Chapter 14 Quid Pro Quo
Quid Pro Quo
“That’s two questions,” he retorted.
“One question mark,” she pointed out placidly. “Besides, I doubt you could fully answer the question with only half the information there.”
He grunted, which she assumed was him agreeing without being happy about it. “I thought you’d ask for my true name first.”
“First rule of negotiating: never lead with the offer they expect.” She pointed at the path-channel box.
“Plus extenuating circumstances.” Names held power and if this cagey princeling was in real trouble, as he appeared to be if actual fell wolves were on his ass, then he’d want to avoid any long-distance scrying that used his name to triangulate on his location.
She flashed a grin. “This is why we have handles, Prince Charming.”
“You gave your name.”
“Because everyone already knows who I am. The price of fame.” She added a sigh for dramatic effect. “Now, answer the question.”
He tipped back his head to rest against the seat while he stared blindly at the sky.
“I suppose it wouldn’t do any good to answer that I’m running from fell wolves.
” He held up a hand to flick off her indignant rebuttal, his mouth quirking in an almost whimsical smile.
“Never mind—I’ll play fair, though the gambit was tempting. I’m running from my wedding.”
Not at all what Cha had expected. She raised a brow. “Explains the outfit, I suppose.”
“Nothing explains this outfit, believe me. At any rate, that is both the who and the what—my bride and my erstwhile wedding.”
“Some bride who sics fell wolves on her beloved.”
He huffed something that might have been a laugh. “I’m fairly certain it was her family, not her, who sicced the wolves on me. They don’t really care what condition I’m in, so long as I’m alive enough to marry their daughter.”
Cha turned that over in her head. The royals had all kinds of reasons to wed, and rarely did any of them have to do with affection between the bridal pair.
Still, while the marital couple were often compelled by pressures they couldn’t refuse—usually having to do with wealth and power, the sort gotten legally, but no more ethically than her methods, in Cha’s opinion—seldom did they have to be dumped at the altar in a bloody heap. This only raised many more questions.
“Before you ask any of the questions obviously bubbling up in your pretty head,” the prince said, “it’s my turn to ask. What is BX code for?”
Cha bit back a sigh, wondering if she could convincingly lie about it. As a mostly full-blooded human, she was able to lie, and normally she was pretty good at it, but something told her the prince would see through most prevarications.
“I’ll know if you lie,” he cautioned her, proving her suspicion correct.
“Border crossing,” she answered tersely.
“Which border?” he demanded in a sharp tone.
“Ah ah.” She wagged a finger at him. “Tis my turn, Your Highness.”
“Then ask.”
“I’m constructing my question. Hush.” To her surprise, he did remain quiet, his gaze on the side of her face as she idly drummed her fingers on the console.
In truth, his name wouldn’t do her much good.
Not like she moved in those circles, so she’d be unlikely to glean anything useful from knowing it.
She wasn’t sure what information about him would turn out to be useful, given that they’d part ways forever in…
less than five minutes. So, she opted to satisfy her curiosity.
“What did you find out right before the wedding ceremony that was so terrible you opted to face fell wolves instead?”
He was quiet a long moment. “I’m interested that you assume I discovered something immediately before the ceremony.”
“You were dressed up—in an outfit you obviously loathe—and thus clearly ready to do the thing that was asked of you. Seems logical that you wouldn’t have gone that far if you already knew the thing that made you bolt. You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who takes a while to make up his mind.”
The prince regarded her thoughtfully. “You’re not quite what I thought.”
“Never am,” Cha agreed cheerfully. “Though usually people begin with high expectations that quickly plummet into a miserable abyss of disappointment.”
He actually snort-laughed. “I seem to be ahead of the game by starting low.”
“Enough stalling. Answer the question.”
“It’s difficult for me to answer honestly as there is a geas involved, which is why I didn’t discover the appalling truth about…
well, my situation, until it was almost too late.
” He was quiet a moment, then shifted restlessly in his seat.
“It’s not my intent to dodge answering. I hope it will suffice to say that once I discovered…
something—information her family not incidentally hoped to conceal from me until the blood-vows were made and unbreakable—I knew that I must sacrifice anything to escape. ”
Cha whistled. “Anything? That’s not really a question,” she added hastily. “I’m simply pointing out that a broad statement, or wish, like that is bound to get a fellow in trouble.” She glanced at him and saw his jaw resolutely set in a hard line. “The something must have been serious.”
“It was.” He turned his head to look at her, blue eyes blazing. “Which is why I need to know—which border are you crossing and why?”
“That’s two questions,” she complained, mainly to give herself a moment to think. Though she’d yet to think up a convincing lie.
“One question mark and who’s stalling now?”
Nothing for it. “Swear to secrecy.”
“I so swear,” he replied promptly.
She flicked a look at the path-box, making sure it was off. “Gypsum to Obsidian.”
He snorted indelicately. “Even I know that crossing into Obsidian isn’t worth any secrecy. Tell me your ultimate destination or I’ll assume you can’t be trusted.”
Ah, well—it had been worth a try. “Moonstone,” she replied shortly, and mostly under her breath. “And I don’t think I should have to warn you not to repeat that word aloud. We have a code name for a reason.”
“No,” he replied absently, gaze focused on the far distance, “you don’t have to warn me. Finish answering the question.”
“Why does anyone want to go there?” she replied philosophically. “To get the goods and bring them back.”
“Then you are a thief.”
“You think because you phrased that as a statement you’re tricking me into thinking that’s not a question.”
“Your handle is a synonym for thief,” he pointed out in an irritatingly reasonable tone.
“Yes, well, yours is ‘Prince Charming’ and we know that doesn’t reflect reality.”
“You chose that, not I.”
“What would you choose then?”
He slid Cha a quick, canny look. “Is that your next question?”
“Withdrawn.”
He chuckled. “As I thought.”
“It’s a moot point anyway,” Cha declared, steering the jag to the slower margins and ratcheting down the drive, releasing the last dregs of the higher state white pixie dust, alas. “We’re here.”