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The Cruel Prince

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Holly Black
Holly Black

Holly Black, born on November 10, 1971, is a renowned fantasy fiction writer from the United States. Her works are known for their unique imagination and profound emotional depth, which have won her a large fan base. more

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“The crossbow is where I left it, in the drawer of Dain's desk. I draw it out, cock it back, and point it at Cardan. He draws a ragged breath. 'You're going to shoot me?' He blinks. 'Right now?' My finger caresses the trigger. I feel calm, gloriously calm. This is weakness, to put fear above ambition, above family, above love, but it feels good. It feels like being powerful. 'I can see why you'd want to,' he says, as though reading my face, and coming to some decision. 'But I'd really prefer if you didn't.' 'Then you shouldn't have smirked at me constantly- you think I am going to stand being mocked, here, now? You still so sure you're better than me?' My voice shakes a little, and I hate him even more for it. I have trained every day to be dangerous, and he is entirely in my power, yet I'm the one who is afraid. Fearing him is a habit, a habit I could break with a bolt to his heart. He holds up his hands in protest, long bare fingers splayed. I am the one with the royal ring. 'I'm nervous,' he says. 'I smile a lot when I'm nervous. I can't help it.' That is not at all what I expected him to say. I lower the crossbow momentarily. He keeps talking, as though he doesn't want to leave me too much time to think. 'You are terrifying. Nearly my whole family is dead, and while they never had much love for me, I don't want to join them. I've spent all night worrying what you're going to do, and I know exactly what I deserve. I have a reason to be nervous.' He's talking to me as though we're friends instead of enemies. It works, too; I relax a little. When I realise that, I am nearly freaked out enough to shoot him outright.”

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“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. 'I wonder,' he says. 'What would you do for me?' 'I don't know what you mean.' This riddling figure with flinty eyes isn't the Locke who stood on the rooftop of his estate and spoke so gently to me or who chased me, laughing, through its halls. I am not quite sure who this Locke is, but he has put me entirely off balance. 'Would you forswear a promise for me?' He is smiling at me as though he's teasing. 'What promise?' He sweeps me around him, my leather slippers pirouetting over the packed earth. In the distance, a piper begins to play. 'Any promise,' he says lightly, although it is no light thing he is asking. 'I guess it depends,' I say, because the real answer, a flat no, isn't what anyone wants to hear. '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?' 'I- I don't know,' I say. All this must be leading up to some declaration on his part, either of affection or of a lack of it. 'Do you love me enough to weep over me?' The words are spoken against my neck. I can feel his breath, making the tiny hairs stand up, making me shudder with an odd combination of desire and discomfort. 'You mean if you were hurt?' 'I mean if I hurt you.' My skin prickles. I don't like this. But at least I know what to say. 'If you hurt me, I wouldn't cry. I would hurt you back.' His step falters as we sweep over the floor. 'I'm sure you'd-' And then he breaks off speaking, looking behind him. I can barely think. My face is hot. I dread what he will say next. 'Time to change partners,' a voice says, and I look to see that it's the worst possible person: Cardan. 'Oh,' he says to Locke. 'Did I steal your line?”

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“Looking up at Cardan, though, something strikes me wrong. His eyes are glittering with fury and desire and maybe even shame. A moment later, he blinks, and it's just his usual chilly arrogance. 'Well? Be quick about it,' he says impatiently. 'Kiss my foot and tell me how great I am. Tell me how much you admire me.' 'Enough,' Locke says sharply to Cardan. He's got his hands on my shoulders and is pulling me roughly to my feet. 'I'm taking her home.' 'Are you now?' Cardan asks him, eyebrows raised. 'Interesting timing. You like the savour of a little humiliation, just not too much?' 'I hate it when you get like this,' Locke says under his breath.”

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