Fantastic.
Vivienne dropped onto the padded bench across from the prince and stared at him. His legs were spread, his elbows rested on his thighs, and he held a piece of paper. He was staring at it as if it contained all the world’s secrets.
She asked, “Is that it?”
The message that had started all of this.
He looked up at her, his lips tilting up into a smile. “It is.”
How could such a small item have disrupted her life so thoroughly?
“I hope it’s worth it.”
Another roar filled the air, and a look that might’ve been regret flitted across the prince’s face before it was replaced by determination.
“It will be.”
They’d been ridingin the carriage for hours. Vivienne’s sword was across her lap, and she ran her fingers over the engraved hilt. She’d owned the weapon for decades, having procured it from an exceptionally skilled blacksmith near the Ipothan border fifty years ago. It had been by her side ever since.
Tracing the mountains carved into the hilt, she wondered which gods she’d angered to end up in this position. Was this a punishment?
It certainly felt like one.
The prince hadn’t spoken since they left, which was fine by her. She’d taken the silence as an opportunity to study her charge.
Even though they hadn’t met before yesterday, she’d heard of him. People whispered about the royals in dark corners of taverns late at night. Most spoke about the king and queen, but some talked about the handsome prince. He used to be sick, but even though rumors said he’d been cured, very few people saw him.
Looking at Marius now, she couldn’t tell that he’d ever been ill, let alone on death’s doorstep.
Rugged brown curls fell haphazardly across his forehead. Strong bones made up his face. The mild point to his ears spoke to his halfling heritage. Silver scars lined the hand absentmindedly tracing designs on the missive still in his lap.
She momentarily wondered how he’d acquired those scars before shaking her head. She shouldn’t be thinking about his scars or admiring his physique, for that matter. Not only was she nearly a century older than the man, but he was her charge. It was one thing for her to note his handsomeness, but she would never, ever act on those thoughts.
She had to keep her mind clear. It was the only way she’d get out of this mess alive.
Sometime around noon, the prince’s head dipped. His eyes slipped shut, and he fell into a fitful sleep. His fingers curled around the missive, even in his slumber.
Vivienne didn’t sleep. A benefit of being a century-old vampire was that she could go several days without sleep or blood. The longer her kind lived, the less their bodies required.
The prince’s snores filled the carriage, and Vivienne’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword.
She had a feeling she would need the weapon in the days to come. The prince, for all his insistence that he’d be fine on his own, was still mortal. He’d Matured, as all halflings did, and he would live a long life, but only vampires were truly immortal.
Hours passed.
A knock came on the carriage wall, and the prince’s eyes opened as Vivienne called out, “Yes?”
“An hour till sundown,” came Felix’s muffled voice.
Marius replied, his voice still rough from sleep, “Thanks.”
An hour until vampires could be out again. Usually, this was when Vivienne started her day. Now, fear gripped her stomach as she considered what the impending nightfall meant.
The king and queen would undoubtedly be hunting for the prince.
Had they traveled far enough? How would they conceal themselves from the royal pair?
She swallowed, once again wishing she’d never taken this job.