“And yet you just did.”
She scowled and turned away. “Let’s pretend it never happened, okay?”
There was a punctuating moment of silence. He shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”
It was. She didn’t want to think about her lapse in judgment. A kiss was simply a kiss, even if it was her first, even if it had made her heart want to climb up her throat.
Curses. She’d forgotten about her bad luck for one glorious moment.
Now it all came rushing back. The curse would find a way to hurt whoever came too close to her, even if it was some stupid prince with very soft lips and even softer hair. She owed it to him to keep her distance, to pack her walls with more mortar, to ensure that her bad luck didn’t take him out on the false premise that he might care for her in any way.
“Keep your disguise,” she ordered, because all the other things she wanted to say sounded false. She readjusted the scarf over his hair and face until it was securely in place and only his amber eyes could be seen.
“What will your disguise be?” His voice was barely muffled by the silken cloth.
“I don’t need one,” she said, satisfied with her work. She shook out her waves. Fluffed her hair until it doubled in size. “I’mnot a handsome prince. Just a country bumpkin.”
“We both know that isn’t true.” Time stood still as he reached for a lock of her hair to rub between his fingers.
It couldn’t happen again. It couldn’t happen again. It could definitely—
Black fur streaked between them, sending Javi sneezing.
“There you are!”
Amina stood on the other side of the crates, only her forehead and eyes visible over the edge. Her hood was down—no doubt useful for misdirection, but it made staring at her nauseating.
“Sorry.” Javi flashed her an easy smile. “We ran into a bit of a problem.”
“Iknow,” Amina muttered, glancing back at the crowd. She pulled up her hood and half her face settled.
“Did you meet with your contact?” Risa wrestled with Brunie, who was kneading her thigh with insistent paws. She then noticed the towering man standing a few feet away and gawked in alarm.
Amina answered Risa with a wave. “This is Paulo. But we should wait a while longer before we traipse out of here together.”
Paulo was bigger and tougher than any of the Sanguines. A patch of old red scars mottled the shiny dark brown of his bald head. Deep lines bracketed his mouth, making him appear both ancient and youthful at the same time. His white linen shirt and matching flowy pants were stark against his skin.
Paulo raised a hand as large as Risa’s head. Calluses rimmed thetop of his palm. “Hi.” His voice was deep and reverberated in Risa’s chest. “I’m Paulo.” He sounded perfectly pleasant.
“He is the bookseller,” Amina explained.
Javi gave the librarian turned bookseller a once-over. “He doesn’tlooklike a bookseller.”
Paulo narrowed his dark green eyes into sharp pinpricks. “What does a bookseller look like?”
“You know.” Javi motioned vaguely with a hand.
“I don’t.”
“They usually have glasses.”
Paulo was silent. He reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and produced a pair of thin-wire spectacles too small for his large face, then slid them onto his nose.
“Better, principito?” the large man asked.
Amina rolled her eyes. She pulled Paulo behind the crates, where they could all huddle on their knees without being noticed. Though even as Paulo crouched beside her, Risa was sure the top of his skull was visible over the crates.
“Paulo, tell them.”
