Chapter 13
Elysia smelled thunder and ozone. It reminded her of a storm blowing through the forest. She tucked her nose in a little closer to the delicious scent, feeling her bones relax into someone warm and strong.
And then a rough jostling that felt all too purposeful sent her teeth clacking, ruining the moment entirely. She strained to lift her head. It felt two sizes too large, and there was a vicious pounding between her eyes.
It all came back to her in a sudden, terrible flash.
Unholy gods. The Doorman.
Say hello to the prince for me .
She groaned. Could this night have gone any worse? Well, yes, yes it absolutely could have. You could have been shelled out like a prize pony to that vile man. But nowhere in the many possibilities she had imagined was there a scenario in which she had to explain to the prince what in the realms she was doing at House Gardenia. In a wig. Betting her own body.
Elysia tentatively opened one eye and found Topp staring down at her like he still couldn’t believe the stupidity he had witnessed this evening. The sharp lines of his cheeks and jaw were in hyperfocus—his displeasure whittling his face into one she had never seen before. This man looked like he wanted to ream her out and shake her by the shoulders, or maybe tie her up and lock her in a room where she could never be such an idiot again. Can’t really blame him… She pinched her eyes back shut, but Topp jostled her once more, forcing her eyes to fly open. She clutched his shoulders and glared up at him.
Ass.
His grip tightened. “Ah, ah, ah, little liar. Nowhere for you to run off and hide this time.”
She was fairly certain she could break his hold and be gone before he realized what had happened, but she thought it best she kept her mouth shut. Nothing good seemed to come of her opening it. And running would only look even more suspicious. She had to salvage this. Fix the mess she had made. Her brain whirred, coming up with a dozen unbelievable stories explaining why she had been dressed as Georgia Parker and then a redhead in a pleasure house betting her body.
I. Am. So. Screwed.
Her body ached. She’d been drugged. By herself. Punched. And lost to her magic. If it wasn’t for the fresh wave of anxiety forcing her hand, she could easily slip back under. She supposed it was a miracle that she hadn’t left her body and traveled to that strange land or done anything else to get herself executed. Apparently, being unconscious was not the same as being asleep. A small mercy.
Topp came to a sudden halt, readjusted her weight, and pulled out a key from his pocket.
“Can you walk?” His voice was clipped.
She slid down his lean muscled body, her hands clumsily groping him as she went. Whoops. She giggled and had the faint realization that she was most definitely not quite herself yet. Pull it together, Parker. She brought her feet to the ground, stepping back and swaying slightly. Topp’s arm shot out, holding her steady even as he fumbled with the key to unlock the door. Elysia slipped out of his grasp like an eel underwater. Leaning back against the rough, soot-covered plaster of the building, she tried to identify where he had taken her.
She touched the bridge of her nose absently as she looked around. “Ow.” The word was almost said with surprise.
Topp shoved at the door and spoke to her like she was five. “Yes, Elysia, getting knocked out hurts.”
She rolled her eyes. Like she didn’t already know that. The buildings surrounding them were a bit more practical than she liked, and the smell of hard work and salt floated in the air. They were by the docks.
“Why’re we by the?—”
Topp grabbed her hand and hauled her inside, locking the door. She pulled her hand back roughly, scowling. “Was that necessary?”
He shot her a look over his shoulder that said yes, at this point, it absolutely was. Shaking his head, he walked farther into what was once a dockside warehouse.
He looked comfortable here. A little looser, the wild in him having room to stretch its limbs and play. She’d seen him like this in the forest, but never at the castle or any of the places they usually went.
The warehouse would probably always have the faintest odor of sea and the creatures that had come from it, but there were also the new smells that Topp must have started to layer into the foundation. Smoke from billowing fires and imported coffee dripping slowly, along with his ever present scent of crisp air.
There was hand-carved furniture made from woods she did not recognize and rugs and blankets with patterns she did not know. There were beautiful painted cups in shapes that did not belong to Kava that she longed to pick up and study.
But Elysia did not move. This… All of these things. The smells. The creature comforts. Her brain worked to catch up to her senses. This was a home. A refuge. A sanctuary. Much like her own flat was to her.
“How long have you stayed here?” she asked quietly.
Topp didn’t answer, but continued poking at the fire until it roared to life before moving onto the sconces and lamps.
