The Thief and Prince

Chapter 29: Put Away Childish Things

"I can't let you do that," I protest with a shake of my head. "It's not right—not fair to you, your family, or your people." As much as I want him to choose me, I can't allow it.

He gives me a smirk and shrugs. "It's not really up to you at this point," he tells me pointedly.

The corners of my lips turn downwards as I frown, "Crispin," I huff.

"Cora," he mimics in a matching tone.

"I don't think you realize how big of a decision this is," I begin, crossing my arms over my chest. "You haven't calculated what could result from this. Your father seems like a temperate man. He could cut you off from any entitlements, or banish you to a life of isolation, or have me executed, or-" I ramble, but he cuts me off with a chuckle.

"Yes those are possible, but as his son I highly doubt he would do such a thing. Rose was his only daughter, the final threads that kept him attached to our mother in a way. I'm nothing but the youngest of three sons," he says with a shake of his head, "The odds of me becoming king are low. If Thomas or Rory ever have sons, the crown passes to them."

Even though he has a point, I still do not agree with his decision. Sure, I suggested the idea, but I never actually intended with him going through with it. How would this reflect on me? Would I be seen as a homewrecker? Taking a Paevian prince away from home, ruining his future in the process? The idea leaves me with disconcertion, but I must admit it also fills me with a hint of giddiness and I cannot conceal the smile that slowly creeps onto my face. Pressing my lips together, I give a nod and he takes my hand.

He motions me to follow him and I do as we slowly stroll through the green house once again.

"When do you think would be the best time to tell him?" I ask as we grow closer to the exit.

He slowly lets out an exhale and shrugs, "The sooner the better I suppose. He seemed in good spirits tonight, best to catch him now rather wait for another opportunity."

My eyes widen a fraction at this. So soon? I assumed we would have another day or two to get both our thoughts and reasonings together, to somehow prepare for the imminent argument. Crispin does know his father better than me on the other hand, and who am I to say that there would be no better time than the present?

I remain silent as we leave the garden and trudge through the snow, following our footprints back until we are once again inside the palace. We ascend the stair cases until we reach the third floor. Even though we are quite a ways down from the dining hall, I can still hear the lively music and chatter coming from the dinner guests, their voices wafting through the empty corridors.

It takes a few moments for me to make it out, but with each step their chatter morphs into a chant and I am able to decipher the words. "Acadian! Acadian! Acadian!"

Crispin and I share a curious look, wondering exactly what Amiri could be doing to earn such an ovation. Our pace increases and we pause in the open doorway of the dining hall to see that our friend—still shirtless—is standing atop of the long table, Thomas by his side. Their heads are tilted back and in their right hands are massive tankards that empty its contents into their gullets. It's clear they are having some sort of competition as to who can finish their drink the fastest, and by the vertical angle of Amiri's mug, it's clear he is in the lead though Thomas is close behind.

It moments, the last few drops empty into Amiri's mouth and he holds the tankard upside down above his head, serving as proof he has finished the contents entirely. The crowd of aristocrats cheer and begin to shout his name in their own drunken stupor. Thomas then finishes his tankard as well before letting out a loud belch. They laugh while Amiri shakes his hand and then wiggles his index finger to Laria in the "come hither" motion. It's easy to spot her in the throng of people—her red dress serving as a beacon as she towers over half the crowd.