Bodyguard of the Heartbreak Prince

1

The royal carriage hits the unicorn at full speed.

No chance for the driver to swerve, because, against anyone’s better judgment, Prince Vawn Molloi painted the carriage horses’ front hooves with short-term speed glyphs before we left the palace courtyard.

Thankfully he also included protective symbols on their back hooves, or the horses would have been damaged by the impact.

As it is, the only casualty is the unicorn.

I’m sitting by the left-hand carriage window, watching the dark forest rush past, so I’m cursed with the sight of the animal’s broken body being flung to the side of the road, its mane and tail a luminous blur. My stomach lurches with horror.

“Shit!” Loxley yells, mimicking the jolt of the impact and laughing hysterically. He’s already high on emthal, an herb that’s supposed to provide a sense of euphoria. In my opinion, it makes people stupid.

I’m new to this group, but according to the prince’s primary bodyguard, whenever Loxley comes to these outings, he’s several joints and drinks ahead of the other young men. By the end of the night, he’ll be practically comatose and have to be revived with a restorative tonic.

“Stop!” I yell, forgetting that it’s not my place to give the driver instructions. Everyone looks at me, then at the prince.

“Stop, Angelou,” he bellows.

The carriage takes a while to slow down. When it finally halts, I open the door without waiting for a footman and I run back the way we came.

Maybe there’s still time. Maybe the unicorn can be saved.

I press the outward-facing glyph on my left index nail, and a thin beam of rosy light shoots from my fingertip, slicing through the darkness and providing a cone of illuminated space in front of me.

Not that I really need the light to find the unicorn.

Its mane and tail are a glowing beacon in the night, violet light spilled across the ground beside the road.

The poor creature was torn almost in half. Its pearlescent blood is flowing out, pooling in the grass.

I kneel beside the corpse. The gravel presses uncomfortably against my knees through the open slashes in my pants—my concession to the latest fashion. Ignoring the discomfort, I touch the unicorn’s long nose.

She’s already dead. Probably died on impact, never knowing what happened.

But I know exactly who killed her. A group of brutally careless young noblemen, headed out for a tour of their favorite pubs and pleasure houses, bent on getting to their first destination as fast as possible.

As if the Lyre & Vice would ever run out of stiff drinks and plush bosoms for them to enjoy.

Multiple pairs of boots crunch on the gravel road, and I look up to see the prince’s veteran bodyguard, Renfrow, approaching me, with two of the young nobles following him at a distance.

Renfrow gets to me first and crouches at my side.

“Don’t do that again,” he warns me in an undertone. “Don’t ever presume to instruct the carriage driver, and do not permit the prince to stop the vehicle on a dark, lonely road. This is a prime spot for bandits.”

“Then why did you leave the carriage? You should be back there with the prince.”

“Don’t be pert with me, girl. You’re not a royal bodyguard yet. You’re here on a trial basis, to see if you’re a good replacement for Kresser. So far, I’m not impressed.”

I rise, brushing pebbles off my knees. “I’m here because the prince decided my skills are a good fit.”

Renfrow snorts. “You think he cares about your skills? He picked you out of a lineup of potential candidates, most of them more capable and experienced than you. I was there when he chose you. Do you want to know what he said?”

I remember standing in that line, how the prince walked down the row of candidates, surveying us all, then murmured something to his bodyguard.

I’m not sure I want to hear what it was, but Renfrow continues anyway.

“He said, ‘She looks fuckable. Perfect pair of tits. The boys will like having her around.’”

A caustic bitterness tightens in my chest.

Renfrow claps me on the shoulder like he’s trying to soften the revelation.

“Look, I’ve seen you in the training center.

You’re a good warrior, and your skill with those claw knives is nothing less than astonishing.

But you weren’t chosen for your fighting abilities.

If the prince keeps you around, it won’t be as his bodyguard. ”

The two young men who followed him are nearly upon us, so I’m spared from coming up with a reply.

“Gods, look at that!” exclaims one of them. Tolgan, son of a lord. Spoiled, like the rest of them. He’s hanging on Loxley’s arm in a way that makes me wonder if perhaps he’s fonder of biceps than breasts.

“Fucking incredible,” drawls Loxley. “You there, guard girl—cut off its horn for me, will you?”

I received plenty of commands at the Elite Guardians Academy, the most challenging military school in our kingdom of Belavrin. I’m used to following orders without question. But those orders usually made sense, and this is more than absurd—it’s disgraceful, not to mention illegal.

