“I wouldn’t know, seeing that no one has ever saved me before.” There’s the ghost of a smirk on his face, offering me a glimpse of that annoying dimple.
“Well, let me enlighten you. When someone saves your life, a polite ‘thank you’ will suffice.”
“Maybe,” he sighs and leans in closer, “but not for those who steal from me.”
I think my heart stops beating. The prince knows I stole from him.
The prince. The future Enforcer. The Deliverer of Death.
I’m dead as the Plague.
But my fear is quickly replaced by a much more welcome emotion—anger. I'm angry with myself for helping the prince who kills like it’s nothing and grants his father’s wishes like he is everything. I’m angry for finding him not repulsive since the very kingdom he’s so loyal to makes me sick with its twisted values and beliefs. He is the future Enforcer, the executioner of innocents, of Ordinaries, of people like me.
Feeling reckless and rather emboldened with death a mere breath away, I say, “So he’s pretty and he has a brain. The ladies must love you.” The smile I give him is anything but sweet. “You know, you might make a good thief if it weren’t for the fact that you were so easily fooled by one.”
He’s smiling. Amused. Arrogant as ever. “You do realize who you’re talking to, right?”
“A cocky bastard?” I say innocently before biting my tongue.
I clearly have a death wish.
But to my surprise, he tips his head back and barks out an authentic laugh, the sound rich like the chocolate I occasionally steal and deep like the Shallows Sea.
“I’ve been called worse,” he murmurs after composing himself, his hands still clamped around my wrists. Then the amusement fades from his eyes, quickly replaced by cool consideration. “Despite you robbing me, I suppose I should thank you for your help.”
I almost laugh at that. Apparently, saving his life is comparable to simply helping.
“Although, I am curious as to why the Silencer couldn’t smother your power. Along with why I can’t seem to sense one from you.” He’s eying me like he did in the alley when I stole from him. Like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to piece together.
I blink up at him as realization rams into me.
He has the rare ability to sense another’s power and use it himself…
He tried to sense my power in the alley.
Only to find that there was none.
I’m dead as the Plague.
I look up at him, filtering the fear from my expression despite my frantic thoughts. I shrug my stiff shoulders, hoping the action looked far more casual than it felt. “I’m a Mundane. A Psychic.”
“A Psychic,” he echoes, disbelief dripping from every word. “Tell me, what is it that you can do?” He pauses. Shrugs. “I’ve never met a Psychic before. Call me curious.”
I swallow the hysterical laugh threatening to bubble out of me. The future Enforcer isn’t curious, he’s calculating. But he must be rather amused by me, otherwise, I’d likely be dead by now.
“My power is a sort of…sense,” I say easily, reciting the rehearsed line. “I can only sense strong emotions from others, getting flashes of information because of it.”
I look into his eyes, willing him to believe me. Hoping he’ll accept the answer and move on with his life. Hoping that he will let me move on with my life.
He looks to be fighting a smile. “Is that right?”
“And why would it be wrong?”
His eyes flick between mine for a long moment. “Why is it I can’t sense or use your power then?”
I swallow, trying to seem as though I’m not struggling to come up with a believable lie. “My ability is unpredictable. Even I can’t control what I see or when I see it. That, combined with the fact that my power has little strength as it is, must be why you and the Silencer can’t pick up on it. It’s a mental ability.” I shrug. “I must be able to guard my head from those trying to get into it.”
I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.
Except that he doesn’t give me one. He simply stands there, staring at me. I huff before blurting, “Go on. Ask anyone in the slums about me and my power. Better yet,” I lean forward slightly, “you can ask your Imperials. I had a lovely conversation with one of them just this morning.”
His eyes narrow slightly before he slowly releases my wrists and takes a step back. “Maybe I will.” Then the bastard smiles. “But I’d still like to witness these Psychic abilities of yours for myself. Prove it.”
If I had a shilling for every time someone said those words to me, I wouldn’t even bother stealing anymore. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, eyebrows raised expectantly as he elaborates, “Read me. Or whatever it is you say you do.” Then he leans in, gaze glittering with amusement. “Impress me, darling.”
“My power isn’t some party trick for your entertainment, but I’ll play along, prince.” I give him a sarcastic smile before my eyes dart over his body. “I’m not even sure I’ll be able to pick up on anything with how unpredictable my ability is.”
“Is that so.”
I ignore his mocking tone of voice and think of the callouses on his palms and the dozens of scars marring his arms.
Well, obviously he’s a fighter. You don’t have to be a Psychic to figure that out.
I know I need to tell him something worthwhile if there is any hope of being believed. Any hope of surviving this conversation. He’ll kill me without a second thought for simply the suspicion of being an Ordinary.
“May I see your hand?” The words are a demand disguised as a question. I hold my palm out expectantly, eyes flicking from his face to the hand at his side. Only the best performance will do for the prince.
His expression is annoyingly neutral, never taking his eyes off mine as he places his hand in my own. “You know, I’ve never met a thief with manners. And it seems you’re most definitely not the exception.”
I huff at that, ducking my head to turn my attention to the large, calloused hand in my own.
“Is there a reason you insist on holding my hand?”
My gaze snaps up to his cool one. “Don’t worry, I’ll try to resist kissing your knuckles, prince.”
At the mention of his knuckles, my eyes sweep over them while his laughter washes over me. They’re red and raw, not only from this fight but also from one prior. Blood trickles down his fingers from the reopened scabs, though he barely seems bothered.
“You were in a fight,” I say. “And—”
His scoff cuts me off. “I told you to impress me, not state the obvious.”
“I’m not talking about this fight,” I sigh, dropping his hand to gesture around us while simultaneously fighting the urge to punch that stupid grin off his face. “I’m talking about the fight before this one.” I watch him closely, noting that nothing about his expression indicates whether I’m right or wrong.
Plagues, he’s not going to make this easy for me.
My gaze drops briefly to his shoes. From this close, they don’t look as shiny as I once thought they were when I spotted him across Loot. In fact, they don’t look shiny at all.