Chapter 7 #2
“You’ll have to excuse His Royal Impressiveness, Quinn,” Berendir says. “Rejection makes him petulant. He’s not used to not getting what he wants.”
Daerios rolls his eyes, finally lowering the honey cake and placing it back on his tray. “And Berendir never exaggerates.”
Berendir winks at Cara. “What he means is that things are never dull when I’m around.”
“Don’t listen to him,” says the prince. “Beneath all his jokes, Ber is as boring as Quinn’s lunch plate.”
“But my jokes are first-rate.”
“And horses don’t shit in the woods.”
“Well, why would they,” says Berendir, spearing a chunk of quail meat, “when the sidewalks of Harvard Square are just as suitable?”
I blink at their exchange. Until now, I saw these males as carbon-copies of each other: cold, handsome, careless, cruel.
Heartless thrill-seekers, twins in every way but blood.
From right after the Crossing, they’ve always been photographed together, standing beside their fathers—chins lifted, eyes tight, smiles wicked.
But as I watch them dig at each other, a new understanding crawls into the edges of my consciousness.
They are not the same. Their packaging might be identical—flawlessly-carved creatures who party too hard and reek of sarcasm and live as if they care for no one but each other—but the contents are quite different.
There is an elasticity to Berendir, a mischievous lightness that does not exist in his best friend.
It sparkles just behind his pale green eyes.
If I hadn’t spent this much time up close with him, I would never have guessed it was there.
I wonder if it exists in Daerios too.
Berendir turns to my roommate. “So, Cara—“
“How do you know my name?” Cara interrupts.
He grins. “We might have looked into you two.”
“Looked into us?” My eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, you know, a prince obviously has to background check his dates.” Berendir shrugs. “We had our security team use our top-secret elvish database to look you up.”
That catches my attention. I perk up, trying not to sound too excited as I ask, “A top-secret elvish database? Is that a real thing?”
Daerios rolls his eyes and takes a bite of paal. “Of course not. Don’t listen to Berendir; it’ll make me question your intelligence.”
“My intelligence?” I scoff. “Please. I earned my place at this school. Unlike certain other people, who were only let in because their Daddy is president of the entire universe.”
Even as the words are coming out of my mouth, I know they’re a mistake. This particular bear is the most dangerous and unhinged I’ve ever met, and I’ve just gone ahead and poked it.
The prince’s mouth drops open. Across the table, Cara gasps.
It wasn’t a soft poke, either. It doesn’t take a genius to guess that Daerios—the drunken son who grabbed the microphone from his father and referred to himself, on live television, as “the resident family disappointment”—has major Daddy Issues.
He’ll probably have me dragged into the Yard and beheaded on the steps of Memorial Church for what I’ve just said.
And you know what? I’ll deserve it. Just for my sheer stupidity.
I hold my breath, waiting for the prince to snap.
Instead, after several long, torturous beats of silence, his mouth curves into a slow grin.
“President of the entire universe?” he asks, turning to face me more fully. He props an elbow up on the table, laying his chin in his hand. “I wasn’t aware that was an option. Where do I apply?”
Relief, warm and forgiving, floods my chest. And even though I know I should just leave it there, even though I know I’ve tempted fate enough times at this lunch table to last a lifetime, I can’t help it.
I take the bait.
“Don’t bother,” I say. “The only organization you could be president of would be the Ministry of Corruption and Bankruptcy.”
He feigns a gasp. “How did you know? I’ve already applied there for a summer internship.”
“Excellent. I’m sure you’ll move up the ranks in no time.”
“With my undeniable charm and devastating good looks, how could I not?”
“How indeed.” My heart is pounding with barely leashed fear, but I can’t seem to stop. “I’m sure bribery and blackmail will have nothing to do with it.”
“Of course not. We elves are morally unimpeachable.”
“Oh, lê ba dualeth,” I say in Lukkarin. Oh, I’m well aware.
“Att n? kilaren.” And don’t you forget it.
Daerios winks, and that full, infuriating mouth curls into another half-smile. My gaze drops, lingering on its pillowy pink fullness, on the barest hint of stubble curving over and around it. Something sharp and almost painful throbs in my stomach.
It all happens in the space of a half-second, but it’s half a second too long.
My eyes shoot back up just in time to see Daerios’s expression change. To watch his expression turn from playful to confused, his eyes darting rapidly between mine.
Cheeks burning, I cross my arms over my chest, wiping any trace of discomfort from my face. “You know, Your Highness, you’re kind of an asshole.”
For a split second, Daerios’s eyes continue search mine. Then he shrugs and looks away, popping the rest of the paal into his mouth. “I’ve been called worse.”
I look away, too. “I don’t doubt it.”
Then come several long, painfully heavy seconds during which no one at the table speaks or even seems to breathe.
“You know, Cara,” says Berendir at last, failing utterly to keep the elation from his voice. “If someone doesn’t stop these two, Harvard might see its very first elvish homicide.”
“You know, Berendir,” says Cara, grinning for the first time since the elves sat down. “I think you might be right.”