16. Rune
SIXTEEN
RUNE
Holy fuck .
I’m sitting in a royal carriage, and that by itself is enough to jostle my brain. Add in the fact I’m alone with the crowned prince after he broke his betrothal…my mind doesn’t know how to process that information. As we pull away from the Tower, departing through tall black gates and entering the Wilds, I don’t let myself look at Harrick.
Instead, I watch the passing landscape with feigned interest. Thick trees, interrupted by occasional moss-covered boulders, line our path on either side. In the distance, deep blue creatures—boars, perhaps?—graze in an overgrown field. They lift their heads as we pass, only to lower them again, unbothered. Above us, flickers of gray sky taunt me from between lush, overhanging branches.
I’ve dreamt of leaving the Tower for so long, I’m too shocked to comprehend I actually am. The more I dwell on it, the more I decide I must be dreaming. Any moment now, I’m going to awaken in my bed to the servant’s bell, and I’ll rush to get Viana’s breakfast.
I glance at Harrick. He still hasn’t moved. He’s watching me closely from his side of the carriage, but he hasn’t spoken since we left. His attention is a heavy, physical thing though, and despite my best efforts, the same thought blares continuously through my head: Harrick broke his betrothal for me.
I look away, swallowing hard.
No. Not me. He just didn’t want to marry an abuser. He said that himself.
But if that’s true…why am I still here?
I force my breaths to slow. I shouldn’t be stressing over Harrick and Viana. Practical as my fear is, there’s nothing to be done now. I should be enjoying this unexpected freedom. I’ve dreamt of leaving the Tower since I was eight, when they bound my hands and dragged me here. It’s been twelve cycles, and the farthest outside I’ve been is in the courtyard. I’ve attended executions, just so I could remember life beyond the Tower walls. To remember crisp air and the feel of wind on my skin.
Even after several cycles in the rebellion, part of me doubted I’d ever experience this again. Not that I’m free, by any means, but it almost feels like it. With Viana gone, I might even enjoy moments of this journey—whatever its purpose.
“Are you all right?” Harrick asks.
I startle and look at him, allowing myself to pause before answering. We’ve been traveling for almost an hour now, and I still can’t process what’s happened. What’s going to happen, now that Harrick has broken his betrothal and run off from the Tower.
Nobody will harm you again .
It’s an impossible promise, one that does something strange to my heart. There are times I worry that particular organ doesn’t work, but right now, I’m painfully aware of its existence. It feels terrified, angry—and worst of all, hopeful.
“Yes,” I say. Something on Harrick’s face tells me he doesn’t believe me. It’s the same something that compels me to add, “She will have me killed for this.”
My cheeks flush at my admission, and I can’t help lowering my gaze. I shouldn’t challenge the prince, not when he clearly thinks he’ll keep me from harm. But this is the ugly, inescapable truth. Viana will blame me for everything that’s happened, and as soon as Harrick loses interest in me, she’ll make arrangements. I doubt I’ll survive the Flood Season.
“Rune,” he says. The carriage jostles as we move from asphalt to rocky dirt. “I will protect you.”
Without responding, I close my eyes. I can’t decide if I’m being unfair. Right now, I can’t decide much of anything. Should I be grateful? Can I use this to my benefit? Could I convince Harrick to help me escape the Tower forever? Or perhaps to free the entire rebel faction?
I could barter an agreement, maybe. Convince him to let us go, and in exchange, we won’t destroy the Tower or attempt a coup on our way out. He seems genuinely kind, and if I can just play this right?—
“Rune,” his voice softens. He crouches to the floor, until he’s the one looking up at me. The sight of him on his knees before me, as if I’m the royal one, does ungodly things to my stomach. One of his hands rests on the cushion to my side, and the edge of his palm touches my thigh. “Can I try something?”
I glance at his mouth without meaning to. Barely an hour, and my fantasies are already taking on a life of their own. My memories distort our kiss from a panicked miscommunication to something meaningful, and suddenly I can’t think clearly.
