Page 39 of Heartbreak Prince

Color creeps into my cheeks. The compliment means more than any of the naughty comments he has made.

“We can work out the details later,” I tell him. “First order of business is to reach the city, find a pawnbroker, then get some supplies before all the shops close.”

“Be sure to find something fashionable,” advises the carpet. “You want to blend in with the people waiting in line, rather than standing out. If you need any advice on the merits of certain popular textiles or the various cuts and styles that are in vogue lately, I am happy to share what I know.”

“I think the prince’s expertise in that area will be adequate,” I say.

“More than adequate,” he confirms. “I’m on the bleeding edge of fashion in this kingdom.”

“But your advice is appreciated,” I tell Severin. “And we’ll do our best to curtail our spending and reserve enough money to repair you properly.”

Severin gives a small hum of approval and smooths himself out, allowing Vawn to roll him up. With the carpet tucked under Vawn’s arm, we leave our patch of grass and head for the main road. As much as I hate walking it openly, we don’t have a choice at this point. The terrain on either side of the road is becoming rockier and more mountainous, practically impassable on foot.

The uphill climb takes nearly all my remaining strength. My thighs burn and the tendons at the back of my ankles pull tight with every step. I’m going to be sore tomorrow.

To his credit and my surprise, Vawn doesn’t complain about the steep trek. I know he’s just as weary as I am, but it’s a relief that he keeps it inside rather than venting all his discomfort aloud. He must not have realized how much he was fussing until I mentioned it, and now he’s trying to do better.

The swell of warmth in my heart is unexpected, and it takes me a moment to identify it as pride. I’m proud of him.

At last we reach a ridge flanked by tall trees, like a natural archway. Steps descend to a broad plaza bordered by stone balustrades. The bridge extends from the plaza, spanning the dark depths of the gorge, stretching from clifftop to clifftop.

Beyond the end of the bridge, the city rises, tawny towers half-gilded by the glow of the setting sun. The wind is moderate, so all the gondola lines are active, each one illuminated by strings of glowing, multicolored lights that dance in the brisk breeze. The gondolas themselves are illuminated, too, like incandescent lamps skimming blithely across the gorge and back again.

People cluster on the plaza below us, buying drinks and steamed sausage buns from a few vendors’ carts while they wait for their turn to cross the gorge. No wheeled vehicles are allowed across the bridge, so merchants’ wagons and travelers’ carriages have to turn aside, move down a sloped path, and secure lodging in one of the many stables that cover the terraced eastern slope of the hill. Goods and luggage are then transferred from wagons and carts into wheelbarrows. Visitors who prefer not to take a gondola or walk across the bridge must move from their coaches into small carts pedaled by Zeletan citizens.

The transfer area is busier than I expected, but the Zeletan city watch know their duties and routines. They facilitate the movement of goods and travelers with seamless skill.

We stay at the top of the steps for a few seconds while I scan the crowd below, looking for purple uniforms. The more closely I inspect the people, the more keenly I sense unrest among them—a tension that borders on fear.

“Do you feel it?” I murmur to Vawn. “The unrest? Did it feel like this when you visited before?”

“Yes, I feel it, and no, it did not,” he replies in an undertone. “Everyone knows about the death of the royals, but for the average citizen, nothing has changed significantly yet, so no one knows what it means. People are trying to go about their lives, but they’re frightened.”

It might be the most perceptive thing he has said in my presence, and I throw him a quizzical look. “I thought you said one of your glyphs was for cleverness, yet you seem smarter now that it’s gone.”

“Fuck you, darling.” He bumps my arm lightly with his elbow. “Oh, and if anyone asks, we’re engaged. I’m your Xarsian husband-to-be. We’ve run away from our families and we’re looking to buy supplies for a trip north to start our lives anew.”

“Where do you come up with these ideas?” I mutter. “And why do they all involve us being in a relationship?”

He doesn’t answer, just throws me a glance that sparkles with humor. The creases at the corners of his eyes betray the smile hidden beneath the black fabric.

Fuck, I’m smiling back. I smother the expression as swiftly as I can. “We should cross the bridge before the sun sets,” I tell him. “Let’s go.”

Our first couple hours in Zeletas go more smoothly than I expected. For a few coins, one of the Zeletan bridge vendors whispers the name of a reputable pawnbroker who doesn’t mind dealing in items of indeterminate purview. The broker gives us a decent price for some of Vawn’s jewelry—more money than I’ve ever seen at once except when I paid the fee for my second glyph set. And yet, as fat as the purse is, it’s still nowhere near the amount we’d have to shell out for high-quality glyph paint and varnish.

The pawnbroker recommends a nearby shop, Oeric’s Outfitters, where one can obtain decent clothing and other supplies at a low cost. At first, the place appears to be quite small, but when Vawn and I enter, we discover that, although it is narrow, it has astonishing depth and several floors, like a very long slice of multi-layered cake.

From what I can tell, the shop primarily sells second-hand items left behind by tourists, sold off by desperate citizens, or discarded by fashion worshippers who have moved on to the latest style. I had my favorite shops and clothing sources in Kyr, but I’ve never been in a shop so large, with so many ready-made clothes in various sizes. Judging by Vawn’s exclamations of delight and the way he begins snatching items, he hasn’t either.

I could easily be as diverted and delighted as he is, but I refuse to allow myself that luxury. Our funds are limited and our needs are many, so I start with the basics for cleaning our teeth and our bodies, as well as a razor for us to share and a few basic undergarments. Then I move on to additional clothing pieces, including protective gear.

Despite my status as a guard, I don’t like armor. I prefer breathable garments, and I like to show off skin when I’m fighting. While bare flesh might seem like a vulnerability, I’ve found that it gives me an advantage. Most men are pathetically distractable, especially when presented with a bare hip, a tempting flash of thigh, an exposed navel, or a neckline so low that it threatens to reveal a nipple during a match. Much as I dislike being viewed solely as an object of desire, I will take any advantage I can get in a career path designed primarily for males.

When I do wear bracers or pauldrons, it’s never a matching pair. I usually make a compromise with myself, like a pauldron and breast cover on the left side to shield my heart, and a bracer on my right forearm. I will always choose flexibility over heavy protective gear.

Since we might be fighting off more assassins, it makes sense to protect our dominant arms, at the very least, especially once we have glyph sets again. I select a brown leather bracer for myself and a black one for Vawn. He has wandered off somewhere among the narrow aisles, and I have to hunt him down and make him try on the bracer before I continue shopping. His forearm is more sinewy than I thought, so I fetch a larger one and buckle it onto him, pleased with how well it fits.

“I’ll be in the jewelry section,” he tells me.