The Cruel Prince

geas

mithridatism

But Vivi doesn’t chide me. “Okay, let me put on my shoes. I thought you were going to tell me you’d killed someone.”
“Why would you think that?” I ask.
She snorts as she searches around for boots. Her eyes meet mine as she does up the laces. “Jude, you keep smiling a pleasant smile in front of Madoc, but all I can see anymore is bared teeth.”

But we all want stupid things. That doesn’t mean we should have them.

Tell me, could you love me?” he asks, seemingly out of nowhere.
“Of course.” I laugh, not sure of the answer I am supposed to give. But the question is so oddly phrased that I can hardly deny him. I love my parents’ murderer; I suppose I could love anyone. I’d like to love him.

Desire hits me like a kick to the stomach. It’s like fighting, except what we’re fighting for is to crawl inside each other’s skin.

I fix him with a look. “I can be charming. I charmed you, didn’t I?”
He rolls his eyes. “Do not expect others to share my depraved tastes.”

I look deep into his eyes as I sheathe my sword. “Father, I am what you made me. I’ve become your daughter after all.”

I lean toward him, close enough for a kiss. His eyes widen. The look in his face is some commingling of panic and desire. It is a heady feeling, having power over someone.

“Do you love me enough to give me up?” I am sure my expression is stricken. He leans closer. “Isn’t that a test of love?”

“You really hate me, don’t you?” he asks, his smile growing. “Almost as much as you hate me.”

He lets go of my hand. “Until we spar again,” he says, making a bow that I cannot help feel is nothing but mockery.

Never is like forever.

I narrow my eyes. “Crawl.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “You first.”

Instead of being afraid, I will become something to fear.

I think of Cardan tied to a chair to cheer myself.

I hate Taryn. I hate Madoc. I hate Locke. I hate Cardan. I hate everyone. I just don’t hate them enough.

“I guess you could name your steak knives. Meaty the Elder. Gristlebane.”

“Let’s talk about your behavior tonight,” says Madoc, leaning forward. “Let’s talk about your behavior tonight,” I return.

Too young, too weak, too mean.

No one can really plan for every variable, though. That’s ridiculous.

Is he telling me it’s okay to kill Locke? I wonder what he’d say if he knew I’d already killed one of the Gentry. If I showed him the body. Apparently, maybe, congratulations.

it cost me something to be the way I am. But I do not know what. And I don’t know if I can get it back. I don’t even know if I want it.

He smiles down at me, as if the reason I’m on my knees is because I am curtsying.

“I’m nervous,” he says. “I smile a lot when I’m nervous. I can’t help it.”

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.

He gives me a quick, odd look. “Locke hasn’t gotten around to seducing me yet, if that’s what you’re asking. I suppose I should be insulted.”

I consider all the things I have done to become a worthy adversary of him, but maybe I haven’t been fighting Cardan at all. Maybe I’ve been fighting my own shadow.

“So it doesn’t matter that Valerian wanted to hurt me?” I ask. “So long as he wasn’t going to kill me.”
“You have to admit, being alive is better,” Cardan returns, that faintly amused tone back in his voice.

He leans in and closes his eyes. “Most of all, I hate you because I think of you. Often. It’s disgusting, and I can’t stop.”

He doesn’t sound like the boy who kissed me, sick with desire, just hours ago. He sounds sleepy, arrogant, and annoyed.

“Very well,” he says impatiently, not sounding in the least like a vassal about to swear to his lady. “Jude Duarte, daughter of clay, I swear myself into your service. I will act as your hand. I will act as your shield. I will act in accordance with your will. Let it be so for one year and one day … and not for one minute more.”

“So I am to sit here and feed you information,” Cardan says, leaning against a hickory tree. “And you’re to go charm royalty? That seems entirely backward.”

“What is a king without a crown? That’s a riddle, but one to which we all know the answer: no king at all.”

I am shocked by recognition—if you live your life always afraid, always with danger on your heels, it is not so difficult to pretend away more danger.

“How will I know when I’ve learned it, since I don’t know it now?” he asks. The question sounds like a riddle. “Come back when returning feels like a hard choice instead of an easy one,” I answer finally.