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NEO

T he keys of the piano moved under Neo’s long fingers, the melodic sounds ringing out, calming his jittery impatience. He’d taken a bath, eaten, and now he was attempting to keep his thoughts off the offer his mother was making Zula. Most importantly, he was trying to figure out why he wasn’t invited. Truth was, the queen had her reasons, and if she decided not to share with him, there was nothing he could do. His heart sank and his fingers slipped off the keys just as footsteps approached.

“Sire?”

Neo stood, pushing his hair off his forehead with a sigh. “Don’t call me that. It’s too formal. ”

Thune shrugged good-naturedly. “It comes natural.”

“How did it go in there?”

“The Blue-Feathered Bard looked quite disturbed. I’d hate to be in her place.”

“And? What did my mother offer her?”

Thune’s face reddened. “She did that trick of hers. We could see their mouths moving, but couldn’t hear any of the discussion.”

“Ah. The bard is locked up, then?”

“In the adjoining room.”

“I’ll go to her. Thank you, Thune.”

Somehow he felt hot, palms sweaty, so he shoved them into his pockets as he made his way through the palace. He’d had her moved off the first floor into private chambers where he could keep an eye on her and stay comfortable himself, but far enough away from the royal wing where his family wouldn’t feel threatened. Zula would likely loathe her prison, for despite it being comfortable, it was a closet with no windows. He doubted she cared much for luxury, but he could be wrong .

The guard at the door gave Neo a nod. “She hasn’t tried anything yet.”

Dismissing the guard, Neo moved into the room, which had a bamboo bed, a large green plant growing beside it, a series of woven mats on the floor, two low chairs sitting beside a round table, and sheer curtains, which displayed the balcony when pulled aside. There was also a door in addition to the curtains, for security and privacy, but Neo noticed they were wide open. Tempting. The balcony offered a view of the hanging gardens, and even from inside Neo could make out the vibrant oranges and pinks of the bright flowers.

Slowly, he turned his attention to the inner room. It was nothing more than a closet, a place where he and his siblings used to play hide and seek. It was overlarge, meant for storing treasure—not clothes—since his mother thought the very idea of a treasury was nonsensical. Why keep all the treasures of the palace in one place? She’d spread them out among the floors, hidden in nooks and crannies and closets. Once, Neo had found an ornate jewelry box hidden in a hole under a potted plant. His mother had made him put it back, but he was certain there were many lost treasures hiding in the palace.

Zula sat on the floor in the closet, back against the narrow bed—just large enough for one. Her arms were curled around her legs, chin resting on her knees as she faced the door. She’d been tied up, but just by her good ankle. Neo followed the rope, which ended around the bed. He disliked the way Zula sat there, like a bird with clipped wings.

She looked up at him, and her face went tight.

Neo meant to untie the rope, to assure her there was no need for it, granted that she promised not to run away, but when their eyes met, there was something in them he’d never seen before. Shame? Awareness? He wasn’t sure, but she saved him the trouble by speaking first, voice flat. “You’re the prince.”

It was an accusation, and suddenly he recalled her asking about the royal family in the carriage, and what he knew of them. He’d thought it odd then. Why would she ask a prince about his own family? “I thought you knew,” he protested. “I’m the sheriff. I assumed?—”

“You could have said so.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Neo shrugged. “I’m not the crown prince; I won’t inherit the kingdom. The crown belongs to my older brother.”

Zula narrowed her eyes. “Of course it matters. You. . . you’re of royal blood, and . . . ” She trailed off and wiped at her nose.

It struck Neo that she was upset with him for withholding the knowledge of his title. First she’d been furious he was the sheriff, now this. He couldn’t fix it, nor should he try. He was a prince. She was a thief. “My mother . . . ” He cleared his throat and tried again. “The queen wanted a word with you in private. I came to ask what she offered you.”

Zula’s brown eyes bored into his. “You don’t know?”

“I’m sure she had her reasons for excluding me.”

There—he saw a gleam in her eye again, the thrill of excitement. She enjoyed having the upper hand. “I haven’t decided whether to accept, decline, or counter the proposal. Before I share with you, though, I have a question.”

He crossed his arms. “Ask.”

“Do you intend to keep me chained up here? Or is a bath, a hot meal, and fresh clothes an option? I was also invited to the masquerade, and I have nothing to wear.”

Neo suddenly felt hot all over at the idea of Zula in a bath. He managed to stay calm. “It is an option.”

“Good.” Zula stood, as though she were the one in charge. “Let’s negotiate over a meal.”