Chapter Four. In Which the Girl Encounters Small Talk （and Hates It）
CHAPTER FOUR
In Which the Girl Encounters Small Talk (and Hates It)
The Bosque was abuzz with sound. Leaves rustled, insects hummed, twigs cracked under the weight of stomping boots.
The world around her was painted in gold streaks across a canvas of green so dark it was nearly black.
Animals scurried underfoot, the faint babbling of a brook was distant but ever present, and the air smelled damp and full of life.
Occasionally, a sliver of bright blue sky with nary a cloud in sight revealed itself through the leaves.
No chance of rain.
Whatever curse the woods contained seemed to enjoy naps during the day. The prince and his entourage trampled through with little care; the guards’ uneasiness had dispelled once the witch had turned around and disappeared. Risa followed the group, suspicious of every sound and flutter of a breeze.
If she hadn’t been so concerned that Brunhilda’s lie could be discovered, she might have spared a moment to consider that in a twisted way, this was what she’d wanted all her life.
A sense of freedom. To be anonymous and insignificant, a speck in the grand tapestry of the universe.
Not a Bad Thing, not a Good Thing, merely a girl escaping a life better left behind.
As it was, she was very aware of her impossible task of babysitting el principito and ensuring he say “I do” to some poor, unsuspecting girl who probably deserved better.
Besides the prince, only the general and his right-hand man with long golden hair were granted a horse to ride, leaving the remaining soldiers to tramp through overgrown thickets like peasants.
As the day wore on, the encompassing woods turned darker, the thickets denser, and the guards louder.
They shared stories with booming voices and laughed with abandon, the noises carrying through the woods.
When they bumped into a tree or one another with their heavy packs, the rattle of their chain mail, pots, and weapons made them laugh harder, as if the good humor were infectious.
Suddenly, the hair on Risa’s arms stood on end. Goose bumps rose along her skin. She didn’t know much about magic, but she felt something bad was going to happen.
“Ridiculous,” she muttered to herself, kicking at a moss-covered rock. She was being ridiculous, thinking she could sense when something bad was on the horizon.
“Did you say something, witch?” Prince Javi’s voice floated down from his perch on his white stallion. From his vantage point, he must have been better equipped to read the sign that was surely posted above her head: BEWARE OF BAD LUCK.
Perhaps he could not read, because when she was forced to look up at him, she found he was smiling expectantly and none the wiser.
“No, principito,” she said, before picking up her pace.
Risa knew that at some point, she might actually need to have a conversation with the prince. They were nearly the same age, and his guard was ignoring her. But she didn’t want to start now, mostly because she didn’t know how to have a conversation with anyone.
If there was a way to postpone the inevitable, well, she would try her best.
She had thought that was the end of their interaction, but then she heard his horse snort right beside her ear. When she glanced up at the prince, he was watching her with something akin to amusement.
“My apologies, were you expecting a bow?” She paused and folded over, neck straining as she kept her eyes pinned to his.
His smile lifted a fraction higher, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.
“You should really practice. Your form needs work. It will reflect badly when you meet my future wife.”
Her mouth flattened. There was clearly no need to worry.
He was so self-absorbed that he probably wouldn’t even be able to pick her out of a crowd, let alone discern she was lying.
Still, she couldn’t be too horrible outright; he had enough guards to render her superfluous to the operation, and he might be the closest she could get to finding someone who might lift her curse.
Curses, she remembered. She had two now.
“What are you so upset about?” he asked, evidently bored enough to continue speaking with her. “You get to travel with a handsome prince. Who knows, we might fall in love, share a kiss beneath the moonlight—”
“Listen,” Risa interrupted, refusing to entertain any more attempts at flirtation. “I’m here for one thing and one thing only: to get you married.”
Prince Javi pulled his horse to a stop. The Bosque grew silent. The animals held their breath and waited. The prince stared down at her, shadows dancing in those gold eyes.
