“And what makes you think that, Lis? Honestly?”
“Well, starting with what he did to the Mister.”
“That makes you think he’s different?” Grady coughed out a short laugh. “Lis, he left the Mister looking like a gods-damn human pretzel.”
I cringed. “I wasn’t talking about that. He— Prince Thorne— he asked about the bruises on my arms.”
“What?”
“Mister’s pinching. It always left bruises— ”
“Yeah, I remember that fucker always pinching you,” Grady cut in. “But what do you mean by the Prince asking about that?”
Frowning, I looked over at him. His expression mirrored mine. “That night? After he looked into my eyes, he glanced down at my arms and asked how I got them.”
Grady stared at me, his brows inching up his forehead.
“You don’t remember?”
“I remember everything about that night— even when I couldn’t move a damn muscle or blink an eye.” His jaw tightened. “What I do not remember is that prince asking you that.”
“But he did. He saw them and asked what had caused them. I didn’t answer but I glanced at the Mister. That’s why he did that to . . .” I trailed off. “Are you serious? You really didn’t hear him ask that?”
“Yeah, Lis, I’m serious. I didn’t hear him say anything of the sort, and I was right there.”
I opened my mouth, but I didn’t know what to say as I sat back. I knew that I’d heard him. That he had spoken to me as he held my arm, and then he’d put his fingers to his lips and grinned, but how could Grady not have heard him?
And how could I have?
CHAPTER 18
Between everything that had happened with Prince Thorne and what I’d discussed with Grady afterward, I didn’t think I’d be able to rest. Especially with how my mind kept going back and forth on whether I had actually heard Prince Thorne’s voice all those years ago or it was just a product of a scared child’s imagination. The latter seemed the likeliest explanation, but was also one that didn’t sit right with me.
But I’d ended up falling asleep after Grady left, and I didn’t toss and turn, waking up every hour like I normally did. I slept like the dead, and somehow, I was still tired in the morning, wanting nothing more than to return to bed, but I knew better than to show that as Hymel escorted me through the halls of Archwood Manor.
Large bouquets of jasmine now lined the halls, filling the air with a sweet and slightly musky aroma, likely being displayed to impress Prince Thorne. The flowers’ sultry scent wasn’t the only thing new to the halls. There was a . . . a distinctive charge to the atmosphere. I’d noticed it this morning while I forced myself to dress. I’d kept getting a staticky charge every time I touched something, and I felt that here, flooding the hall.
It was the Hyhborn’s presence. I’d felt it that night in Union City, in the gardens, and last night. I knew it was said that the change in the air occurred if a Hyhborn was feeling a lot of powerful emotions like anger or joy or if there were several in one space.
I glanced out one of the open archways, spying the stables in the distance, where there was more activity than normal. Grooms and stable boys brushed down and fed glossy black and pure white horses beneath the run-ins— horses whose withers, the point where the body met the neck, had to stand at least six feet from the ground. That was . . . that had to be a good half a foot above our shire horse.
“They belong to the Hyhborn that have arrived,” Hymel said, following my stare. “Huge, aren’t they?”
Staring at the horses, I counted four of the beasts. Was Prince Thorne moving about the manor? My heart skipped a bit. It was still very early, but . . .
“You know,” Hymel said from where he walked a few steps in front of me, drawing my gaze to the sword strapped to his back, “it wouldn’t kill you to say good morning. Make a little conversation. Respond to a comment or two.”
I bit back a sigh. This wasn’t the first time he’d given me grief about not chatting with him. It was a rather routine thing, just as was my silence. I didn’t like Hymel. He knew that.
“Might make things a bit more enjoyable for you,” he added as we turned a corner.
The only thing that would make these walks more enjoyable was if there were a cliff involved and he walked off it.
“And just in case you need reminding,” Hymel was saying as we neared the pillared archway of Claude’s study, “you’re no better than me. At the end of the day, you’ve become little more than a whore who can sometimes see the future.”