The Thief and Prince

Chapter 16: Confessions

Someone coughing outside awakens me the following morning—too early for my liking. Letting out a sigh, I wince, noticing just how wrecked my body feels. I'd much rather sleep the day away and recuperate both physically and mentally, but I know that isn't an option.

Sitting up, I see the spot next to me is empty, the rustled sheets serving as evidence that I was not alone. It is then when I remember last night—from the brutal battle to the kiss—and I can't help but have a small smile form on my lips until suddenly it falters as I begin to realize what this means. My chest tightens and I run a hand through my tangled hair, pursing my lips. With everything that is going on there is no room for romance, and as easily as it would be to fall for Crispin I couldn't allow it.

He is a prince after all, with responsibilities and a future already mapped out for him where as I am nothing but a common girl who's only goal is to buy a small piece of land to call home. In reality, the two of us don't mix well—like water and oil, with two completely different upbringings. There is also the fact that his father would never allow us to be anything, as Crispin will be betrothed to marry some highborn girl or perhaps another princess from a faraway kingdom.

I then begin to imagine this woman, claiming his lips as her own, calling him her husband and perhaps ever carrying his children and suddenly I find myself jealous of this phantom I've drawn up in my head.

Besides, what if I am nothing more than just another conquest to him? A notch in his belt? He has proven that he hardly cares who he sleeps with, so who is to say I'm any different? It was only a kiss, nothing more. Perhaps he did so as a weak attempt to console me? Or perhaps with the events of the night, emotions were running high and that is the only way he knows how to release them? No, if that were the case, he wouldn't have rolled over and called it a night afterwards.

Shaking my head, I shove all thoughts of the prince from my mind, focusing on the task at hand. In the next few days we will make our arrival into Rorik. If any more fighting is to take place, I need to learn as much as I can within this short period of time, but would Amiri still be up for it? He did take a harsh beating only a few hours ago and if he's anything like me, his body must be aching.

Darko's words from the night before brings the realization that we have to continue to act as captives if we happen to ride by any scouts or outposts, but the thought of spending any more time in that damned wagon makes me cringe.

Knowing that I can't lay in bed all day, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and stand up, wincing as my muscles protest. Looking down, I realize that I'm still in Crispin's shirt and thoughts of him threaten to sneak back into my mind.

Bending down, I pick up my clothing from the crumpled pile to find that everything is still soaked. Not wanting to spend an entire day more uncomfortable than I have to be, I decide to keep Crispin's shirt and try my luck with the clothes in my bag.

Slipping on my boots, I don't bother lacing them and swipe up my clothing, stepping out of the tent. The first thing I notice is the mass of pale bodies that litter the muddy courtyard of the outpost, rigor mortis causing many to be contorted in grisly positions. Looking up, I see that the sky is overcast and dreary as a murder of crows caw as they fly to the west. A gust of air then blows sending a shiver up my spine and I shiver at the chilly air, knowing that winter is fast approaching.

Amiri and Laria pack our horses, having let the majority of them that belong to the dead run free. Darko still picks through the pockets of the fallen, shoving whatever coin he finds into his own. Crispin sits at one of the tables shirtless, looking over his wounds. Through the bandage on his bicep, I see that blood has seeped through during the night. His bruises are now more prominent and his eye is completely swollen and an angry shade of dark purple.