The Cruel Prince (The Folk of t -(The Folk of the Air #1) - Holly Black Page 0,112
into something that appears to resemble worry. Good.
I lead him into Dain’s office, which I guess I’ve just commandeered for my own. He walks unsteadily, his legs stiff from being bound. Also possibly because he has helped my crew down several bottles of wine. No one stops me from taking him, though. I close the door and turn the lock.
“Sit down,” I tell him, pointing to a chair.
He does.
I walk around, settling myself on the other side of the desk.
It occurs to me that if I kill him, I can finally stop thinking about him. If I kill him, I won’t have to feel like this anymore.
Without him, there’s no clear path to putting Oak on the throne. I’d have to trust that Madoc had some way of forcing Balekin into crowning him. Without him, I have no cards to play. No plan. No helping my brother. No nothing.
Maybe it would be worth it.
The crossbow is where I left it, in the drawer of Dain’s desk. I draw it out, cock it back, and point it at Cardan. He draws a ragged breath.
“You’re going to shoot me?” He blinks. “Right now?”
My finger caresses the trigger. I feel calm, gloriously calm. This is weakness, to put fear above ambition, above family, above love, but it feels good. It feels like being powerful.
“I can see why you’d want to,” he says, as though reading my face and coming to some decision. “But I’d really prefer if you didn’t.”
“Then you shouldn’t have smirked at me constantly—you think I am going to stand being mocked, here, now? You still so sure you’re better than me?” My voice shakes a little, and I hate him even more for it. I have trained every day to be dangerous, and he is entirely in my power, yet I’m the one who is afraid.
Fearing him is a habit, a habit I could break with a bolt to his heart.
He holds up his hands in protest, long bare fingers splayed. I am the one with the royal ring. “I’m nervous,” he says. “I smile a lot when I’m nervous. I can’t help it.”
That is not at all what I expected him to say. I lower the crossbow momentarily.
He keeps talking, as though he doesn’t want to leave me too much time to think. “You are terrifying. Nearly my whole family is dead, and while they never had much love for me, I don’t want to join them. I’ve spent all night worrying what you’re going to do, and I know exactly what I deserve. I have a reason to be nervous.” He’s talking to me as though we’re friends instead of enemies. It works, too: I relax a little. When I realize that, I am nearly freaked out enough to shoot him outright.
“I’ll tell you whatever you want,” he says. “Anything.”
“No word games?” The temptation is enormous. Everything Taryn told me is still rattling around in my head, reminding me how little I know.
He puts a hand over where his heart should be. “I swear it.”
“And if I shoot you anyway?”
“You might well,” he says, wry. “But I want your word that you won’t.”
“My word isn’t worth much,” I remind him.
“So you keep saying.” He raises his brows. “It’s not comforting, I’ve got to tell you.”
I give a surprised laugh. The crossbow wavers in my hand. Cardan’s gaze is locked on it. With deliberate slowness, I set it down on the wood of the desk. “You tell me whatever I want to know—all of it—and I won’t shoot you.”
“And what can I do to persuade you not to turn me over to Balekin and Madoc?” He lifts a single eyebrow. I am not used to the force of his attention being on me like this. My heart speeds.
All I can do is glower in return. “How about you concentrate on staying alive?”
He shrugs. “What do you want to know?”
“I found a piece of paper with my name on it,” I say. “Over and over, just my name.”
He flinches a little but doesn’t say anything.
“Well?” I prompt.
“That’s not a question,” he groans, as though exasperated. “Ask me a proper question, and I’ll give you an answer.”
“You’re terrible at this whole ‘telling me whatever I want to know’ thing.” My hand goes to the crossbow, but I don’t pick it up.
He sighs. “Just ask me something. Ask about my tail. Don’t you want to see it?” He raises his brows.