CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Prince Thomas sat cross-legged before the pond when I arrived, a toad in his hands. I wrinkled my nose. “That’s disgusting.”
His fingers pressed into the toad’s back as he lifted it, looking at the creature’s face. “You don’t think he’s cute?”
“No.”
He sighed, setting it down. The toad hopped away with a disgruntled croak, seeking shelter on a nearby lily pad. The water rippled around him at the impact.
“I’ve always wanted to be a toad,” Thom said.
“But I thought you were a proud prince, destined for magical greatness.” I squinted and tilted my head. “Although I suppose I can see it…”
He rolled his eyes. “Enough of that. Let’s start the lesson.” His gaze caught on the end of my engagement ribbon, which fluttered about in the breeze.
“How’s David?”
I almost choked. “How do you know his name?”
“I’m a prince.”
“Is that your answer for everything?” I looked to Caleb for assistance, but he refused to meet my eyes. I crossed my arms. “Caleb, have you been inquiring after me?”
“I must obey the prince, my lady,” Caleb said.
I whirled around to Thom. “You don’t trust me to know my own magic. Now you don’t trust me to marry the right person? You don’t even know me.”
“I know you.” His voice was firm, certain. My fury only grew.
“How could a prince like you truly know a servant, anyway? What have you got against David? Or the rest of us commoners?”
He rubbed his neck. “Don’t leap to conclusions, Lyranore.”
“You’ve been spying on me.”
“I wanted to know if he was a good man.”
My breath halted in my chest.
“I needed to ensure you were well taken care of,” he added softly.
“Why do you care?” I asked. “I’m just a peasant in your eyes.”
He winced. “Just because you’re a commoner doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”
“You do?” I asked drily.
“I do.”
My fist, clenched so tightly before, relaxed under the weight of his gaze. His intriguing, inscrutable, confounding gaze. I had never wanted to dissect it as much as I did in this moment, with it boring into me, the air between us thick with more than the humidity.
“I do care,” he repeated. “I care that you have a good, safe marriage.”
My heart cracked, and with it, my churning waves of emotions sank into a steady tide.
“And it seems,” he said, “that this David can provide that for you.”
I bit my tongue, disappointment rearing its head, although I wasn’t sure why. Had I wanted him to be jealous? Believed he had been all this time?
I was engaged. And, apparently, incredibly foolish.
“Thanks, I suppose.”
“You’re welcome.”
We stared at one another for a beat, the air full of words unsaid.
Caleb cleared his throat. “I’m going to give you two some privacy for your lesson today. I’ll be within earshot. Call if you need me.” He bowed.
The crunch of leaves marked the guard’s absence.
“I do have to admit…” Thom said, his gaze never leaving mine.
“Yes?”
“I’m surprised someone like you is settling down so early in life.”
“Because it’s not how you would do it, I suppose?”
“Because of all your potential.”
I fell silent for a moment, considering his words. “I thought I was a poor student,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’re always criticizing me and raising the bar. I never get it right.”
“I’m challenging you, Lyra. I apologize if it comes out harsher than I mean it.”
“It does.” I lifted my chin. “But it’s made me more determined to best your expectations. So I cannot stay mad at you for that.”
Thom stepped closer to me, and I could feel every inch between us humming with an energy I’d only ever felt in the library. An energy foreign to even my afternoons with David. My confusion deepened.
“Shall we…” I trailed off, lost in his eyes. “Shall we start today’s lesson? Or debrief about the research I’ve done so far?”
He adjusted his glasses. “Yes, the research. I’d love to hear your thoughts about what you’ve discovered.”
I sank into the clover, which tickled my limbs beneath my nightgown.
Sitting side by side, our arms occasionally brushing in ways that hindered my focus, we dove into a discussion on the plague.
There was a mystery there: the randomness of infections, the complete immunity certain members of the population seemed to have for no reason.
The strange recognition that physicians who’d treated the sick sometimes caught the disease, but no healing mage had ever fallen ill.
“So it doesn’t target the nonmagical,” Thom said.
“The disease certainly prefers them,” I told him. “The nonmagical make up eighty percent of all cases.”
“And the mages who fall ill?”
“Most are working class. Perhaps the disease thrives amongst poverty?”
“But Evelina.” Thom’s brow furrowed. “And a number of other nobles still make up a significant number of cases, albeit a lower percentage.”
Blast it. I hadn’t considered the late Princess Evelina when forming my latest theory.
I twisted my lip in thought. “So I might still be missing something.”
“You’ll get it. I know you will.”
In turn, Thomas shared about his latest experiment, about how he wished he could work with famous potion-making families like the Blackwoods, but he trusted no one with his research. Not yet.
Inside, my body buzzed with excitement. I was the only person alive to be let in on this great secret. But I also knew that in Thom’s eyes, his confidence in me had more to do with my usefulness than his trust.
Then again, mistrust ran both ways. How could I ever trust the man who helped ruin Ella’s life? Who tried to kick me out of the palace grounds the day my Papa died, and held my fiancé in such disdain?
I thought back to his earlier comments. He was a toad, in many ways.
A stubborn, warty, arrogant creature. But here in the night, some of those flaws were hidden in the darkness.
When I looked at him, his eyes were focused on the pond’s ripples, the way the stars shone on the surface of the water.
Watching his wiry spectacles glint with starlight, I remembered the vital lessons he’d taught me, his affection for his mere guard, his unexpected tenderness toward me.
And I doubted.
At one point during our discussion, he reached out as if to push a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His hand hesitated in the air, then dropped to his lap, as if he’d never attempted the maneuver at all.
My chest sparked and fizzled anyway.
I shoved a wave of disappointment down.
I was an engaged woman. For the most part, a happily engaged woman.
Just because I had strange feelings regarding another man, a man who could never have me—who would never want me—shouldn’t get in the way of potential marital bliss.
Should it?