Unicorns used to be plentiful in Belavrin, with whole herds of them running wild through the mountains and meadows.

Now they exist mostly on breeding farms and ranches, and those that remain in the wild are protected by the King’s law.

It’s forbidden to kill them, and if they’re slain by accident, their bodies cannot be pillaged.

On farms and ranches, unicorn blood is harvested in small quantities throughout the animal’s lifetime and used as an ingredient in most types of glyph paint.

Strands from their luminous manes, tails, and fetlocks are woven into magic carpets or used in various lighting fixtures.

And when they pass away from old age, their horns and hooves are ground into powder and incorporated into nail varnish, to make it more durable.

It’s a system guided by rules for the protection of the creatures, but that doesn’t change the fact that we use them for our own benefit. And it’s wrong to violate this animal’s body after our carriage ended its life.

When I hesitate to obey Loxley, his grin fades. He shakes Tolgan off, steps toward me, and snaps his fingers in front of my face. “You. Girl. Are you listening? I gave you an order.”

Heat floods my cheeks and I bite my lip, trying not to voice the rebellious retort that leaps to the tip of my tongue.

I was honored to be chosen for this detail, to have the chance for a position as a royal bodyguard. But maybe I’m not cut out for the role. It’s too hard for me to keep my morals and my opinions to myself.

A tall figure emerges from the gloom behind the two young men. A pale hand covered in glyph-graven rings and tipped with long, intricately painted nails clasps Loxley’s shoulder.

“Steady there, Loxley my love,” Prince Vawn croons. “What’s got your feathers ruffled up?”

“Your temp bodyguard,” snaps Loxley. “She’s insolent.”

“Since when is that a crime?” The prince grins. “I’m insolent as fuck, and you like me.”

“It’s not her place to question my decisions.”

“What did she say?”

Loxley shifts his stance. “Nothing. She just stood there. She refused to carry out the task I gave her.”

“Which was?”

“To cut off the unicorn’s horn and give it to me.”

Something uneasy flickers in the prince’s eyes.

He has the strangest irises I’ve ever seen, such a light grayish-blue that they sometimes blend with the whites of his eyes.

Tonight he’s wearing makeup, heavy lines of kohl and glowing pink eyeshadow.

Combined with his dark lashes and arched black brows, the effect is striking.

“Why do you want the horn?” he asks Loxley.

“For fun? As a trophy? Fuck if I know. Make her get it for me.”

The prince looks at me again.

Don’t make me do this, I say inwardly, desperately. I let my eyes and my lips soften, hoping he’ll take pity on me, the weak little girl guard. I hate pandering to men, but if it helps me get out of this situation, I will. I can’t cut off that beautiful creature’s horn. I won’t.

The prince tosses a hand through his black hair, and the pink strands at the front tumble against his cheekbones again, framing his face. At least they know their place.

He steps past me, and I catch a whiff of his cologne, spicy and dark.

He presses the nail of the third finger on his right hand, where he has an inward-facing glyph for strength.

Then he plants one foot on the dead unicorn’s skull and, with a cracking wrench, pulls the horn free.

Its root is all pearly blood and splintered bone.

I turn away, walking quickly toward another part of the grass, where I vomit up the scant supper that I ate before I reported for this shift.

Tolgan makes a snickering comment I can’t hear, and the men laugh as they head back toward the carriage.

“Syth,” snaps Renfrow. “Now.”

I hurry after him, catching up halfway to the carriage.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” he asks, low.

“No.”

“Ever drawn blood outside of class or a practice ring?”

I swallow hard. “No.”

“How did you even get into that lineup of guard candidates?”

“Excellent knifework, high grades in hand-to-hand combat, top of my strategy class. My stealth and awareness professor said I have good instincts.” I pinch my left index nail to deactivate the illumination glyph.

“Your glyphs could use a refresh.” He casts a judgmental look at my black nails, etched with delicate symbols.

He’s right, of course. The varnish is all gone, and the paint is wearing thin. “I was counting on my fee from this job to have them retouched.”

Renfrow laughs as though I’ve told him a marvelous joke. “You don’t get paid for tonight. This is a trial run. You’re not paid unless you’re hired.”

He climbs into the carriage, still chuckling. Inside, Loxley is brandishing his trophy and telling the others that I threw up. I take a second to breathe, to quell the sickness rising in my throat. This time it’s incited by dread, which could easily shift into panic.