I clear my throat, trying to compose myself. “So, what, you come here to reminisce on the fond memory?”
“Something like that.” He sighs. “I come here to think, to cool off. I’ve always liked the quiet out here. The escape from the palace.” He glances over at me before asking, “So why are you here?”
I smile slightly and echo his words. “To think. I like the quiet. The escape.”
I see his lips twitch out of the corner of my eye, and we are quiet for a moment before I ask, “Is there a reason you dragged me down onto the dirt?”
I look over at his shadowy profile as he stares at the branches above us. “To talk. To lay here in silence.” He shrugs lazily. “It doesn’t really matter.”
I look away from him. “So, you just want someone to keep you company?”
“Not someone. You.”
I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t turn to look at him. “Do you want quiet company or talking company?”
He makes a sound that might have been a laugh. “Only you would ask me my preference on your company.”
I finally turn my head to meet his gaze. “That wasn’t an answer.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, seeming to study my face, search my eyes. “Talk to me.”
I stare at him, my voice suddenly very quiet when I finally ask, “About what?”
I watch a faint smile curve his lips. “Anything. Everything. What you’re thinking at this very moment, darling.”
I almost laugh. “Well, I’m currently thinking that this coat I’m lying on is far too itchy for a prince to wear.” He chuckles while I add, “And I’m also wondering how many bones you and Kitt broke.”
“Too many,” Kai sighs, shaking his head. “It was mostly me with the broken bones and injuries, though not all of them were due to Kitt’s brilliant ideas.” He pauses. “Most were from my training. Especially when I was learning to use a Healer’s ability.”
When his words sink in, I stiffen. “You don’t mean…” I trial off before trying again. “You didn’t have to—”
“Yes, I did,” he says simply, looking me right in the eyes. “I had to break my bones and then heal them. Or sometimes I’d be sliced open with a sword and have to learn how to stitch my own skin back together.”
He says this so casually that I can’t even begin to imagine the horrors he has been forced through. “How do you not hate him?” I whisper.
Silence stretches between us.
The small smile he wears is sad. “Because he made me strong.”
He says this far too calmly, and I want to shake him of his cool composure. It doesn’t matter how strong the king made him. The prince before me has been nothing but a pawn created by the man he calls Father. The thought makes me sick, makes me want to scream.
And yet, I understand.
His words strike me, hitting home. Our lives seem to share sad similarities, unfortunate fates. Both our childhoods consisted of training to become what we had to be, neither of us growing up the way we wished. Except, the fathers who raised us couldn’t be more different—one doing everything out of love, the other out of greed.
People aren’t born strong; they’re made that way.
And the prince and I know that better than most.
Kai continues casually as though his words didn’t just knock the air from my lungs. “Well, Kitt and I suffered several injuries for our stupidity, but not all of our games were dangerous. In fact, because our favorite activities as boys likely consisted of some sort of violence, my tutor would make us sit and play games she considered safe.” He heaves a sigh. “We considered them boring.”
“Oh really?” I huff out a laugh. “What games?”
“Well,” he reaches out a hand to take hold of mine, “Madame Platt’s personal favorite to torture us with was thumb wars. Though, we’d still find a way to make even those violent.”
“Thumb wars?” My brows crinkle in confusion. “That has the word war in it, and it’s still considered safe?”
I’ve never seen Kai look so bewildered before, and I nearly laugh again. “You’ve never heard of a thumb war?”
His own thumb strokes over my knuckles, forcing me to focus on my next words. “Well, in the slums, the only game I tended to play was trying to guess how many coins were in someone’s pocket before I stole them.”
The corner of his mouth kicks upward. “And did you play that game before you robbed me?”
“No, but I would have lost if I had,” I huff. “You had far more silvers than I’d ever seen in one place.”
“Well, only until you stole half of them.”
I smile at that, and he watches me quietly for a moment. When my eyes drop to where he’s still holding my hand and distracting me with that thumb still sliding over my knuckles, he clears his throat and finally says, “Well, the game I’m going to teach you isn’t nearly as fun as yours, I’m sure.” Then he shakes his head at me, muttering under his breath, “I cannot believe you don’t know what a thumb war is.”
“Well, from the way you talk about it, it doesn’t seem like I’m missing out on much.”
“Very fair point.” His lips twitch into a smirk. “And that’s exactly why I’m going to teach it to you, so we can suffer together.” He twists onto his side and props himself up on an elbow, watching as I do the same. “The rules of this very riveting game are simple.” He curls our fingers together as I watch. Then he chuckles and reaches out with his other hand to pull my thumb into the air. “Now, you win by pinning the other person’s thumb down, but you have to keep your hand and arm still.” He peeks up at me and asks, “Understand?”
I frown at our joined hands. “I’m starting to understand why you find this game so boring.”
He laughs before muttering, “Go.”
I don’t even have time to react before his thumb is crushing mine, pinning it to my hand. When he looks up at me, his smile is smug. “I really thought your reflexes would be quicker than that, Gray.”
“I wasn’t ready, Azer.”
“Well, that’s kind of the whole point of reflexes.”
I halfheartedly roll my eyes at him. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, you’re still here,” he says softly, his eyes bright even in the dim light as they flick between mine.
We are quiet for a moment as I assess how to beat him at this game. Per usual, distraction seems to be the best option, so I say, “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
He only seems slightly surprised by my random request, but it only takes him a moment to answer. “Blueberries. I don’t like them.”
I choke back my laugh. “You don’t like blueberries?”
“No, I take it back.” He pauses, seeming to consider something. “I hate blueberries.”
“Is there a reason for this loathing?”
“Have you tasted them?” he asks, and I nod in answer. “Then, there. That’s my reason. They’re disgusting.”