Page 45 of Death of a Mortal

“One thing I don’t know, though,” Varyn continued. “You and your sister have different mothers? And it’s yours you’re looking for, not hers?”

“How—”

“You say ‘my’ mother, not ‘our’ mother.” He was perceptive—that was either highly endearing or highly dangerous. He was the son of the cruel king after all, and I couldn’t rule out the fact that he may already be giving his father everything he already knew about me. Then again, why would Varyn, let alone Caedryn, care about anything having to do with one little mortal?

I thought for a minute and decided it was safe to answer his question.

“Yes, we share the same father. But when my mother…left, Nella’s mother came into the picture.”

He stayed silent and let me say as much as I wanted.

“I don’t remember much about my mother.”

“Why did she leave?”

“I…I don’t know.” We were flirting with dangerous waters, getting close to the topic of the rebellion. “Our father never told me.”

He tightened his jaw. “I can tell when you lie, Naci.”

Oh my gods, was he an Umbrathren? I panicked. I needed anescape plan—coming to the castle had been a bad idea. How could I have been so stupid?

“Your forehead crinkles, just slightly. It’s your tell. I noticed it first on the rooftop. You should work on that if you want to survive the capital.”

So not an Umbrathren, just really perceptive.

I stopped walking. “Is that a threat?”

The prince turned to face me. “No, of course not. Just a fact. It’s a tough place for mortals. I’m just trying to help.” And then he winked.

I couldn’t figure him out, but I enjoyed flirting on the knife’s edge of danger and desire.

“Well, thanks, but no thanks. I don’t need your help.” I turned to head back to the castle, deciding to end this conversation on my terms, before I could let something slip that I shouldn’t.

“Hey.” I felt his hand close over mine, stopping me. “Look at me.”

I fought a flinch at the unexpected contact, but after a breath to compose myself, I turned to face him. His touch was warm and gentle.

“What do you see when you look at me?” he asked with sincere earnestness.

It was an odd question. Why did he care about what I saw? He was a fae prince, and I was a mangled mortal girl.

I searched his face, his dark-blue eyes reflecting the deep-red sky. I noticed…tension in the way the corners of his eyes were crinkled, his lips drawn in a straight line as he waited for my answer. Did he actually care what I thought of him, what I saw in him?

“I…”

“Stop hesitating when you speak. You sound like a cat’s got your tongue.”

I took a breath. “When I look at you, I see conflict. I see a desire to prove that you’re the good guy in a place full of bad people. And I see a facade. A mask. You hide behind your perceived wit.”

“Perceived? You wound me, Naci,” he said, pretending to be wounded, with a hand to his heart.

I waited nervously to see if I had crossed a line. All he did was stare into my eyes, unblinking.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but he spoke first.

“Don’t let anything change you, Naci. You’re perfect the way you are—scars and spark. All of it.”

I tried my best not to melt into a puddle at his words, so I swallowed. “You haven’t asked me how I got them.”