“You’re not quite what I was expecting,” he said, hoping she didn’t pick up on what an enormous understatement that was.
“Well, you’re hardly—what I—um.” Cinder cleared her throat and dropped her gaze again, this time to Nainsi. She pulled the android toward her. “What seems to be wrong with the android, Your Highness?”
Kai’s shoulders fell slightly and he wasn’t sure if it was due to disappointment or relief or a little bit of both. Nainsi. He had come here for Nainsi. And Princess Selene. And saving the blasted world from Queen Levana and her entire cruel, hateful race.
“I can’t get her to turn on. She was working fine one day, and the next, nothing.”
Cinder turned the android around on the table. “Have you had problems with her before?”
“No.” Tearing his gaze from the mechanic, Kai glanced back down at the table. His attention caught again on the small mechanical foot, and he picked it up. “She gets a monthly checkup from the royal mechanics, and this is the first real problem she’s ever had.”
The foot was petite—shorter than his hand from palm to fingertips—and looked like it should have been thrown into a trash compactor ages ago. The joints were stiff and squeaky as he fidgeted with the toes, and the seams between the plating were packed with grease. A cluster of baffling wires erupted from the ankle cavity, and he couldn’t help wondering what each of them did. How could a handful of wires mimic small motor skills? It amazed him every time he thought of it, though if he were being honest, he hadn’t given it all that much thought before.
He noticed a fingerprint smudge on one side of the foot and rubbed it away with his sleeve, then realized that Cinder was watching him.
He froze, unsure why he felt like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t be.
But instead of telling him to leave her stuff alone, Cinder said simply, “Aren’t you hot?”
He blinked. He’d almost forgotten the heat and humidity, but her words brought it rushing back. He could feel the sweat on the back of his neck, his hair clinging to his neck.
“Dying,” he confessed. “But I’m trying to be inconspicuous.”
After a moment in which he thought she might say more, Cinder looked down at Nainsi again and opened the panel on her back. “Why aren’t the royal mechanics fixing her?”
“They tried but couldn’t figure it out. Someone suggested I bring her to you.” Kai set the foot back on the table, then let his focus travel over the shelves that filled up the booth behind her. So many tools and pieces and parts. So many mysteries. “They say you’re the best mechanic in New Beijing. I was expecting an old man.”
He sort of meant it as a joke, but she didn’t laugh. “Do they?” she said, without removing her attention from Nainsi’s innards. He wanted her to say something, to give some indication as to how she had managed to earn such a reputation so quickly, but she just said, “Sometimes they just get worn out. Maybe it’s time to upgrade to a new model.”
It took him a second to realize she was talking about Nainsi.
Kai shook his head, but she wasn’t looking at him. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. She contains top-secret information. It’s a matter of national security that I retrieve it … before anyone else does.” He wanted to sound mysterious. He wanted to sound witty, even if it was the truth.
Cinder looked up, speculation scrawled across her face.
He aimed for nonchalant as he continued, “I’m just joking. Nainsi was my first android. It’s sentimental.”
Her brief silence was disconcerting. “National security. Funny.”
It was the most deadpan compliment he’d ever heard. She wasn’t amused. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she knew he was lying.
Maybe, a small voice whispered in his head, he wanted her to think he was lying. He wanted her to believe he had some life-or-death agenda that required her assistance. Maybe he was trying to impress her, at least a little.
Which was absurd.
He was a prince.
He was the prince.
Perhaps the title itself didn’t count for much, but Kai had spent his life making it more than just a title. He had studied his country’s history and politics, sat in on state dinners, and quizzed his father’s cabinet members on aspects of public policy. He’d watched his father’s speeches over and over until he could write a perfectly crafted speech of his own—it wasn’t until he was a teenager that he’d realized his father had speechwriters to do that for him. He had long ago determined that he would not let his birthright go unearned, that the history texts would not condemn him as an unworthy emperor. And while he may still have been plagued with doubts every single day, he knew, deep down, that he was doing his very best.
And it had been a long, long time since he had met someone who wasn’t impressed by that.
It had also been a long, long time since he had cared.