Page 23 of Heartbreak Prince

Letting the carpet’s voice fade into the background, I reach over my shoulder and smack the side of the prince’s face lightly. His mask is gone. Must have fallen off at some point during our journey. “Wake up. We’re going to land soon.”

He stirs with a soft groan that sends a thrill through my stomach. “I was having the best nightmare.”

“The best nightmare?”

“In it, my brothers had tied me down and they were tormenting me with frogs and salamanders. I hate those, you know. Slimy, blobby creatures. And yet I would like to go back into that dream, because in it, Erling and Glennon were still alive.”

His voice bleeds grief. If I twist around to look at him, I’m afraid I might actually cry for him and for the ones he lost. “Better to face reality. I’ve explained our situation to Severin, and he has agreed to try not to betray us if he’s captured.”

“But I can give no guarantees,” Severin adds.

“Say it isn’t so,” the Prince exclaims. “And I thought we were becoming such great friends.”

The carpet squirms a little beneath us. “By my nature I deal in facts, not feelings.”

“I understand.” Vawn runs his hand comfortingly over its surface. Once again, I’m distracted by how attractive his fingers are—long and elegant, decorated with those glyph-graven rings. He’s still wearing the fake black nails from the Pink Lycan. Come to think of it, so am I. We forgot to remove them, and we left in such a hurry that I doubt Bridah noticed.

It’s just as well. We could use the extra anonymity. The downside is that I can’t activate my glyphs while they’re covered, since triggering them takes blood, saliva, or direct pressure, along with specific intent. Not that I’ve needed them since we left the capital city.

I have a glyph for wakefulness on the middle finger of my right hand, to help me stay alert during long periods of guard duty, but it never entered my head to activate it tonight. I’m too keyed up, adrenaline still gushing through my system in hot floods every time I spot a large bird or a fast-moving cloud. For a split second I’m always convinced it’s another carpet, following us, but so far, we seem to have gotten away clear. It’s almost too convenient, as if someone used a luck glyph on us. Maybe someone did, in the Lyre & Vice, and we’ve been reaping the benefits. But it’s been hours since the incident, so it’s unlikely a luck glyph’s effects would still be ongoing.

A reputable artificient will often include a timing serif on the glyphs they paint. Without a timing serif, the effects of the magic will continue until the glyph is deactivated or until all magical energy is drained from the digit. Once the magic is used up, the glyph will try to use the person’s physical energy, which leads to desiccation of the finger, thumb, or toe, like the withered, cracked appearance of Lord Praxid’s hands when he came to warn us.

Without practice, it’s tough to know one’s energy limits, so when choosing their timing serifs, most people estimate conservatively, based on the research that’s been done over the past hundred years. The more powerful the effect of the glyph, the less time it should remain in effect. That’s why my hand-shield only lasts for several minutes, although it can wear out sooner if heavily impacted. My illumination glyph consumes very little energy, so I opted out of the timing serif for that one. I can keep it active for hours before I feel that sharp prickling sensation, warning me that it’s starting to pull from my physical energy. At that point, I simply turn it off.

Vawn pokes me in the side, and I flinch. “What?”

“You didn’t answer Severin,” he says.

“Perhaps her own thoughts are more pleasant to her than the reality of the world around her,” comments the carpet. “I can relate. I often prefer my own company to that of the frivolous, inane beings that populate this chaotic part of the world.”

“What did I miss? Did you say something useful?” My tone bites more than usual, and I sigh in frustration, more at myself than my companions. Usually I’m a pleasant person. The events of the night have made me irritable.

“We’re approaching the hamlet I spoke of. See the road there, and the building beside it? That’s our destination.”

“Let’s land now,” I say. “Flying in like this will attract too much attention. They’ll think we’re much wealthier than we are and charge us higher rates for lodging.”

The carpet angles downward, heading for the roadside. “I suppose you’ll be hiding me in the forest again, like an acorn being tucked away by a careless pair of squirrels.”

“Of course not. We’ll hide you in the stables, under some hay or something.”

“Or something?” The carpet shudders slightly. “Make sure the area where you place me is clean, please, and not too smelly.”

“It’s a stable, for fuck’s sake. It’ll smell like horse.”

“Which means I will smell like horse.”

“Probably. It will wear off.”

“I disapprove.” The carpet swoops low, skimming the tips of the tall grasses by the side of the road.

“Too bad.” I let go of the handles and hop off. The prince climbs down with a great deal more drama, stumbling as his long legs are finally able to unfold, groaning wearily as he stretches his lanky frame.

“Are you going to survive?” I ask him blandly.

He shoots me a lethal look. “Fuck you, darling.”

“Fuck you back.”