“What?” The colors of his eyes were churning again. “Captivating to you? I know. There’s no need to tell me.”
“Wasn’t planning to.”
“Whatever you say, na’laa,” he murmured.
My hands curled into fists.
His faint grin faded as he glanced at the terrace doors. A moment passed. “You asked why I care?” His brows knitted. “There is this . . . feeling that I know you. It’s this strange sensation that we’ve met before.”
The words we have crept up my throat, but I couldn’t get them past my lips. The want for him to know that we had battled with the warning that doing so could be a mistake. I froze in confusion, not understanding either response.
“Other than that?” The line of his jaw tensed. “I really don’t know. You shouldn’t matter.”
I blinked. “Wow.”
“You misunderstand.”
The Prince wasn’t the only one feeling strange sensations. Currently, there was something akin to the sting of . . . of rejection burning at my insides. “No, I think that was pretty clear.”
He turned to me. “I don’t mean that personally, Calista.”
I shivered at the sound of my name.
He tilted his head, seeming to catch that response. “I am a Deminyen. Do you understand what that means?”
“Uh, that you are a very powerful Hyhborn?”
A low, dark laugh left him. “It means that I am the furthest thing from a mortal— from humanity— you can get. I care about mankind as a whole, but that is only because of what I am. How I was created.”
“Created?” I whispered.
His stare held mine. “Deminyens are not born like the caelestia.”
“I know.” Something struck me then as I stared at him. “You were— ” I stopped myself from saying he’d appeared a little younger when we first met. He had appeared younger to me then in comparison to Lord Samriel, but his features hadn’t really changed in the twelve years since. “What are you saying? That you cannot feel compassion or caring?”
“Some Deminyens can. Lords and ladies, if they choose to do so.”
“But not you?” I looked him over. “Or not princes and princesses? The King?”
“Not us.”
“Because you’re more powerful?”
“It’s more . . . complicated than that, but yes.”
My forehead creased. “From what I know of you, I don’t believe that you’re incapable of such.”
“I thought we didn’t know each other at all.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I know enough about you to believe that.”
The Prince stared at me in silence before murmuring, “Precious.”
“What is?”
“You.”
Crossing my arms, I rolled my eyes. “Okay. Whatever— ”
“I’ve shown you compassion, na’laa. That doesn’t mean I am a compassionate being.”
Little of that statement made sense to me. “I think you’re wrong.”
“Really?” That tight smile resurfaced. “And why do you think this?”
“Because you said you would’ve been disappointed if you had destroyed Archwood,” I pointed out. “And it’s not like our city represents all of mankind.”
“And I also said that wouldn’t have stopped me from doing so.”
My stomach dipped. “Yes, but you also said that you thought turning a soul into a Rae was unfair. If you were incapable of feeling compassion, wouldn’t you also be incapable of feeling remorse or guilt or even fairness?”
Prince Thorne opened his mouth, but he said nothing as he stared at me. Seconds ticked by, and I thought . . . I thought he paled a little.
“You’re right,” he said hoarsely.
Then he turned and left the chambers without saying another word, leaving me to wonder why the idea of him having compassion would cause him such obvious unease.
Prince Thorne’s strange response to the idea that he had compassion lingered with me throughout the day, but as the evening neared, my confusion was replaced by anxiety.
As I walked into the bathing chamber, I thought I really should’ve mentioned the dinner to the Prince when he’d been here. I turned the water on in the sink, dipped my head, and splashed cool water over my face.
Grabbing a towel, I patted my face dry as I lifted my chin and began to turn. I stopped, something in the mirror snagging my attention. My hand lowered to the rim of the vanity as I leaned in closer. My eyes . . . they didn’t look right.