“Okay.” I don’t recognize my own voice. The way it sounds unsure and desperate, all at once.
Harrick’s opposite hand grazes the side of my face, so tender I barely feel it. His fingers drift over my uninjured cheek, beneath my chin, and then up to the bruised and scarred side. I can’t keep myself from wincing, and Harrick’s expression echoes my flinch.
“Sorry,” he whispers.
His hand stills on my bruised cheek, firmly cupping the side of my face. Keeping his eyes on me, he rests his thumb on my cut, the pressure uncomfortable but not overly painful. I take a breath through my teeth. Harrick is no longer looking at me. His eyes are closed, brows scrunched in concentration.
“I’ve never done this before,” he murmurs. “It might not work, so tell me if it hurts, and I’ll stop.”
That’s the only warning I get before magic sparks at his fingertips. I tense, my entire body jolting at the strange sensation. Heat filters through my skin, but it isn’t painful at all. It’s impossible to describe, the way magic bleeds from his hand into my cheek. I have no idea what he’s doing, and yet, I make no move to fight him. He could be killing me for all I know, but I’m not sure I care.
It feels that good. So ridiculously warm, until I’m full of heat and light and this beautiful glow and?—
I don’t recognize the sound that comes out of my throat. Worse than the gasp when Harrick stroked my face, this is an actual moan, as if I’ve just tasted the sweetest chocolate. I moaned at the prince’s touch, and I’ve effectively ruined anything pleasant about this moment.
I pull away, fighting blush as it scours across my cheeks.
Harrick’s eyes open too, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He certainly doesn’t look angry or judgemental. He’s simply watching me, blinking, his gaze moving from my chin to my hairline.
“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But it’s not bad either.”
Now my face heats for an entirely different reason. Not bad probably isn’t the best compliment someone could receive, but coming from a prince—coming from him—it feels like the highest of praise.
“Your cut,” he clarifies. “I’m not much of a healer, but it’s mostly gone. It didn’t hurt?”
I shake my head. I’m too afraid of my own emotions right now, terrified I’ll admit that his touch not only didn’t hurt—it felt really fucking good.
More , I want to tell him. Touch me more .
“Thank you,” I say instead. Then, because I can’t help myself, I ask, “Why are you helping me?”
Harrick scans my face, and I can hear my own heart pounding. I’m terrified he can too. His attention drops to my mouth, and for a suspended moment, I’m sure he’s going to kiss me. A ridiculous thought, by itself, and an extremely dangerous one, considering. The queen and the Committee might be unhappy with Harrick’s broken betrothal, but if they think I’m the thing that led him astray…
The carriage shudders to a stop. Harrick pulls his attention from my face and looks out the elongated carriage window. He eases back onto his seat, watching as his guards move in and out of view.
“We’re here,” he tells me. He gives me an almost boyish grin, but whatever he’s planning to say next is interrupted. The carriage door slides open, and one of his masked guards leans into view. Rain cascades around him, splattering against the floorboards.
“We’ve arrived, my prince,” he says. His concealed face turns toward me, only briefly before focusing again on Harrick. “Dae has gone ahead to call the proxy.”
“Perfect,” Harrick says. “We can get settled until then. What rooms are available?”
“Two master quarters, two guard quarters. A spare room the servants can use.” The guard doesn’t look at me this time.
“The other servant is a man,” Harrick says, pointedly.
“Yes,” the guard agrees.
I shift on my seat. I feel like I should excuse myself to unload the bags, but that would require squeezing past the guard. I stay where I am but turn my eyes to the floor.
“No,” Harrick says, his voice hard.
I force myself to be still. On the lower floors, servants aren’t separated by gender. They’re shoved wherever there’s room, and on more than one occasion, I shared a room with a man. It was always unsettling, and sleep often came in fits, but I never suffered an attack from one. The same can’t be said for other women.