“You’ve had this place the whole time, haven’t you? Since you came back here for good.”
Topp kicked back on a long dark brown couch, hands tucked behind his head. “You know, I’m not sure I love the hair, Lys. And I especially didn’t like that makeup.”
He looked at her with mock horror on his face. His hand went to his chest as he spoke. “Do you know there was a moment where I had to question my entire existence? Because I couldn’t understand how I could ever possibly be attracted to Georgia Parker. But Georgia Parker doesn’t have an ass like that. Or legs.” He shivered in exaggerated disgust before grinning and looking at her over the edge of the couch.
But his anger pitched higher beneath his ill-fitting joking mask. A sharp static sound bit her ear as she stared at him, her eyes tracing the shape of his lips that she needed to shut before he could peel her apart, truth by truth. He was just taking his time the way someone does when they have you pinned.
Couldn’t have that.
She paced closer, irritation pushing her along. “How did you really know it was me, or that I was even there at all tonight?”
Amusement flitted across his face. Even in his anger, he could appreciate a good trick. But still, he shook his head and went for her heart. “You really do have a lot of questions for someone who has been lying to the Crown through her straight, pretty teeth all her life.”
He was off the couch in a flash. “And I am fairly certain that I’m the one who gets to ask questions tonight.”
His long strides cut her off, causing her to pivot away, but his fingers wrapped around her wrist, tumbling her back into his orbit. Green eyes dared her to contradict him. Begged her to lie to his face.
She folded her arms, unperturbed.
“And you’re rather dense for someone who is in line for a crown.”
Topp barked out a laugh, running his hand up her neck into her hair. He dropped his face close to hers and whispered. “Tempting. But I will not take your bait. Now tell me what in the name of the undead gods you were doing at House Gardenia. And don’t fucking lie to me, Elysia.”
Elysia felt everything come to a glaring, momentous pause. It was the frozen time between a breath and an exhale. Every choice, past and present, ran through her mind. Memories and emotion twisting and turning so fast she couldn’t track them. And she knew , she knew this moment mattered.
This choice, these next few words—they mattered. She could stay, she could run. She could lie or tell the truth. There had been a time when being with Topp had been easy, natural even, but those days seemed further and further away with each sleepless night that passed.
She’d dreamt of being able to tell him the truth. How it would pour out like dark water from her mouth. Choking and gagging on all the decay she’d buried inside. But then the lies could finally trickle down and out of her for good. It would feel like turning your face to the sun, right before the ax fell, to stand there, honest and bare as she truly was—cursed, but free.
I miss him. The thought slipped in like a poison disguised as a tonic, almost fooling her with its aching echo in her throat and chest. She knew better than to give in to such sentiments, but it was still true. She missed when he was Topp and never the Crown Prince—at least to her.
Back when she had told him all the hidden things. All the hidden things that happened in a place like Relaclave. But perhaps not all the hidden things that happened to a woman like her.
He never asked her how she knew the trivial bits of gossip she whispered in his ear while laughing late at night. Nor did he ask about the more serious tips she fed her father so he could finalize a deal or blackmail someone out of their livelihood. And not once had he asked about the cuts, scrapes, and bruises on her muscled body.
But with his forehead pressed to hers now, all she could see were her own lies. All the things she never said. Because she couldn’t. Her evasions and lies had multiplied with every conversation, with every day, until she was so far from him that their love had become a blurry, distant thing.
Topp tucked a hand against her face, brushing his thumb on her cheek. She stared at the faint freckles beneath his eyes, her insides squeezing so tight she could barely breathe. Spring eyes watched her wade through the depths, drawing a gentle apology of a smile to her face. I’m so sorry, Topp, I am. Guilt ravaged her. He deserved better. Someone who could speak without dead dirt falling from their lips.
And even though it broke her heart once more, she told a half-truth.
“Triz was in some kind of trouble. Asked for my help.”
She felt herself float away. Away from his coffee-scented hideaway with its cozy fire crackling. Away from the hands that cradled her face like she was all that would ever matter. Just away. To where she barely heard her own words and the pain didn’t own her name.
It was insane she had ever thought she could marry him. That she had believed it would bring her safety and security. After all, whether he was Topp, the boy she’d met in the woods, or the Crown Prince of Kava—neither version had ever given any indication he would protect someone with the undead gifts.
