when I glance up, I see his usual smirk has dropped, and it’s been replaced by a serious expression.
“It’s a shame. If I had gotten to you before Grayson had dug his claws into you, I could have moulded you into the perfect queen,” he whispers, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. “So beautiful.” Sighing, he drops his hand back to my waist, and I work hard to stop a shudder of revulsion from his touch. “But now you’re theirs.” Disgust lines his words, his lip curling up into a sneer as he speaks of the mages. “You would betray me in a second, wouldn’t you?”
“No, Your Highness.” Liar, my inner voice goads, and from the smile the prince gives me, he knows it too.
“Call me Rhydian.”
I really don’t want to call him by his first name, but I don’t have a good excuse not to, and I don’t want to start an argument with the person who is responsible for deciding if I live or die tonight. Fine, seeing as we are now on a first name basis…
“Rhydian, why don’t you like the magicians?”
I can feel his assessing gaze. It’s a bold thing to ask the prince, but as he considers me, I can tell he appreciates my directness.
“Because they lord their magic about like they are the most important people around. They have been blessed, yet they use their magic for trivial matters.” He pulls at a curl of my magicked hair, and I realise from his expression that he knows this isn’t my true hair.
“They fight in your war. They keep us safe.”
He hums his agreement, dipping his head in acknowledgement. “You’re right, and that is the only reason we allow them to live,” he states casually, like he’s discussing the weather.
My blood runs cold at the statement, a thought coming to me… “So, if we were to win the war…”
“We would no longer need the magicians. We could finally be rid of two enemies in one go.” Glee lights up his face, and he’s so lost in his own fantasy world, he doesn’t see my look of horror before I can school my expression.
“The magicians aren’t your enemy. They love the Great Mother, they serve her, they protect us,” I tell him, needing him to understand. “They are good people.”
Smiling at me like I’m a child, he simply shakes his head. “Some sacrifices need to be made in war,” he reasons, like I couldn’t possibly understand. But I understand perfectly.
“You are talking about mass genocide.” Pulling away from the prince, I take a step back, not wanting his hands on me for a moment longer.
The music has stopped, as the musicians are changing their sheet music, and my voice is louder than I had planned, but in my horror, I don’t seem to care. The people around us gasp and step back, watching us with shocked glances.
“Lady Clarissa, I think you must be confused,” the prince replies loudly in a soothing tone, but I’ve had enough.
Turning, I stalk over to Wilson and Aileen, the latter of which is watching me with an impressed but stunned expression. Reaching their sides, I just shake my head, not wanting to talk about it and trying to quell the feeling of his hands on me.
The meal is exquisite, as usual, but I don’t have much of an appetite, so I push most of the food around my plate. There’s a part of me that’s disgusted with myself for wasting food when, as a slave, I would have been lucky to even receive a scrap of bread to get me through the day. My friends try to make conversation with me, as well as a kindly lord who’s sitting opposite us for the week, but I just can’t focus on anything. I’m jittery, and adrenaline runs through my body in a fight or flight response, although I’m not quite sure what has triggered it. When the dessert plates have been taken away and the servants file in with the gilded boxes, I’m suddenly filled with calm. This is it, this is why I can’t focus. I made a scene in front of the crown prince, of course it will be me who has the poisoned chocolate.
A servant places a box in front of me, whispering, “Beloved,” before scurrying away. Flipping open the lid, I stare down at the innocent-looking chocolate. I feel a heavy gaze and I look up, seeing Rhydian watching me with a smile. He lifts his