Fall of Ruin and Wrath (Awakening, #1)

But what could it even mean— if Claude knew that the Prince had been in search of information on someone? Why did that matter?

My intuition was no help there.

What I really needed to be stressed about was how I was supposed to be of aid to the Baron when he spoke with Prince Thorne. My stomach twisted as I all but stomped into my bedchamber. The lazy churn of the ceiling fan kept the room cool, but it was still far too warm. I undid the buttons of my bodice and shimmied out of the gown. I left it on the floor, too tired and, well, too lazy to hang it up.

Dressed only in a thigh-length chemise, I plopped down on the bed and lay flat on my back, resting my aching wrist on my stomach. I tentatively turned it. It was definitely going to turn a lovely shade of blue by the day’s end, but it wasn’t sprained or broken.

I was lucky for that.

There had been times in the past, when I’d been caught stealing food or being where I wasn’t supposed to be, when I hadn’t been so lucky.

I stared at the ceiling, thoughts returning to this supper. I couldn’t read the Prince. Unless I cracked the shield. Something that Claude seemed to think I could do, and I wasn’t sure if that was because I’d led him to believe that or if he already knew.

Gods, maybe I should’ve just told the truth. Too late now. Now, I was just going to have to . . . figure something out.

I snorted, wanting to smack some better life choices into myself, because it was unlikely that I would think of something less idiotic than lying.

Gods, I was going to be seeing him again.

An edgy nervousness swept through me. It wasn’t a bad feeling, nothing like the anxiety of dread. It felt a lot like . . . like anticipation, and that did worry me. I had no business being excited when it came to any Hyhborn, especially one such as the Prince of Vytrus. Even if I hadn’t seen him incinerate a Hyhborn with his hand or rip out a lowborn’s throat, the very last thing I should feel was anticipation.

Any interaction with a Hyhborn was potentially dangerous when they could learn of my abilities and assume I was a practitioner of bone magic. Especially within Archwood Manor, where there were one too many who knew of my gifts. What I should be anticipating was the moment the Prince left Archwood.

But I wasn’t.

Maybe Hymel had been somewhat right, and I’d had the common sense fingered out of me.

Sighing, my mind found its way back to Claude. I thought back to the first time I’d met him, and how his features had turned from anger to surprise as I warned him about the man who was set on robbing him.

But that surprise hadn’t lasted long. He didn’t doubt or question what I told him like many did when I first warned them about something. He’d simply accepted that what I knew was true. He wasn’t the first to do that, but he was definitely the first aristo that believed me without question. Maybe that should have raised some questions, but I was just too damn grateful when Claude showed his appreciation by offering a place to work and stay, not just for me but also for Grady. I wanted a warm, safe bed and I didn’t want to have to steal stale bread to not starve. I didn’t want to ever again have to watch Grady sicken and have there be nothing I could do to help him.

But maybe I should’ve asked questions?

Instead, I had confided in Claude, telling him a lot. How Grady had gotten so sick when we were younger. The orphanages that were more like work homes. Even about Union City. And he had told me about his family, the Hyhborn blood that came in from his father’s side and how Hymel had believed he would be named baron upon the elder’s passing. But I didn’t ask questions.

That was another thing that was too late, but if Claude knew something, like if he had met another like me in the past, why would he keep that from me? Claude sometimes went to extremes to make sure I was happy. Would he really run the risk of me finding out he knew something and kept it from me? Eyes drifting shut, I rolled onto my side.

My thoughts finally floated their way back to last night as I lay there— to Prince Thorne and the time with him. Not the pleasure he gave me or the release I provided him, but those brief moments where he’d . . . he’d simply held me.

I tucked my legs close to my stomach in a sad attempt to re-create that feeling of being held, of . . . of belonging.

Of rightness.

It was a silly feeling, but I dozed off to it, and when I opened my eyes again, the dappled sunlight had shifted from one side of the wall to the other, signaling that it was the afternoon. I lay there for several moments, my eyes heavy, and I was close to falling back to sleep when I realized that the change in sunlight wasn’t the only thing that had shifted into the chamber.

The air was different.

Thicker.

Charged.

A shivery wave of awareness danced down the curve of my spine. The cobwebs of sleep cleared from my mind as my heart stuttered.

I wasn’t alone.

Slowly, I straightened my legs and rose onto my elbow as I looked over my shoulder to see what I already sensed— already knew on some sort of primal level— and saw Prince Thorne.





CHAPTER 19


All I could do for several moments was stare at Prince Thorne, thinking I must be hallucinating that he sat on the settee by the terrace doors, the ankle of one long leg resting on top of another. A beam of sunlight cut across the dark tunic stretched across his chest, but from the shoulders up he was cast in shadow.

“Good afternoon.” Prince Thorne lifted a glass of amber-hued liquid. “Did you have a restful nap?”

As I blinked rapidly, a rush of disbelief snapped me out of my stupor. “You seem not to be aware of this, but you appear to have lost your way to your own chambers.”

“I’m exactly where I intend to be.”

I could practically hear the smile in his voice, and it made me bristle. “Then what are you doing here?” And how long had he been sitting there? My gaze swung back to the glass he’d taken a drink from, then lowered to the arm of the settee, then narrowed. “Did you help yourself to my whiskey?”

“I’m sightseeing,” he answered. “And I needed refreshment while doing so.”

The pounding of my heart slowed. “There is nothing of interest to see in my private quarters, Your Grace.”

“Thorne,” he corrected, and though his eyes were hidden to me, I felt his heated stare move over the curve of my hip . . . to the length of my leg, and a whole lot of my legs was exposed to him. “And I disagree. There is an . . . abundance of interest to look upon.”

Whatever modesty I previously lacked decided to rear its head. I sat up, pressing my legs together. My wrist ached as I tugged on the chemise, which did very little to cover me. Even in the low light of my bedchamber, the material was basically transparent. Something I had a feeling he was well aware of as I glared at him.

A deep chuckle radiated from the sun-streaked shadows, sending an odd mixture of sensations rippling throughout me. Wariness. An acidic burn of unease. Worse yet, a sweet trill of anticipation, which I would blame on being half asleep. There was a hefty dose of curiosity, though. I couldn’t fathom why Prince Thorne would attempt to seek me out in private like this unless . . . unless he was in need of being serviced?

Logically, that made no sense. He didn’t believe that I was a courtesan. Still, my body had no plans to listen to common sense. A pulse of desire lit up my veins, causing several parts of my body to throb to life—

Good gods, what in the whole realm was wrong with me? Actually, I knew the answer. It was what he was that was wrong with me. A Hyhborn’s presence and their sensual effect on lowborn. It made sense that a prince’s presence would be even more . . . hard to ignore and stronger.

In reality, if he had sought me out to service him, it was likely only because, as he had said, he was always hungry. So, there was no reason to allow myself to be controlled by my apparently easily influenced hormones. I lifted my chin. “I’m not . . . working right now.”

His head tilted to one side. “It pleases me greatly to hear that.”