He wouldn’t protect me. The thought was a knife through her misguided heart. The useless beating organ in her chest that wouldn’t seem to turn off no matter how hard she tried to cut it out. But it was true. The prince had never uttered a single word leading anyone to believe he would protect the cursed. Topp Blatz may have preferred working outside of the Crown lines and dalliances in the woods over meetings and legislature, but when push came to shove, he followed his father’s lead. Only a bleeding-hearted fool would stay with the man who was the face of the laws that wanted her dead.
Topp read the growing distance on her face and dragged her over to the couch. The movement snapped her out of her head and back to him. He sank back onto the broken leather cushions, pulling her down so her knees hugged his hips. Warm hands grabbed her shoulders, bringing goosebumps to her cool skin. She watched the electricity in his eyes dance, feeling his fingers dig in as he spoke.
His voice was low now. No longer angry or taunting. Low and soft with a touch of honest-to-the-gods fear. “You went up the stairs in the House like a wraith. It wouldn’t have mattered if I called your name a thousand times. You never would have heard me.”
Panic flared even brighter within her. No, don’t ask me this.
His fingers pressed a little tighter, the next question dawning, but Elysia lunged, stealing his lips and breath before the words could form. Her fingers were in his hair, her breath inside his mouth. He tasted like the sun in a dark land.
She felt him freeze, caught off guard by her frenzied kisses. But whatever his next question was, she did not have an answer. She didn’t want to answer any of his questions tonight, so she kissed him in a way that she hadn’t allowed herself to in a long, long while. Not since the dreams had swept in and stolen her future away.
She kissed him as though he was not the one who would sign her death warrant, but as if he was still the one who brought light into her life. He groaned into her mouth, feeling every bit of her intention, the longing for both what once was and what she had hoped could be her life.
“Lysia, we?—”
She ignored him and kept kissing him, hands reaching for his belt.
“Need to talk,” he gasped, even as his hips sought hers. He finally wrested her back and eyed her like she was a dangerous creature of his woods rather than a woman with lips already plump from kissing. He held her there. Close, yet firmly away, and took a sharp breath, staring at the ceiling and muttering a plea to some god Elysia did not know.
He brought his eyes back down to find a rather sullen Elysia. He looked at her like her attempts at distraction were cute but ridiculous. “You took pukeweed rather than have a proper conversation with me and went and gambled your own damn body at House Gardenia not even three hours later. It’s going to take a bit more than a kiss to break me tonight, Parker.”
Elysia gasped, scrambling back and falling off the couch onto the floor in her haste.
The prince looked enormously pleased with himself.
“Not so dense after all, am I?” He leaned back against the couch, arms reaching out wide along the top.
She wanted to tear out her own hair. “How?” she demanded.
He dropped to his knees on the thin buckskin rug beside her. “You have your tricks, and I have mine. I must say, though, even I am surprised at just how much of a little liar you’ve become.”
She bristled and he laughed, crawling over the top of her. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
Elysia fell back onto her elbows, scooting away and getting nowhere. Topp held himself just above her, shaking his head and eyeing her like he wished they could go back to doing what she had tried to start on the couch. Confusion climbed within her, but if he was going to look at her like that, then she wasn’t above trying again. Her hands went to his waist, gripping his belt and tugging until he came closer. Pupils wide, his lips twisted up in a mirthless laugh, and then he was kissing her with enough heat to melt a glacier. His tongue swept out and tasted every corner of her mouth.
He stopped. Elysia panted, eyeing him suspiciously. He had already made it clear that distraction was not going to be an effective tactic, but her brain was foggy and useless from drugs and having her bell rung, leaving her with no clear ideas of how to escape. His fingers trailed up her bare thigh and she bit back a groan. Forget distraction, her heart and libido were traitors of the worst kind. She wanted to yank him back to her and pretend the whole night had never happened. That the last many months were a bad dream.
His hand tugged on her stupid wig, and he closed his eyes, breathing out over her. The scent of him flooded her, making her dizzy. This was insanity. She needed to leave, weave a tale to cover her ass, do something, anything.
He came closer, lips brushing against her skin. Her own hands clenched, digging into his back where she had slipped them beneath his shirt. And then he spoke in barely a whisper into her ear. “Should I recount your most recent deceptions? Pukeweed to escape my excellent company. Not telling me about men threatening your life. Gambling at the House with that disgusting bastard.” He thought carefully and then smiled as he hovered over her. “And oh, that’s right, I almost forgot about that little thing you’ve been doing while you sleep. Maybe that’s where we should start.”
