I blinked rapidly. “Th— ” I stopped myself, and the other side of Lord Bastian’s lips tipped up. “I appreciate your offer, but I have what I need.”
“You sure?” he pressed. “It will be no trouble.”
I nodded. “Again, I apologize for wasting your time, my lord. I do wish you a good evening.” I moved to close the door.
Lord Bastian moved so fast I couldn’t even hope to track his movement. One hand shot out, landing on the center of the door and stopping me from closing it. “May I ask what is ailing you?” Lord Bastian dipped his chin. “Thor will ask, after all.”
“Thor?” I murmured.
“Short for Thorne. It annoys him when we call him that, so of course, that is all we call him.” Lord Bastian winked.
“Oh.” That was my most intelligent response. I was a little thrown by his teasing nature. “I . . . I, uh, have a headache.”
“Ah, I see.” Straight white teeth appeared as the Lord smiled more broadly. “I’m guessing that headache is a rather large one? Perhaps if you had to describe it, you’d say that it came in a six-foot-and-seven-inch frame?”
I snapped my mouth shut.
Lord Bastian chuckled. “I will let him know that you are . . . feeling under the weather.” His hand slid off the door. “I do hope you don’t find yourself plagued by an even larger headache.” He stepped back, clasping his hands behind his back once more. “Good evening.”
“Good evening.” I closed the door, going rigid when I heard his muffled laugh from the hall.
Clearly, Lord Bastian didn’t believe me. Or more accurately, he’d guessed the source of my fabricated headache.
But Prince Thorne would have to be a right ass if he sent another or came himself after hearing that I wasn’t feeling well. I didn’t think it would hold him off forever, but it should at least give me the night to figure out what I was going to do— what I could do— and possibly longer, since he said he had to leave to meet with his armies.
But do you really want to stop him from coming? that annoying voice whispered.
“Yes,” I hissed, toeing off my shoes. I crossed the antechamber, my bare feet sinking into the soft area rug as I went to the small credenza and poured myself a half shot of whiskey. The liquor was the best Archwood had to offer, mellow and smooth with the barest taste of alcohol. Or so everyone said. I could still taste the bite of liquor, but I downed the whiskey, lips peeling back against the burn.
It did little to calm my nerves, and I poured myself another half shot and brought it with me as I walked to the window. I looked past the golden sōls dancing in the night sky.
By the time the Feasts were in full swing, the Prince’s armies would be at Archwood. Then, how long before the Iron Knights made their way here? It took no leap of logic to assume that the act had more to do with the importance of the port and the Hyhborn Court seated just beyond than it did with the people who called Archwood home.
I rested my cheek against the window, thinking of what the people of Archwood would think once they saw the Hyhborn forces. Once they learned of the Westlands threat? The fear and dread would be palpable. I swallowed the whiskey, welcoming the bite this time. The aristo would likely abandon the city until the threat had passed. Many had families in other cities and the means with which to travel there. But the poorest among the Archwood— the miners and dockworkers, the laborers? Everyone who kept the city and the ports open and running? There’d be no easy escape for them. They’d have to ride it out—
I felt the sudden shifting in the chamber. Tiny hairs along the nape of my neck rose as a charge hit the air. A clicking noise sent a shiver over my skin— the distinctive sound of a lock.
Heart thudding, I slowly turned to the door. There was no way. I lowered the empty glass to my side.
The door swung open and he stood there, legs planted wide and shoulders squared, hair swept back from his striking features and knotted. The armor still shielding his chest. He looked like a warrior, and one thing became clear.
Prince Thorne had come to conquer.
CHAPTER 25
Prince Thorne crossed the threshold, the light of my chamber glinting off the golden hilt of the dagger strapped to his chest.
I didn’t think. I should have, but I simply reacted.
I threw the glass at the Prince of Vytrus.
In the brief seconds following the glass leaving my hand, I realized I’d had no idea of how reckless, how idiotic I truly was until that very moment.
The glass stopped in midair, several feet from the Prince.