He turns slowly, and my sword traces the dark brown cloak until its edge is flush against his side. He adjusts the hood, pulling it forward to further hide his face. “Ah, but you did promise your empress you’d guard me. That is a vow in itself. So you best keep up.” He turns and starts back on his course toward the palace gatehouse.
Tempted to sick Carina on him, I bring my transmitter to my mouth, but stop before pressing the button. She’d definitely knock him around, and that’d be fun to watch, but then I’d be found wanting in my duty. And not just by her, but by my empress. Squeezing my eyes closed and saying a prayer for patience, I pocket the transmitter in my harness and follow after him.
“You’re not my only responsibly,” I say once I’m by his side. “But your selfishness probably chases away any respect for others and their job. I should be with my Nactue right now. Not sitting a spoiled prince.”
He chuckles. “I’m sure they’re doing their duties well. Besides, your empress obviously feels they can handle themselves. Shouldn’t you trust her judgment?” His eyes cut my way. “Anyway, I need some fresh air.”
Annoyed, I press my lips together hard. “You’ve just come from a long journey across the realms. I doubt you’re in need of fresh air this soon.”
“Believe me,” he mutters. “I am.”
As we approach the gatehouse, the prince looks down to hide his face and I nod to Claudia. She allows us to pass, and we step into the bustling city.
The dusty, main street of Straver leads us down a straight path. Towering buildings peaked with domed, glinting glass rooftops casts shadows across downtown. Neon lights swirling a bright blue-white stream along the middle the buildings, just above the panels of displays showing a live event at the raceway. The sharp, electric sound of Cury-crafts hovering over the roadways echoes off the panes of glass.
Prince Paynebridge stops and looks at one of the panels. “Let’s go there,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to bet on a race.”
Dumbfounded, I stare blankly at him. “There’s a war starting. Your country is under attack. Your citizens are being evacuated. And you want to bet on a race? Shouldn’t you be with the Council, plotting how to conquer the Otherworlders?”
Without a word, he begins walking again. I shake my head. I don’t understand his shifting moods or his logic. From his arrogant, angered rants yesterday, to his frivolous behavior now, it’s as if he has split personalities. I want to shake him, slap him around, and drag him back to the palace and lock him up in the ward. I could claim he’s mentally unstable.
Once we reach the end of Straver, he looks down both intersecting streets. “Which way to a shop where I can buy new clothes?”
“Ridiculous,” I say under my breath, but lead him down Collin Street.
Sleek Cury-crafts hover past us. The buildings here are taller, cleaner, and the people wear finer clothing. I figure a prince would want to shop in the nicest part of Cavan, but to my surprise, he walks toward a store that sells work uniforms.
The glass doors part and we step inside the dim-lit shop. It smells of polyester and starch, but at least their cooling system works. A blast of cold air hits my damp skin and clothes, and my skin tightens, itchy. While the prince is hunting a new wardrobe, I covertly check my wrist. No swirls of mercury. I can’t let this man work me into a mood. With the day’s heat rising, it’s already becoming too difficult to keep the mercury checked.
He runs his hand along the racks of neutral-colored clothing until he comes to what I assume is the section carrying his size. He yanks out a pair of pants and a tunic. Next he decides on a matching cloak. I guess I was too angry to realize he’d stolen the one he now wears.
“So, I suppose you plan to return the one you’re wearing back to its owner?” I fold my arms over my chest, hiding my hands just in case.
“Unlike you,” he says as he inspects the garment, “the man was very civil and gave it to me. But it’s too small.”
I check out his broad shoulders, the definition of tight, lean muscles from his arms and back pressing against the cloak. Averting my eyes quickly when they begin to scan his lower regions, I focus on passerby while he pays the merchant and accepts the bag of clothing.
Once we’re outside the shop, he says, “The palace ground. Where are the stables kept?”
“Does His Highness wish to go for a leisurely ride, now?” I roll my eyes and start walking. “Why not just purchase your own horse. And a stable, too. Hell, why not invest in a vacation home here in Cavan and spend your time there. Then I can get back to my Nactue and empress, and the situation with the Otherworlders.” I drop my voice on this last part, not wanting to upset passing citizens.
“I can purchase a horse? Where?”
As if he’s missed the whole point of my rant, his eyes widen, searching my face curiously. I halt walking and match his determined glare. What is he up to? Does he truly think he’ll best me and ride out of Cavan on horseback?
He breaks our eye contact and looks down the street. “Would I stable it at the palace court or somewhere else?”
“Prince Paynebridge—”
“Please,” he interrupts. “Just Caben. My father was King Paynebridge, and I’m yet to be crowned.” He drops his sudden morose expression and the side of his mouth hitches into a side-grin. “And, I don’t think my first name would sound as condescending coming from your lovely lips.”
Pursing my lips, trying to ignore his smug comment about them, I attempt again. “Prince Caben—”
He groans. “I was wrong. You seem to have a talent for making everything sound venomous.”
I give up. Throwing my hands in the air, I march off. As we reach the dining quarter, he glances into a window running along the side of a restaurant and stops to stare in. His brow furrows.
“Are you hungry, Prince Caben?”