The prince tenses. “Was?”
“Let me finish. Please. He… He and my fiancé went out, they called it a bachelor party but it was just the two of them. It was December and it had been raining and the rain froze. Black ice on the road and they didn’t see it. The car…”
My hands are shaking like leaves. I clench them into fists and it makes it worse. Trying to finish my sentence is like trying to pull loose a fishhook that’s caught in my throat. I can’t do it. I can feel my throat closing.
“Persephone…”
“My name is Penny. I hate that stupid name. It’s my fault. They’re dead because of me. Don’t you understand? I ruined everyone’s lives. My parents, my brother’s. I’m cursed. Look what happened to Melissa, and she just shared a tent with me. That woman in the camp even got shot because I was there.”
“That is not true.”
“I don’t want to hear it. I’ve talked to therapists and priests, it doesn’t help. No amount of talking or counseling is going to bring them back.”
“You want them back.”
“Of course I do! Every miserable day of my miserable life. I just want to curl up into a ball and disappear.”
The prince stands up and walks to my end of the table. He offers me a handkerchief.
“Dry your tears.”
I didn’t even realize I was crying. I snatch it from him and wipe at my cheeks, trying to stifle my sobs.
“I told you mine. Now tell me yours.”
“No.”
I look up, scowling.
“You have enough pain of your own. You don’t need to keep mine, as well.”
“We had a deal. That’s not fair.”
“What is fair?”
I’m not sure if he’s asking me to explain the concept, or asking me if anything is really fair.
I can’t answer either question anyway.
“You didn’t eat much of your dinner.”
“I’m not hungry. I’ve been well fed, thank you. You’re a generous host, no matter what else you are.”
“That is a high compliment. I thank you.”
He offers me a hand.
“What do you want now?”
He frowns slightly.
“Always right to the quick with you. I want you to walk and talk with me. No more, no less. Then you have freedom of the castle again, but I’d ask you to return to your rooms before eleven.”
I sigh. “Fine.”
I take his hand. It’s warm, and very strong. I lean on it as I stand, still shaking a bit. He releases mine and I walk with my hands folded in front of me.
He takes a more direct route to the armory.
“I though you didn’t want me in here,” I say as we step inside.
“You speak with a certain familiarity. You’ve been here before.”
“I was exploring. The doors were open.”
He sighs. “You are an unruly child. I wanted to bring you here myself.”
“Sorry,” I mutter. “What is this stuff?”
“Armor,” he says, gesturing toward the display cases. “The oldest belonged to my ancestor, the first to cement our family’s rule over these lands. Lacquered steel.”
I walk beside him, really looking at the armor this time. Each set is more intricate than the last, until we reach one that’s breathtakingly beautiful. The surface has been carefully shaped and beaten to the contours of the coat of arms across the chest, and the helmet is equally elaborate. It gleams like it’s brand new.
It’s the big one that catches my interest, though.
“I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“It’s the only one left,” the prince says, staring up at it. “This was my great grandfather’s. He built the first six suits when Hitler took power in Germany and refined them until they were needed. It’s diesel powered, a feat of miniaturization. The diesel engine actually drives a tiny dynamo that supplies electrical power to the limbs and body, allowing it to move.”
“That’s amazing,” I say. I start to reach out to touch it, but stop myself.
“Go ahead.”
I rest my hand on the steel. It’s chipped and dented, markings from old bullet impacts. It’s cold, though. Unliving.
“The whole of our country was turned into a fortress in preparation, and even then it was a close thing. We threw back the Nazis, then the Soviets. We could defend ourselves, but held no hope of retaliating. My grandfather told me when I was a child that he dreamed of liberating Solkovia.”
“Liberating,” I say wryly.
“Please,” he sighs, “not here.”
“What about the rest of them?”
“This one is was the first. My father and grandfather refined the design, converting from the diesel generator to increasingly compact and efficient batteries. My suits can run for three days on a single charge.”
“This is incredible,” I sigh, staring at one of the newer ones. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
He blinks. “What?”
“You and your family made these things. They’re amazing. No one in the world can do this. What do you do with this? Use it to kill people.”
“We should have let the Nazis win? There is a sizable Jewish minority in this country, Persephone.”