My throat worked, but no sound came out. What was happening? How was he even standing here, alive and breathing and lauding his own virtues, no less? And how did he look so infuriatingly...healthy, his cheeks flush with color, his clothesas fresh as if he hadn’t spent a night thrashing in physical and psychological agony? How could he possibly seem sounconcerned?
Something tugged at my hand. I broke from the prince’s gaze to find wan fingers clutching mine.
“I’m not hungry.” Amryssa spoke so faintly I had to strain to catch the words. “I think I’d rather go, if that’s all right with you.”
“Oh, don’t leave on my account.” The prince smirked, then sauntered to the sideboard and heaped food onto his plate as if this were just another morning. As if we had plenty to spare. His attendants followed suit, clearly more interested in the spread than us. “If you’ll forgive my saying so, you both look a bit...piqued, and I’m a staunch believer in the power of bacon to cure all ills.”
I curled a fist against the table and tried to tame the sting crowding my eyes. I needed strength. I needed to fix this.
I needed to kill this man.
Kyven claimed a seat at the table—theheadof the table, the pompous ass—and slid Olivian’s untouched plate aside. He attacked his spoils with the vigor of a teenage boy, though he had to have been pushing thirty.
“Mmmfffph.” He groaned through a mouthful of eggs in an incredibly unprincely manner. “Heavenly.”
I grimaced. His companions set upon their plates with equal enthusiasm, proving the giant did, indeed, have difficulty chewing. Flecks of biscuit showered the man’s jerkin, which he made up for with the sheer volume of food he shoveled into his mouth.
Selfish jerks, the lot of them. Where did they think this all came from?
“Please,” Amryssa whimpered. “I just...need a moment.”
Kyven met my eyes. “Is our presence distressing her?” He nodded toward Amryssa, his smile softening into the sort one might direct at a child.
That show of tenderness wakened a billowing rage inside me. Did he think I was an idiot? I hadn’t forgotten the icy glint of his eyes or the tortured warp of his claws, and now I recognized every word as fabricated, designed to project a humanity he didn’t possess.
Amryssa’s old tutor, Eliana, had warned me of this. She’d sent a letter weeks ago, telling me how Kyven mimicked a real person—he spoke the right words, followed the proper etiquette. Then he unleashed his malevolence in darkened rooms and dusty attics, where no one would hear the screaming.
“What was your name again?” Kyven asked Amryssa. “Harlowe, was it?”
Every cell in my body shrieked at me to shield my friend, to stop him from sullying her with a glance, but his question riveted me in place.
He’d just called her bymyname. Which meant he thought I was...
Amryssa?
My mind spun, but the mystery unraveled in moments. Of course—he’d walked in, noted my proximity to Olivian and our similar complexions, and assumedIwas the seneschal’s daughter. Not to mention Amryssa had been serving food ontomyplate.
I held my breath, weighing the ways in which I could use this. The passing joke I’d shared with Amryssa last night—that tender jest about marrying the prince myself—became as functional and pointed as a blade in my hand.
Gods help me, I could do it. Actually do it. Rather than trussing up my friend like a lamb for the slaughter, I could giveKyven a bride who would go to the marriage bed with a dagger on her belt and hate in her heart.
I could spare Amryssaallof it—the screams, the blood, the gurgling. Maybe I could even spare myself. When the prince inevitably tried to hurt me, I’d be well within my rights to stab him. And self-defense didn’t carry the same penalties as murder.
Heat crackled in my veins. Amryssa’s biscuit still waited on my plate, so I crammed it into my mouth and chased it down with coffee. Strength bloomed in my belly, sharpening my focus.
“My keymistress is...delicate,” I finally said. “She’s still recovering from last night.”
I glanced sidelong at Amryssa, a plea not to undermine my lie, but she only stared at the table. Goddess, we needed to escape this so-called breakfast, and quickly. I could sort out the details of bride-swapping later.
“I understand,” Kyven said. “But you needn’t fear Lunk, here.” He jerked a thumb at the giant. “He’s far more harmless than he looks.”
The big man—Lunk, apparently, and what the hell kind of name was that for a royal attendant?—grinned, exposing yellowed, broken teeth. An unbridgeable chasm separated the bottom row from the top.
I fought back a grimace. He didn’t look harmless. He looked like he could clobber me to death with one half-hearted punch.
“Vick is significantly less harmless, but he’ll do as I tell him.” Kyven smirked as if amused by that, then indicated Foxface. “For now, at least. Though you’ll find he’s allergic to things like small talk. And rules.”
Vick sized me up with eyes as sharp as fresh-cut emeralds. His gaze seemed to take in...far too much.
