“But he’s so fluffy.” Prince Ira said.
Rolling her eyes, Luci took Calcifer from him and tucked him back into the wicker basket. He immediately lay down, coaxed by her gentle pets and scratches along his head and back. Once the tension melted from him and he began his rumbling, she closed it and moved behind Cinnamon to the other side of the basket, where she withdrew a vial.
Without saying anything, she tossed the vial to the prince, who caught it despite the sneeze that quickly followed. Sure enough, his eyes were already red-rimmed. Recovering, he shot her a knowing glance and downed the contents with one gulp. It was hard not to notice the way his throat bobbed, the muscled line below his jaw as he swallowed it.
When they used to talk about their taste in men, Luci always pictured the gardener’s son who was their age, and if she were being honest, who she’d been mildly infatuated with at sixteen. He’d been bulky and with corded muscle. That was what she found attractive, yet this lean prince in front of her, drinking a potion, sent a shot of power through her that was unfamiliar and unwelcome.
“See, I knew you cared,” he said, handing her back the vial.
Luci cleared her throat, hating the warmth in her cheeks. She tried to hide it behind Cinnamon as she fussed with putting it back in its designated storage space next to ten similar vials.
“If you die from allergies, I’ll have to explain that to Brielle and your family. I’d rather not,” she said.
Without wasting time, Luci mounted Cinnamon, ignoring the ache in her legs. She couldn’t be sore already. Luckily, she packed a few vials for such an occasion, but it would have to wait until Hazelbrook. Every second they lingered was another second closer to disaster.
Calcifer was silent in his basket, but Luci dared not try to open it in case he decided to jump out, and they spent an hour chasing a scared cat. The sun was beginning to set low in the sky by the time Hazelbrook came into view.
It was a small town, not unlike Thornhollow, that sat to the east of Blythe. Cobblestone homes set with thatched roofs that were romantically uneven. Like they were put together by instinct more than practicality, gravel-laid dirt paths served as the guide for the town.
Despite all the various snacks Prince Ira handed her throughout the ride, her stomach grumbled as the smell of roasting meat wafted from several homes that they passed.
“How do we decide where to leave him?” Luci asked.
“Probably start with that inn– looks promising,” he said.
It was all she had in her not to snort in the way that Mrs. Blakesley used to say would be the reason Luci would never find a husband.
The inn sat at the top of the town with the entrance set to a winding staircase as if it were overlooking the village. Vines crawled up the sides of the building while wisteria and roses littered the stone path. A sign that danced with every stray breeze was a wood carving of a bed with a woman asleep in it, threatening vines surrounding her slumber.
“The Enchanted Sleeping Inn.” Prince Ira said.
“You sound pleased with yourself,” Luci said.
He lifted his shoulders before letting them fall.
“People haven’t forgotten about magic,” he said.
“Or your family is very good at propaganda, and you all lost the line at some point,” she said.
His answering laugh drew the attention of several passersby who took one look at the prince and smiled, deciding he wasn’t a threat. In fact, they spent more time eyeing her and deciding what to make of her than they did him. What would they do if they knew he was their crown prince? The unrest in Meridea was a well-known problem.
People were struggling to make ends meet. Longer work hours just to make enough to buy the food they needed to survive. Costs rising in answer. Sure enough, there was a hollowness in the townspeople’s eyes, as if they were half-awake. Women with dirt covering their faces as they worked. More eerie were the quiet children. They sat against homes half-mindedly playing with sticks and dirt. Some who looked like they should have been learning to read were working alongside their parents, carrying buckets to and fro.
“What’s wrong?” Prince Ira asked, his smile long gone.
“Don’t you see it?” Luci asked.
There was the same air she’d tasted nearly ten years ago. Alone on Picadilly Street, surrounded by people who only had the sun rising to look forward to.
“They are suffering,” she whispered.
Prince Ira turned his eyes from her and took in the town around him. Luci watched his face as he saw the town anew. His laugh lines pulled tight as he saw the children. The sharp intake of his breath when a boy of Max’s age stumbled and was subsequently berated by his father for letting some of the water drop out of the bucket.
Without a word, Prince Ira pulled Grimsbane to a halt and jumped down.
“Pr-” Luci swallowed the title.
It wouldn't have mattered anyway. He wouldn’t have listened. Damn fool.