skin around my nails, nerves lighting once more.
Hewasroyalty, wasn’t he? I couldn't exactly refuse to hear him out. Could I even refuse his requestat all?Goddess, I needed to tread carefully. Bran always said my smart mouth would lead me to trouble and I was starting to think that perhaps I should listen to him and Merle more often.
Ringed fingers slid a piece of paper towards me, a slight tremor ran through my hand as I picked it up, my wary gaze glancing between the two men. Unfolding it slowly, my brows knitted with confusion. A poem?
Five are called and five will roam
