Page 126 of Heartbreak Prince

“We’ll need Cordall’s consent for this,” I say. “The Exemplar may summon him to the palace to testify about your death and to produce the scene again from memory.”

Vawn’s pale eyes narrow. There’s a scheming glint in his gaze that makes me proud and aroused at the same time. “I hope he does summon Cordall. That could be the perfect opportunity. But if we’re going to do this, we’ll need secrecy and cooperation from the people of Tularesk. And we will need as much invisible glyph paint as they can manufacture in a short span of time.”

He jumps up and gives me a hard kiss, an eager light in his eyes. “If we can manage this, sweetheart, you and I might have a future after all.”

25

“You don’t look dead enough.” I tilt my head, examining the prince’s prone body.

He cracks one eye open. “The fuck I don’t. Look at me, my guts are spilling out.”

“I think you should have your eyes open and fixed in that glazed, soulless sort of way.”

“Respectfully, I disagree,” interposes Severin. “He should keep his eyes shut. It’s very difficult for a living person to deliver the proper ‘dead’ expression with their eyes open.”

“I’m superb at being dead inside,” Vawn says. “I’ll give it a try.”

“Let me know when you’re ready,” Heim Cordall replies. He’s been keeping his back to the scene while preparations are under way. When the scene we’re designing is finished, he’ll turn around and take it all in, absorbing the image and the memory.

It’s been two weeks since the Twin Lieges met their end—two weeks in which city mayors, village leaders, and military commanders have traveled in and out of the Celestial Seat, each wanting to confirm the news of Twins’ demise.

Cordall imprinted an image of the dead Lieges onto a canvas as proof of their death, and we showed both the picture and the betrothal contract to all who visited. If further evidence was needed, Stewardess Inaya provided her statement as a witness.

I kept a close eye on the reactions of each leader we met with, trying to gauge if their loyalty might transfer from the Lieges to Vawn. Most of them seemed to care very little about the Twins’ death. They were far more interested in the options Vawn could offer them for safety and relocation. After Vawn provided them with reassurances, he would glance at me, and subject to my nod of approval, he would go a step further and share the details of our plan to deceive the Exemplar and retake Belavrin.

With their country on the brink of famine and collapse, the leaders and commanders of Tularesk were easy to persuade. Most of them agreed to contribute workers to the kingdom-wide effort of manufacturing as much invisible glyph paint as possible. A representative from the Tularesk Royal University was put in charge of the effort, including the collection of the key ingredient for the paint—the abandoned husks of tundra vole claws, shed by the creatures every few weeks and left behind in sinkholes or tunnels across the land.

With the entire nation unified and hard at work, it’s our job to make the report of Vawn Molloi’s death as convincing as possible.

For the site of his “accident,” we settled on a shallow sinkhole and a half-collapsed tailor’s shop. He has draped himself languidly near the edge of the hole, with Severin ready to dive in and catch him if the ground gives way. A few servants have arranged pieces of debris artfully across his body, including a large beam.

On the prince’s abdomen, around the place where the beam lies over his stomach, the Twins’ royal makeup artist, Jillia, fashioned a wound, painted in startling detail and accessorized with a few pig entrails. She spattered blood across Vawn’s bare chest as well.

To me, the scene looks quite convincing, as if Vawn went into the tailor shop to purchase clothing and was practically bisected by a falling beam when a new sinkhole opened up. But I’m not the one who has to be persuaded. All of Belavrin must believe that their rightful king is dead.

“Would your shirt really be open like that?” I ask Vawn.

“It would if I was preparing to let the tailor measure me,” he says. “By the fates, darling, why won’t you allow me to be sexy in my moment of death?”

“Fine.” I smirk. “We’d better hurry with this, though. You look a bit cold.”

“I’m freezing, thank you very much.”

“If the sun wasn’t so strong this afternoon, you would be dead within minutes of exposing your skin to the air,” offers Severin helpfully. “Your nipples would be the first to freeze—”

“Not my nipples!” Vawn says in such a dramatic tone that I giggle.

“Don’t make him laugh,” begs Jillia. “He’ll crease the makeup, and I worked so hard for that shade of pallor. A little blood at the corner of his mouth, and then we’re ready.”

Vawn lets his head fall into position, and Jillia daubs the crimson paint carefully, trailing it from the corner of his mouth and dripping some onto the snowy ground at the edge of the sinkhole. Then she backs away and surveys him, while the Stewardess and I do the same.

We barely breathe, all of us snared by the stark beauty of him—the lines of his body, the tragedy of the pose, the perfection and vulnerability of his pale face. His eyes look vague and empty, like clouded ice.

The admiration quickly transforms to terror within my heart. “Vawn?”

“Yes, lovely?” he murmurs. “Am I dead enough for you?”

I breathe a quick sigh of relief. “You’re frighteningly good at this. Take a few breaths, and then hold perfectly still. Cordall, we’re ready.”