Elysia went from outraged to silent terror and back in one breath.
There was no way to prove she could hear a secret. It wasn’t an obvious sort of magic, or one that people reminisced about when they were sure no one was listening. But she had no idea what happened when she went to sleep at night and found herself falling somewhere else. Did the air shimmer and wave? Did a ghost of her float out over her body? It didn’t really matter if these things happened, or nothing happened at all.
What mattered was if a Crown Prince decided she was guilty.
She was ready to argue until she was blue in the face how preposterous it was that a girl could be drawn to secrets. She had practiced the words so many times they were ready on the tip of her treasonous tongue. Secrets? That was the most ridiculous undead gift one could ever surmise. It was offensive to even suggest that her endeavors to assist the Crown in trades and deals were not pure skill and talent. The argument in her head went on until she’d so thoroughly confused the imaginary accuser that they were in an agreeable daze.
She had not prepared an argument for what happened while she slept. She didn’t even understand what was happening while she slept.
The terror she felt now had been guiding her steps since she was a child, and the rage that ran beside her fear grew less and less contained with each passing year of hiding and narrowly escaping being found out. She could hear her father taunting her that it would be her own fault if she hung, and that he would make sure they did not say her name.
Because a Parker would never stoop so low as to be born tainted by the undead.
The undead have cursed you , he said, and they will not save you from yourself .
Her father’s words held her in pause until the fear and anger began to slide down her nose in thick drops. She blinked rapidly, trying to force the tears back into her eyes where they belonged.
Embarrassment burned within her. There was nothing worse than crying when really you were angry and scared rather than sad. It seemed a malfunction of sorts.
But the undead gods must have remembered her for there was a harsh one, two, one, two thud on the door.
Both Elysia and Topp started at the sound.
His words were terse. As if he knew the moment was slipping through his fingers. “Just ignore it. No one’s coming here.”
She stared up at his familiar face, still looming over her as if it were perfectly normal to accuse someone of treason from this position with his knee shoved between her thighs. She wiped at her tears. “Just go check. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
He looked at her warily. She thought it might have been because of the tears, but she knew it was more likely that he was thinking of her propensity for disappearing. Topp slowly pressed up and away from her, and Elysia took a long involuntary breath once he finally took his eyes off her and turned to walk to the door. She watched him go—his back tense and steps quick. I wonder how long he’s known. Her fingers ran over the soft buckskin beneath her. But he hasn’t turned me in.
Contrary to her actions this evening, she wasn’t a complete fool. The fact that he hadn’t turned her in yet didn’t mean anything, really. Other than he hadn't decided what he was going to do.
She rolled over off her back and got up, hurrying to follow him.
He opened the door and looked around. “See, no one there.” Annoyance laced his tone.
Elysia stuck her head under his arm and looked as well, her eyes snagging on what he had missed.
A coin, half the size of her palm, propped against a small rock, already dirty and wet from the soot and rain.
She ducked under him and snatched it up before Topp could spot it or think about prying it away from her. On the front was a sword stuck in a pile of coins.
It seemed Gage was pissy and not above interrupting what he likely assumed was Elysia having sex with the prince. He was probably laughing wherever he was now. She’d completely forgotten she’d promised to go to his house this evening. Knowing she was out on a job for Beatriz, he'd gone looking for her like some worried, overbearing brother who sometimes killed people. A more nerve-racking thought struck her. She almost closed her eyes as it hit her—had word had already gotten to him about the House? Shit, shit, shit. She did not want to explain this evening to him.
Elysia shoved the coin into her pocket, dancing back and out of reach from Topp, into the street and heavy rain. The smell of fish and salt crashed down, mingling with the rain’s fresh scent. Remy’s dress stuck to her and she stood there for half a breath, staring at the man who held her heart and life in his hands.
She pressed her lips together with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry.” The words were quiet, but she meant them. Gods, did she mean them.
He took a step closer to her, out into the splattering rain. Frustration marred his face, and the rain flattened his ever messy woodland hair.
“Why won’t you trust me?”
She wanted to, but everything in her screamed against it.
Her whisper barely sounded over the rain. “I can’t.”
And then she ran.