“Yes. Art is supposed to be good therapy for the soul.”
Apollo told the boy what he’d like him to draw.
The boy replied with a quizzical look, but he made no attempt to argue with the prince. Most people usually didn’t, though it might have been better for this boy if he had.
As it was, the boy quickly went to work on his sketch, bowing his head over his book as he feverishly outlined and shaded and did whatever it was that artists did. When he finished, he carefully tore out the page and handed it to Apollo.
“Excellent,” Apollo said. “This is really good work, young man.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you feel any better now?”
“Not really,” muttered the boy.
Apollo clapped him on the shoulder. “I truly am sorry for your loss,” he whispered, “but soon you won’t feel any pain at all.”
Then Apollo took his knife and stabbed the boy in the heart.
Shock and pain briefly crossed the boy’s face before he fell back on the bed, as dead as the rest of his family.
Apollo felt a moment of sadness. He wasn’t really a monster. He just did what had to be done. A boy this trusting and this cowardly wouldn’t have made it long in this world; his family was all dead now, anyway. And Apollo would make sure his sacrifice was put to good use.
The prince wrapped the boy’s hands around the dagger, making it look as if the death was self-inflicted for whoever found him later. Then, after a quick glance in the mirror to make sure his shirt didn’t have any blood on it, Apollo stepped into the hall and quickly shut the door behind him before the waiting guard could see inside the room.
“How did it go, Your Highness?” asked the guard.
Apollo shook his head mournfully. “Such a tragedy. The boy feels guilty for surviving. I fear he’ll never be the same. But he did draw me a picture of the man who murdered his family.”
Apollo handed the drawing to the guard. “Have new wanted posters drawn up. Mention this massacre and then add this picture of Lord Jacks.”
Chapter 20
Evangeline
Evangeline ran out of the door right as two guards burst through into her room. She quickly dodged past, expecting them to give chase. But she was the only one running. Her bare feet clapped against the cold hard stones as she ran after Archer and cried again, “Wait—stop!”
He couldn’t have gone far. She could hear the fall of his boots around the corner. Hall after hall after hall she heard him in the distance. But every time she turned a corner, Archer wasn’t there. All she saw were portraits of Apollo that looked far more accusatory than she remembered.
The prince’s painted eyes watched her as she ran down a particularly narrow hallway. Some of the lights had been snuffed out, making it darker as well, until she reached another portrait of her husband. The sconces flanking this picture seemed especially bright, glistening off the golden frame as if to make up for the lights that had gone out.
It looked like another portrait of Apollo in the magical phoenix tree, lounging across the branches. Although it was difficult to be sure. The portrait had been slashed down the middle.
Archer stood beside the mutilated picture, cape tossed back behind his shoulders, arms crossed over his chest, as he eyed the mangled portrait. “I think I like this one best.”
Evangeline didn’t see a knife in his hand, but there was a sharpness to Archer’s gaze that felt like a blade. If anyone could cut with a look, it would be him.
“Did you do this?” she asked.
“That wouldn’t have been very kind of me.”
Evangeline’s eyes drifted toward the blood spattered on his pale shirt. “Would you describe yourself as kind?”
“Not at all. But I think you already know that.” He shoved off the wall and stalked closer to her. The hall was quite narrow, so it wasn’t much of a walk. Two steps and he was there, near enough that everything smelled of apples and her head felt suddenly light.
Yesterday morning when she’d met Archer in the hall outside her room, just standing next to him had made her feel as if she’d made a bad decision, yet she had still wanted to follow him. She had supposed herself delirious from lack of sleep. But she wasn’t delirious now. She wasn’t mad. It was just him.
Standing this close to Archer made her feel as if she couldn’t catch her breath, as if her blood was made of champagne bubbles all rushing to her head.
“What are you to me?” she asked.
Archer’s eyes locked with hers. “Nothing.”
But it didn’t feel like nothing when his fingers reached down and he took hold of the sash that kept her robe tied together. He held it as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to untie it or tug her closer to him.
“Why are you lying?” she asked.
“I thought we’d already established that I’m not very kind.” Archer tugged on the sash, enough to loosen the knot.
Evangeline quickly stole it out of his hands and pulled her robe tighter.
He laughed softly. “Am I making you nervous now?”
He said it as if he hoped he was. Or maybe he was just trying to keep her from asking questions. When he was this close, it was hard to think clearly, hard to remember why she’d chased him down the hall. There was something about Archer that made her just want to be there, with him.
She knew it was wrong. She was with Apollo. Not just with Apollo, she reminded herself, married. Apollo was her husband.
Archer couldn’t be anything to her. And he’d just told her that he was nothing to her. But he’d also said he was a liar.
“Just tell me one thing that’s true,” she said, and then she promised herself silently that she would walk away from him, and from these feelings. “I know we met before you rescued me at the well. Were you my guard?”
He worked his jaw.
For a second, she didn’t think he would answer.
Then he shook his head. “No. I’m generally better at doing damage than protecting.” He looked down toward the blood staining the front of her robe.
She hadn’t really looked at the cut that had caused all the blood since she’d first been injured. It was shallow enough that it had already closed. It would not need stitching. But the blood left behind looked something awful—she probably looked awful as well.
“You could never look awful,” he said faintly.
She looked up again. For a second, he looked almost shy and incredibly young, barely older than her. Blond locks of hair fell over his eyes as he slowly leaned in closer.
She didn’t know if he was trying not to frighten her away, or if he was maybe frightened. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous as he reached toward her cheek. He slowly took an errant pink strand of hair between his fingers and tucked it behind her ear. He was so careful, his fingers didn’t even brush her skin, but he looked as if he wanted to.
There was a different kind of pain tightening his jaw and making the muscles in his neck pulse as he stood there, holding her gaze as if he wished he could be holding her instead, crushing her to him like he had in her memory.
Married.
Married.
Married, she reminded herself.
She was married to Apollo. She was nothing to Archer.
“I should go,” she said. “My guards—they’re probably about to ring an alarm. I’m surprised we’re not hearing bells right now,” she babbled, hoping to find more words so that she’d have a reason to stay, even though she knew she needed to leave.