Page 48 of Heartbreak Prince

I follow the same routine tonight, sliding aside the curtains and peering through the panes of dusty glass overlooking the small square. Below the window is a bit of roof with curved shingles, shielding the inn’s entrance from rain and snow.

When we secured our room, I asked about other exits and was told that the only other door leads to a sliver of a kitchen courtyard, sandwiched between this long building and the one behind it. That would be our escape route if the main entrance became compromised.

I let the curtain fall into place, releasing a restless sigh. The wine has all but worn off, and my nerves are beginning to feel raw again.

“Sleep,” Vawn says, already stretched out on his bed.

“I will. Just making certain that everything is secure.” I check the lock on our door, then place a chair against it for good measure before climbing into my own bed and turning down the lamp to a faint glimmer.

“Where did you live?” The prince’s voice stirs the silence of the dark room. “Before this?”

“In Kyr, in a tiny attic space with a slanted roof where I couldn’t stand up straight,” I admit. “For a while, I even had a roommate, which made things even more cramped. But once she left to get married, I could barely cover the cost of the place. I was hoping the bodyguard position would become permanent so I could pay this month’s rent or move somewhere better.”

“Hm.” He doesn’t say anything beyond that noncommittal sound.

“Would you have kept me on as your bodyguard? If the coup hadn’t happened?”

“Hard to say.” He rolls onto his side, facing me across the space between our beds. “I’m not sure you would have wanted to stay. After the Lyre & Vice, we planned to visit a few more places that you would have deemed far more objectionable. You would have seen a lot more of me and my friends than you wanted to. We’d have stayed out until dawn and then gone home to sleep off the lines of zigash and the pints of alcohol we poured into our bodies. Did you know that Loxley has a glyph to help him get drunk faster and stay high longer? I created it for him.”

“A waste of glyph paint,” I say bitterly. “I know so many people whose lives would be changed by having just one glyph for a month or two—and you were painting glyphs onto your friends’ nails for free.”

“That, and cumming into each other’s drinks and either swallowing it ourselves or watching the girls who were with us drink it. Sipping alcohol from beautiful navels. Licking frosting from the puffiest, juiciest pussies and nibbling caviar off the smoothest ass cheeks. Watching flesh jiggle and writhe while we smoked ourselves into oblivion.”

“You’re trying to shock me.”

“And I’ve succeeded. I know you’re blushing, even in this light. You only got a small taste of my depravity, gorgeous. The sexy little shows you participated in at the Pink Lycan—those were tame compared to the things I’ve done.”

“And yet you pretended to be surprised by my side work.”

“I was surprised. You seemed like such a proper little beauty, maybe even a virgin. The boys and I had bets on whether you’d been deflowered yet, and if not, who might win the pleasure of popping the cork.”

I flounce over onto my back. “You told me to sleep, yet you’re riling me up, making me angry on purpose.”

“I’m being honest with you. You might as well know what a filthy wretch I am. I’ve been used thoroughly, in every sense of the word, and I’m a worn-out carcass now. I can bathe a thousand times, and I will never feel clean again.” He lets out a faint laugh, squishes his pillow to make it fatter, then turns his back to me. “Good night.”

My anger melts, slipping away into the shadows of the room.

He wasn’t trying to anger me. He was explaining why I shouldn’t want him.

I hold myself still, my body thrumming with the urge to get up and go over to his bed. I’d brush his hair back and kiss his lovely mouth and tell him that yes, he is worthy of being wanted.

I’ve felt dirty and used, too, and yet I know my worth. I rise every day with pride in myself and everything I’ve learned through my own wit and determination.

I want Vawn to understand that no matter how low he may feel, he has value. Enjoying consensual debauchery with his friends might not have been the best way to spend his time as a prince, but there are worse things he could have done. And if he truly has regrets, he can do things differently from now on. He can live better.

By the time I have my thoughts sorted out and I’ve decided what I want to say, he’s already snoring faintly, his breath catching a little on its way through that long, straight nose of his. I flip to my other side and close my eyes.

I startle awake for no apparent reason and sit straight up in bed.

One of my Academy instructors used to say that for a guard, nighttime waking is an instinct, not an inconvenience. It’s an opportunity to exercise watchfulness and to check the perimeter, even if you’re not on duty. If you can’t sleep, don’t waste the hours trying, he would say. Patrol the area. Do some training. Work to earn back the sleep you’ve lost.

I swing my legs out of the bed and step to the window, tugging the curtains aside until I can see the shadowed courtyard below. My gaze sweeps from the seamstress shop on the left to the laundress’s place on the right.

Movement, barely visible in the darkness. Disappearing beneath the slanted roof over the inn’s entrance.

My heart seizes up for an instant.

It could have been a cat, a late-night traveler, or the innkeeper. It might have been the shadow of a cloud moving swiftly across the moon, or maybe a night watchman—although a city guard would have been carrying a lantern.