Page 21 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

“Thank you.” His hand closes around mine as he leans down to kiss my brow. I smile softly despite my increasing nausea, despite the fire of hatred burning deeply within me. He has forsaken his promise and our joint dream in order to pursue another. A dream I have no part in.

ELEVEN

BRYNDIS ASHGLO

These witches shall be eliminated from society before they can pollute the minds of the innocent. True power must reside in those who govern, not those who commit the unlawful act called magic.

The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper

Gong.

Gong.

Gong.

My heart races as Declan rings the copper bell in the centre of the stable block, sounding the alarm. The clatter of hooves makes my stomach sink as I duck around the corner leading past the stables to the manor door I locked behind me when I left. My satchel digs into my shoulder, heavy with everything I hold dear in this life.

The night sky glows orange as flames crackle and rise. Panicked neighs and thundering gallops disturb the quiet as servants set horses free from their stables. I back into the narrow corridor between the garden shed and the manor, into the darkness where no one will see me. My breathing is heavy, and my chest aches with its effort.

“Grab the horses!”

“Hello, Slìbhìn, fancy meeting you outside during the witching hours of night.” His voice is a sultry purr, dangerous in its decadence. I can’t see him, but I don’t need to see his face to know who it is. There’s only one person who calls me by that name. Prince Odhran.

“What a wonderful surprise indeed,” I whisper sarcastically, clenching my teeth. Heat washes over my skin with the realisation that he’s caught me. Again. He’s caught me breaking yet another rule, being out after curfew.

He steps from the shadows, sheathing a small blade at his hip while the alarm bell rings clear, cutting through the night like a knife through butter. “I wonder, what keeps you up at night when the rest of your people are fast asleep in their beds?” A subtle glow of firelight dances across the side of his face as he approaches me. His grey eyes flare with menace.

“Piss off, will you? I’m not in the mood for this right now.” I blow out air, struggling to gain control of my breathing. Like a vice, panic tightens its grip on my chest. He’s caught me. Worse, I swore at him, the one person who could bring my life to an end in a split second. So be it!

“Not even politeness would make you invisible, young one. You are where you are, and who will take your word above that of a prince, bastard or no.”

Odhran’s lips quirk into something like… like… a smile? Maybe I’m losing my mind after all. When I blink, his expression holds nothing but indifference. With a cluck of his tongue, blood rushes straight from my extremities to my cheeks. “Now, now, that’s not very ladylike of you, is it?” He smells of cinnamon and peppermint. Strong and alluring. But anger is still fresh and burns in my core.

“We need more water!”

“And princes don’t sleep in servants’ quarters. Do you have a point, or can I go?” I risk looking up at him and immediately meet a pair of light grey eyes staring down at me. He’s so tall that my head barely reaches his collarbone.

“Touché,” he says, smiling down at me, but there’s no sign of amusement in his expression. He wears the kind of cocky half-grin that begs to be smacked off his pretty face. “So, here we are, a menace pretending to be a lady, a bastard labelled a prince, and a boy who believes he’s a man.”

I frown at him, confused more than insulted.

His laughter is brief before he answers my unspoken question. “The boy whose room you came from.” His statement kicks my pulse into a gallop, and I hate him for it.

My ears burn with embarrassment. Of course, he thinks I went there to perform some sort of unholy act. Why wouldn’t he? “Declan is more of a man than you are! You, with your empty threats and constant mind games. At least he has the balls to follow through on what he says.”

He laughs again, breathy and deep. “Sweetheart, is this you asking me to drop my pants and prove my manhood?” His head rolls back in a deep throaty chuckle. “You wouldn’t know what to do with a man if he were standing right in front of you in broad daylight.” He takes another step toward me, causing me to step back reflexively. The building’s wall presses against my back, and I wince. A hiss of pain escapes through my gritted teeth before I think to conceal it. Opening my eyes again, I see no sign of amusement on his face, just the tick of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes.

“And you’re the epitome of masculinity? Are you?” I snap, sounding winded.

Odhran takes a step back, and I follow, freeing myself from the hard surface behind me. “I’m not the epitome of anything,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “A bastard, remember? If I were the epitome of anything, it would be disappointment.” Not the response I’m expecting at all, and I can’t tell if it’s a lie either.

I let out a breath, rolling my shoulders as I adjust the strap of my satchel beneath my cloak. He pauses, staring at me for a long moment, saying nothing. The sound of the crackling fire, raised voices, and barked orders fill the night, yet the silence between us is deafening.

“But that doesn’t make the red-headed boy a man. So, I’ll make you a deal. Run along and I’ll forget I ever saw you.” He leans back, reclining against the wall across from me. Odhran unsheathes a dark blade at his side to pick his nails, seemingly bored by our encounter, while ash floats down like dark grey snowflakes.

“In return for?”

“I want nothing from you but to see you walk through that door and leave me in peace.”