“I am not here by choice,” she continued, forcing herself not to look away, “so let’s keep the chatting to a minimum.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “I can think of some ways to occupy our time.”
People liked that?
Risa supposed, in ordinary circumstances, she might have found his incessant flirting exciting.
If she were an ordinary girl who listened to gossip and wondered what it might be like to have the prince turn his attention on her, to bask in his warmth, she might have even entertained it.
But she was not an ordinary girl, and it only made her more furious that her entire future hinged on a man who had love thrown at his feet while she had none.
“You’re not thinking of jilting your betrothed before even meeting her, are you?”
He blinked at her, surprised, though there was a prickle of something else in the way his eyebrow twitched. “I’m a prince. Technically, I can do whatever I want.”
“Is that your excuse for being all of”—she gestured wildly at him—“this?”
He blinked again, as if he couldn’t grasp what all her yammering was about. “Yes?”
Risa shook her head and started walking again. Maybe she should save her curse the trouble and kill the prince herself.
“Did I lose your interest?” He urged his horse forward, until its pace matched her own. “Let’s start over. Hi, my name is Prince Javi. What’s yours?”
“None of your business.”
“That’s a mouthful. I don’t remember birth certificate forms having that much room. How old are you?”
“A hundred and three.”
“You look great for being a century old. Where are you from? The same black hole Brunhilda crawled out of, fully formed and incredibly mean?”
She spared him a glance. This was, admittedly, one of the longest conversations she’d had with someone who was not her mother or father.
And it was leaving her flustered. No one had ever asked her about herself.
Everyone back home already knew her. They knew she was Bad, and that was all there was to know.
Distrust was easy to harvest when she grew it in such abundance.
She could not help being suspicious of the prince and his interests, which surely did not align with her own.
He was trying to get out of his marriage; she was trying to get him to the reception.
He was an unrelenting flirt; she was averse to people in general.
They were at odds, and the only way she knew how to fight back was by being incorrigible.
“Let’s avoid backstory.”
He didn’t seem perturbed by that. “Fine, I’ll start. I was born to the king and queen of Kheadon eighteen years ago, on a bright and beautiful day.” Or he didn’t understand what avoiding backstory meant. “Obviously, I’m a summer baby.”
She had no idea what being a summer baby had to do with anything. “Obviously.”
“I came into the world with a smile on my face and a head full of hair. Suffice to say, I was a perfect baby. I even had dimples. Still do.”
His smile demonstrated that he did, indeed, have dimples. They were, in fact, perfect.
Risa’s scowl deepened. “You are the most humble man I have ever encountered.”
“And the most handsome?” he asked, flashing her an almost-endearing smile.
“No. Please continue; it’s clear you love the sound of your own voice.”
“Thank you; I do.” Prince Javi sighed, waving his hand with a flourish.
She noticed he wore several rings, all solid bands of gold, though the one on his pinky also had a ruby.
“As the seventh and youngest child, I didn’t have much to do growing up.
My brothers are much older and wanted nothing to do with me.
Luckily, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I turned out quite well considering the circumstances. ”
She stared at him from the corner of her eye. “Your circumstances … as one of the richest and most spoiled brats in Kheadon?”
His next sigh was melodramatic, and he placed a delicate hand over his sternum. The ring on his pinky was a signet, she realized suddenly. The ruby glinted as the eye of a gold lion. “As the loneliest prince in the world.”
“Unbelievable,” she muttered to herself, though the words resonated unnaturally loud in the woods. “This can’t possibly be what gets people going.”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug. His smile thinned, gold eyes turning flat. “I think it helps that I am a prince.”
“Are you going to reveal that you are, in fact, getting married because it’s the one thing you can do for your nation?”
His recovery was quick. The brilliant smile returned. “After General Sur”—at this, his brow creased before he continued—“took over the throne in M-Madros, he reached out to my father about creating an alliance. In the form of a marital union.”
She couldn’t blame him for his discomfort. She felt it, too, at every mention of the kingdom beyond the sands, or whenever her tongue tripped over its name.