Princess of Thorns

“And seduction is a lie, too, I suppose?”

“Of course it is,” Ror says, sounding angrier by the minute. “Unless you mean the sweet things you whisper, seduction is the same demon wearing different clothes.”

“Or no clothes at all,” I say, but the joke falls flat. I’m not amused by Ror’s assessment of my character, and he’s obviously not amused by me.

“And if you neither care for her nor lust after her,” he says, biting out the words, “then you’ll look straight past her. Like a shadow on the ground.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It is not. I’ve listened to the stories you tell,” he says, that wounded note creeping into his voice again. “It’s obvious that any girl who isn’t bound to you by blood or affection—or busty enough to catch your eye—isn’t worth your time.”

“I couldn’t care less about the size of a girl’s bust,” I say, forcing another smile I don’t feel. “I prefer a shapely back end and pretty feet and soft—”

“Ugh!” Ror growls. “You’re impossible!”

“I’m not impossible,” I snap, close to losing my patience as well. “And I’m not the criminal you’re making me out to be.”

“I never said you were a criminal, I said—”

“This world preys on the weak,” I interrupt, tired of Ror’s preaching when he’s far too young to sit at the front of the chapel, let alone occupy the altar. “I’m bigger, stronger, and used to dealing with the rougher parts of life. I’m obligated to protect the women I love from the misery that awaits girls who have no protector. I can imagine what would have happened to Ha

“Because they are strong enough to know the truth, and proving that to themselves will make them stronger.” Ror sits up straighter in his saddle. “And perhaps, if men were brought up to be gentler people, women wouldn’t have need of protectors. Have you ever thought of that?”

I shake my head. “Men aren’t going to change, Ror. Men are what they are.”

“And women are more than you allow them to be. Women can be strong, Niklaas. If given the chance, they can handle the world, maybe even handle it better than a man.”

“All right.” I snort. “If you say so, Ror.”

“I do say so.”

I look straight at him before I roll my eyes, wanting to make sure my opinion of his opinion is abundantly clear. “Maybe you’ve met girls like that in your many travels around your enchanted fairy island, but that’s not the way it is in the real world.”

“It isn’t, is it?” he asks, his hands begi

“No, it isn’t.”

“It isn’t,” he repeats with a strained laugh. “Well you wouldn’t know real if it came riding up to you and cut off your stupid, thick head!”

Ror digs his heels into Button, sending the horse bolting forward with a whi

Still, his rant has given me new reason to hope. It’s clear he doesn’t understand normal, human women, and maybe not even his own sister. Aurora might want to be protected, to be sheltered and cherished and, yes, lied to, when necessary. She might appreciate the line of defense a man can offer from the harsh realities of the world.

And if not—if she wants to ride a horse astride and teach me wicked kissing tricks like a fairy girl—then I will make sure she knows I can appreciate that as well.

Ror is wrong on one thing for certain—Aurora will never be a shadow for me to step on; she will be the light at the end of my long, dark night.

Chapter Eleven

Aurora

I should slow down and let Niklaas catch up, but I’m too angry.

Pointlessly, stupidly angry.

Niklaas is the way he is, and I like him fine that way—so long as I’m Ror and not Aurora—and by the time he finds out I’m not a boy, I will be on my way to war and have no energy to waste being angry with anyone but the queen. I shouldn’t waste my energy with pointless anger now, but that doesn’t stop me from pushing Button to run faster.

We easily outdistance the other riders on the road, kicking up dust that swirls around the tired horses and heavily burdened carts trundling through the pass toward Goreman. Hard-faced men and boys turn to stare as I charge by, the wariness in their eyes making my skin prickle. It’s not smart to attract attention, even if my face is concealed, but I can’t seem to stop. It feels like I’m ru

There’s a part of me that longs to tell Niklaas the truth, naively hoping he’ll remain the same when I’m revealed to be the prey he’s hunting. I don’t want to lose my new friend to my true self, I don’t want to look into his eyes and see a rake intent on seduction in the place of my companion or a liar determined to “protect” me.

With every day that we’ve traveled, Niklaas has impressed me more. He is insufferable at times, but he is also a good, brave person with a kinder-than-average heart. I want him to truly be my friend, Aurora’s friend. A person Aurora can tease and confide in the way “Ror” has. I want to tell Niklaas the truth about Jor, and how vital it is I secure an army to free my brother. I want to tell him what it’s like for a girl to grow up with no one telling her she can’t be strong or wise or fierce. I want to tell him about Thyne and how I destroyed my best friend and how broken my heart is now, so broken that it will never—can never—be put back together again.

I want him to know that I’ve deceived him, and forgive me for it.

I want him to …

I want him …

I grit my teeth and push Button even harder, until we’re racing along so fast there’s no room in my head for anything but clinging to the reins and keeping my seat as Button strains toward the end of the pass. I refuse to let my thoughts take a single step down that road. It is a road to nowhere, with a cliff at its end and a long fall to crash against the jagged rocks of Things That Can Never Be.

Never, never, never, I chant inside my mind, but still my heart beats faster, that ca

By the time I reach the exit through the pass, it feels as if my chest will explode.

Button and I emerge from the narrow canyon and the land opens up like an enchanted storybook. The three hills of Goreman appear on the horizon, each one topped by tall stone buildings and taller onyx ruins that stab toward the sky like the crooked spine of a sleeping beast. Below the hills, the city folds down toward the sea, its bridges and towers and dozens of piers deceptively tame-looking from a distance. Even the arena—a stone hollow at the base of the first hill, a hole so perfectly round it’s as if a confectioner took a pudding scoop to the land—is a tidy, ordered thing.