Reckless (The Powerless Trilogy Book 2)
Chapter 17

“I’m going to smother you with a pillow in about five seconds.”

I groan, blissfully ignoring the prince’s threat and burrowing farther into the rough sheets. This is the third and supposedly final warning he’s willing to give me. With that in mind, I happily disregard the demanding Enforcer beside the bed.

When a lumpy pillow hits my face, muffling the string of curses spewing from my mouth, I raise a hand to show off my middle finger. He responds to my unspoken words with two of his own. “Get. Up.”

“If you’re escorting me to my doom,” I grumble beneath the crumpled cotton, “the least you could do is let me enjoy my last time in a bed.”

“You’ve had plenty of hours to enjoy, don’t worry.”

I pry the pillow off my face, peering into the shadowy room. The cloudy window reveals an equally cloudy sky beyond, still splotched with darkness. “The sun’s not even up yet, so I don’t see why I should be either.”

“Compelling argument,” he says dryly. “Up. Now. We can’t spend too much time in one place. I’m shocked we haven’t been recognized yet.”

I sigh through my nose, staring blankly up at the ceiling. I had planned to spend the night plotting my escape from the Enforcer, but there was no fighting the wave of drowsiness that crashed over me the moment my head hit the pillow. Sleeping so soundly is scary when it’s beside someone so willing to stab you in the back.

Peeling myself from the worn sheets, I ungracefully slide from the bed before wincing at the forgotten wound on my thigh. Kai’s eyes track the movement, trace the crease between my brow, the catch of my breath. “How are you feeling?”

I scoff, pushing the stray strands of silver hair from my face. “Don’t pretend to care about my well-being, Prince. I’m just another mission for you to complete.”

He seems to stiffen slightly at that, but his words don’t match the wariness he wears. “Yes, and my mission needs to be well enough to endure the trek home.”

Home.

The word stings my eyes, burns in my throat, just as the smoke had when I escaped the fiery fragments of my childhood. Each one of my homes is gone—my father, my Adena, my house on the corner of Merchant and Elm.

I am homeless. Hopeless. Hollow.

“That’s not my home.” I hadn’t meant for the words to be whispered, though he looks at me like I’ve screamed them.

“Ilya?” he asks slowly. “Ilya isn’t your home?”

“Nowhere is my home. No one is my home. Not anymore.” I hold his gaze, raising my head high as I add, “You and your king made sure of that.”

We stare at each other, his scrutiny sliding over my face. “You’re not the only one who knows loss.”

“I have you to thank for that.”

“As do I,” he fires back. “Have you forgotten that I’m now fatherless as well? Or did you not consider that when you drove a sword through the king’s chest?”

“You killed a father,” I practically growl, stepping close enough to see the storm brewing in his gray eyes. “I killed a monster.”

His eyes flick between mine, simmering with something I can’t quite place. “Have you forgotten everything he did to you?” I whisper, pleading with him to remember the crimes of his childhood. “Everything he made you do? Not to mention what he did to this kingdom—”

“Enough.” His voice cuts through my own, commanding and quiet. “That’s enough.”

“What? You can’t handle hearing the truth?”

He grabs my arm, his grip callous like his next words. “I said enough. We’re leaving.”

With that, I’m fumbling for my pack before being pulled behind him down the narrow staircase. As we reach the bottom, I’m being roughly swaddled in my scarf, batting away the prince’s swift hands as he wraps the fabric around my face and hair. As soon as his feet hit the creaky floor, he tosses a coin at the grumbling man behind the counter, not sparing him another glance before tugging me beyond the run-down inn.

I blink in the blinding light of the rising sun, stumbling slightly as he steers me through the sea of people. The streets are flooded with merchants, drowning in mayhem. The Enforcer weaves us through the crowd, his eyes flicking from face to face above the bandanna covering the lower half of his own. I envy his ability to disguise himself so easily, what with his lack of identifiable hair.

I wiggle my wrist in his grip, testing my many options to break his hold.

“Don’t even think about it,” he murmurs, not slowing his stride.

I roll my eyes at his back. He’s increasingly insufferable.

He turns us down a tight alleyway, pausing long enough to throw a glance at me over his shoulder. “You holding up back there?”

“You ask as though you’d stop if I weren’t.”

“You truly know me so well,” he croons, pulling me down another bustling street. After several sharp turns, I’m slowing behind him, struggling to keep pace with his long strides. My leg burns, the dull pain growing into something far more demanding.

He must hear my panting, feel my dragging feet, because he slips into a shaded side street and slows to a stop. “Out of shape, Gray?”

I glare at him before directing my gaze to the gash across my leg. “Yes, my pace has nothing to do with the fact that I’m actively bleeding out.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic.” His words are light, but his gaze is anything but as it travels down my body, finally landing on my thigh. And then he’s suddenly crouching before me, hands braced on my leg. I can do nothing but blink at the bent head of messy black hair beneath me. He fiddles with the bandage peeking through the ripped pants atop it, fingers skimming my skin. “Are you really bleeding out on me, or just too stubborn to admit you need a break?”

“Maybe,” I grit out through a false smile, “I need a break because I’m bleeding out. Which is because of you.”

He’s distracted by my now-exposed wound, offering me an amused “Hmm.” I wince when he dabs at the hot blood trailing down my leg in red rivulets. His touch is so gentle, so disguised with something akin to care. I swallow when his hands roam the sides of my thigh, silently reminding myself why I’m injured in the first place. Why I’m running in the first place. Why I’m so broken in the first place.

Then his hands slide from my skin to tug at the bottom of his shirt, leaving me frustratingly cold in the shade. He rips a piece of cloth with ease before tugging my leg toward him to rest atop his own from where he kneels. I replace myself committing the sight to memory with a smug smile.

I feel anything but Ordinary with the prince on his knees before me.

“Hold still,” he murmurs. “You’re swaying like a drunk.”

I frown at the ebony hair tumbling over his brow. “You stole one of my legs.”

“Yes, a leg. Not your balance.”

I shake my head at the wall I’ve planted a hand against. “You’re insufferable.”

I catch the corner of his smirk as he ties off the new makeshift bandage and gently lifts my leg onto the ground. He stands, towering over me so suddenly that I replace myself taking an unsure step back against the grimy wall.

“Better?” he asks, noting my skittishness with the softening of his gaze.

“Fine,” I manage. “I’ll make the trek to my doom, don’t worry.”

His eyes roam over me, scrutinizing with a sense of uncertainty. “Then we best be on our way.”