“Sir—”
“No,” he repeats. For the first time since the guard appeared, Harrick turns toward me. I keep my gaze on the floor, but I feel his attention all the same. Heavy and intense, like he’s trying to convey a secret message, meant only for me. Finally, he looks back to the guard. “Leave us.”
“Yes, my prince,” he says. He leaves without another word, sliding the door shut behind him.
It’s several seconds before I dare lift my head, and even then, I look out the window, rather than at Harrick. I’m not surprised he’s already watching me, but I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze. I feel like I’ve entered another world, one where reality has an entirely different set of rules.
“Rune,” he says. His voice is level, calm. “Look at me.”
I do, failing to fight the nerves wracking my body. I’ve started trembling.
“You can’t,” I whisper. It’s hoarse and pathetic, but his eyes widen all the same. I’ve never spoken this way to a superior before, let alone someone of Harrick’s rank. But if I have any chance of surviving this, I can’t let him do this.
“Do you know him?” he asks. He’s barely moved. “This other servant? Are you familiar with him? Is he safe?”
“It is the only option,” I say, ignoring his questions. I force my attention to stay on his eyes.
“I will put you in the spare master’s. It will be unused otherwise, and you will be safe there.”
I let out a startled laugh. I shouldn’t be surprised that Harrick is this delusional. He’s a member of the crown. He can do whatever he wants without consequence. Has it ever occurred to him that most people can’t ?
“It is not allowed,” I say. I’m surprised at the steadiness of my own voice. I’m treading dangerous territory here. I can’t challenge a member of the crown, but his kindness is going to get me killed.
“Says who?” he snaps. “I am the crown prince, Rune. My word is above theirs. They cannot stop me.”
I look back to the floor. Even with my hands clenched between my knees, my fingers tremble. I want to argue that the queen, the Architect, the Committee…their words are above his. I might not be punished for this here, but I will once we return. The guards will report to the queen, and I’ll be whipped or worse.
I don’t argue. As far as words go, mine matter the least.
“Yes, my prince,” I say instead.
There’s a heavy, pulsing quiet between us. Harrick lets out an unsteady sigh, moving again in front of me. As before, he kneels, looking at me until I finally return his stare.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says, surprising me. He touches my chin, tilting it upward. “You won’t be punished. Please, I—I need to know what you’re thinking.”
“He won’t touch me here,” I say finally. My voice shakes, but I force myself to continue. I force myself to trust Harrick, to believe his promise not to punish me. “With the way you’re acting, I imagine they’re all drawing the same conclusion as Malek. They think I’m your pet whore. Even if the other servant is vile and cruel, he wouldn’t dare touch the prince’s entertainment. He won’t touch me, Harrick.”
Harrick’s eyes flash, but the anger disappears almost immediately, replaced with something unrecognizable. While I remain in perfect stillness, he seems to relax.
“Okay,” he says. “You’re right.”
My lips twitch without permission. It’s bizarre, hearing a crown member speak like this, especially to me .
Harrick rises to his feet, stooping to avoid the ceiling. With a sharp tug, he slides open the carriage door. Through the rain, his men move hurriedly between the luggage carriage and a short, rectangular building. It’s constructed entirely of wooden logs, and dark green vines claw up its sides, as if they’re trying to consume it. It’s beautiful, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The City is bleak and gray; the Tower is cold and magnificent. This…this is lush and beautiful and alive.
“Joran!” Harrick calls.
Within seconds, the masked guard stands in the carriage doorway again.
“My prince.”
“Bring Miss Rune’s belongings to my quarters,” he says. “Ensure the others know she’s mine. I will kill anyone who touches her. Understood?”
I suck in a breath, and I swear, Joran does too.
“Yes, my prince,” he says after a lengthy pause. If he wants to say more, he doesn’t.
“Good,” Harrick says. Then, without sparing me another glance, he exits the carriage, calling back, “Come along, Rune. I’ll show you our room.”