A collective intake of breath passed over the guards. Even General Van Houten seemed to pause at the declaration.
Only one person was unperturbed. Hovering several feet behind the general was a tall man with dark olive skin, barefaced and too gorgeous to ogle outright without causing serious injury to brains and hearts alike. A gold circlet sat at his brow, and an unrestrained mop of black curls fell deliberately over gold eyes, which were rimmed by the darkest and longest lashes Risa had ever seen. His lips were full and inviting, cocked to one side and giving off an air of mischief. His white velvet doublet stretched over his wide chest, hinting at the muscles underneath. It was an absurd thing to wear when traveling inconspicuously, though perhaps no less inconspicuous than stomping around with a twelve-man guard.
No wonder he didn’t bother with writing poetry, mastering the sword, or being his father’s favorite. One didn’t require skills when they were so inexplicably beautiful.
Risa wanted to bash her head against a tree at the cruelty of the universe. What need did a prince have for good looks?
“Brunie, I’m starting to think youwantme to get kidnapped or murdered.” The prince smiled, a lethal, heart-stopping thing that made Risa scowl with displeasure. He tapped a forefinger on his cleft chin in mock thought. “Though I do so enjoy a detour through haunted woods.”
His men shifted uncomfortably, eyes skittish as they tried not to stare too unabashedly at both Risa and Brunhilda.
“Your father knows I cannot intervene in human affairs too often but still wanted something to ensure your safe passage—”
The corner of the prince’s smile wavered for a moment. “You mean, he wanted to ensure I go through with the wedding.”
Brunhilda shrugged. “You’ve made it quite clear how thrilled you are with the arrangement.”
“I’ll do what I must for the good of my country, my men”—his gold gaze fell on Risa, and his smile brightened—“and women.”
She rolled her eyes in response. It must not have been the right reaction; his face turned quizzical, a furrow appearing between his thick brows.
“Good,” Brunhilda said, sounding unconvinced. “Because she’s your babysitter.”
“Another witch,” whispered a guard.
“A witch?” Prince Javi considered Risa, eyes alight with curiosity. She realized that they were the most expressive part of him and—with a sinking dread—that they were his most attractive feature.
Well, she supposed she’d have to avoid ever gazing into his stupid eyes, then.
“You’ll both have time to grate on each other’s nerves later,” Brunhilda interrupted. “Let’s get on with it.” She beckoned Risa with a flick of her wrist.
Risa did not want to move. While she was determined to use this ill-advised adventure as a way to rid herself of her bad luck, she knew it was a farce. Eventually, someone—whether general or guard or the prince himself—would figure out her secret, and she’d be cast out. Then her heart would still and she would be dead, an outcome she wished to avoid as much as she wanted to break her curse.
Before she could turn on her heels and run, a familiar zap of heat erupted across her skin. She fell onto her knees, fuming as the witch appeared at her side, pried open her rucksack, and soundlessly dropped in a velvet pouch. When Brunhilda was finished, Risa was forced to stand and toddle toward the prince.
“This is uncalled for,” she told the witch. She fought against the compulsion with more fury, but whatever fluke had let her break out of Brunhilda’s previous spell was gone. Instead, she drew closer to the prince, who watched with unbridled delight.
“Very well, witch,” General Van Houten spat. He regarded the old hag like she was scum beneath his military-issued boots. “Explain yourself.”
Brunhilda didn’t even blink. “I do not oweyouan explanation, Van Houten.”
The general opened his mouth, preparing some nasty retort, but the prince held up a hand that silenced him.
“Brunie, if you wouldn’t mind…” He trailed off, his voice like honey, deep and luxurious.
Brunhilda grumbled, “She’s a magical girl.”
All the men turned to look at Risa. Not in the way that most would a beautiful creature, but in the way wary men regarded a stray girl: with suspicion and doubt.
Prince Javi frowned. There was an intensity within the depths of his eyes that made her squirm, like he could see right through her. Alarm began to prickle at her skin as her heart hammered away in her chest, spurred by the fear that he would be able to see her curse. “I thought we were here for a spell or something,” he said.
“She’s better than any charm I can give you,” Brunhilda told the prince. Then, turning to the general, Brunhilda continued, “She’llbe able to catch the prince before he can even think of disappearing, because she has the gift of good luck.”
Apparently Risa didn’t need to fail her part of the agreement or try running away—her heart was going to give out right then and there.
Prince Javi kept staring. Brunhilda must have cast another spell, because heat rose along her skin as he gazed at her—not in fear like with the townspeople or his guards, but with curiosity, as if she promised intrigue.
He began to walk around her. An amused glimmer sparkled in his eyes. “She doesn’t seem very impressive,” the prince declared. “Nothing about her suggestsgood luck. And she doesn’t look like a witch,” he continued, stopping once they were face-to-face. He didn’t quite tower over her—he had only a few inches to her striking height—but something about him was almost imposing. Looming. “No crooked nose. No giant wart.”