Page 34 of Heartbreak Prince

The pressure of the wind is so great that Vawn and I have to stretch out face-down on the carpet again, yielding our fate to Severin. The prince’s body drapes heavily over mine, and I fret over the fact that I should be lying on top of him, shielding him.

Suddenly he grunts and trembles with the impact of a spell.

“Are you all right?” I yell through the screaming wind.

He shudders again, a groan vibrating through his chest against my spine. “Pain spell. Not a direct hit. It glanced off.”

His arm remains firmly locked around my waist. If he’s hurting, it’s not so bad that he’s losing strength. I can’t risk loosening my grip on the carpet handles or moving at all, in case one of us is dislodged and lost.

It drives me insane to be helpless like this, unable to fight back. Once again, our lives depend on Severin. I’ve been too bossy with him; I should treat him with more respect.

The carpet shivers as fiery magic crackles along his edge. The odor of burning fibers sears my nostrils. I crush my hand over the spot, smothering the flames that threaten to erupt. It stings, but it works.

We have to stay in the air. If the carpet is downed, we’re fucked.

Cautiously I raise my head. Across a freshly plowed field lies a high stone wall, and beyond that, the forest that clings to the slopes of the Farrow Foothills.

Twisting around, I catch a glimpse of our pursuers. Two magic carpets and—fuck me, a wyvern. It’s a small one, about the size of a cart horse with wings, but still a panic-inducing sight.

“Get us into the trees,” I yell to Severin.

“I cannot fly in there. This forest is too dense,” he warns.

“I know,” I reply. “We’re going to force them to dismount and follow us in there on foot.”

Vawn tenses, and his voice thrums against my back. “They’ll kill you.”

“My knife skills aren’t dependent on glyphs.” But despite my reply, my stomach is knotted with dread. There are two riders on each of those carpets and another on the wyvern. That’s five to one.

“I still have that extra knife,” the prince says. “I’ll help you fight them.”

“No. You’ll take the carpet and run.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Syth. I’m not helpless.”

“That’s not the impression you gave me at the Lyre & Vice.”

“I was in shock, and under the influence of glyphs for calm and nonchalance,” he retorts.

“Shut up and put your heads down,” snaps the carpet.

We duck instantly, feeling the whip of branches over our heads. A corner of the carpet catches on a sharp twig, and a sickening rip splits the air. Severin emits a keening whine of agony as his rear right corner is nearly severed.

I shove against Vawn’s weight, rolling us both sideways. We tumble to the ground as the carpet drops, thrashing amid the dirt and dead leaves.

“Pick him up,” I shout. “Run!”

I don’t wait to see if Vawn obeys me. Drawing both my claw knives, I clasp them and take up a defensive stance.

Shouts erupt beyond the fringe of trees. Two men burst into the forest, heading straight for me. Both wear purple uniforms and egg-shaped helmets encrusted with crystals, just like the soldiers at the Lyre & Vice.

“Who are you working for?” I shout the question without expecting an answer, and they don’t give me one. They separate and approach me from different angles, so I don’t wait for them to converge. I dart toward the one on my left, spinning my knives at blinding speed, even without the benefit of glyphs.

Out of every type of knife, I like the claw-shaped style the best for the way it functions. The whirling blades can make even a seasoned warrior nervous, so I always start with a showy spin, before I catch the handle and slash. Every blow is wickedly precise, aimed at vulnerable places, especially those that are difficult to protect with armor. The neck, the inner elbow, the wrist, the shoulder socket, the armpit, the knees, and the hollows of the hips.

Without glyphs, though, I’m at a disadvantage. I have no extra agility to dodge attacks, no additional strength to drive the blades through the thick, dense fabric of the attackers’ uniforms. They must have impervious glyphs, shield glyphs, or some other form of defense, because despite my skill and precision, my knives aren’t piercing them. I’m hitting my targets, but I can’t seem to do any damage. Both of the men are on me now, their blades clashing with mine. One of them wields a short sword with a wavy blade, while the other has a pair of matching daggers.

I keep moving as fast as I can, never giving them a target for glyph magic, never allowing their bare hands to touch me, though the one with the short sword keeps trying. He must have a dangerous glyph ready to use. Some of the worst ones require direct contact.