Read Prince of Hearts for Free Online

suspects come to mind. Or did the Crimea teach you nothing?”
    For once, he thought he’d gotten through to the Italian, whose face had lost all of its color. For a long time, Franco seemed adrift in some torturous thought, but it didn’t last long.
    “This is all ridiculous!” the Italian finally burst out, with a shake of his head. “Surely you don’t believe him, Llewellyn. He’s lying. Spinning this crazy tale, just as he always does, to cover up his madness.”
    Sasha sighed. “I’m not lying. I’m not hiding anything, and I’m certainly not mad – not yet anyway. I have given you my hypothesis, and that is all I can do. As I have never adhered to the Bonding practice I wouldn’t know who this villain is.”
    “Well, he knows you,” Rowan said darkly.
    “Just as he doubtless knows the distrust you have always felt for me. He is using it to distract you. But I have explained all of this before, to little avail. Nothing has changed.”
    “But it has,” Rowan said, studying the spectacles in Franco’s hand, his brow furrowed. “You said so yourself. He’s never left spectacles before. And, come to think of it, this is the first time it’s been a woman.”
    Sasha could feel the blood pumping faster through his veins with every word Rowan spoke, his resentment receding and that indefinable sense of dread growing stronger. He was missing something crucial. And the answer was in the spectacles, round and dainty, with thin, golden wire. So familiar.
    And it was in the woman herself. Small, slight and unenhanced – unusual in this age of mass Welding – with dark blonde hair. She was entirely unremarkable, or at least she should be.
    But not to him.
    He knew someone who shared all of these characteristics, down to the golden-rimmed spectacles. His gut was telling him it was not a coincidence.
    He’d let Finch go, alone, on a public airship, back to London, thinking it a great lark to see the dismayed expression on her face.
    He cursed and started for the exit to the courtyard.
    “Where do you think you’re going?” Franco demanded, signaling for his guards to cut Sasha off. They raised their weapons, blocking the exit.
    A snarling Fyodor stepped between him and the guards, ready to defend his master. Sasha was tempted to join Fyodor in brawling his way through the annoying flock of Italians, but he was already in enough trouble. Sasha touched Fyodor’s arm, staying him, and whipped around to face Franco.
    “I must return to London,” he said, as calmly as he could. “I swear to God, Franco, you’d better let me leave now. You have no right to hold me here, which gives me every right to toss all of these guards on their ears on my way out. And I will do it.”
    Franco reached into his vest and extracted a familiar, antiquated scroll, sealed with a dab of blood-red wax. Sasha’s heart sank – or it would have if it weren’t made of metal alchemy.
    “I have every right to hold you, as the Council has granted me an edict for your arrest,” Franco spat. “And if you value your life and the life of the abomination at your side, you will obey Council law.”
    “Insult my valet one more time, Franco, and I don’t care if you have a thousand edicts, I will rip your head off, consequences be damned. You have my word on that,” he said softly, and with such deadly intent even the restless gendarmerie surrounding him went still.
    Franco wisely held his tongue as he repocketed the edict, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Then he dared to extend his hand again. “I will have your wireless, Romanov. Council rules.”
    Sasha glowered at the Italian before he reluctantly gave over the device. He turned his attention to Rowan. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”
    Now Rowan was the one to look uncomfortable. “It is out of my hands, Sasha. I did all I could to persuade the Council to reserve its judgment. I even went to His Grace.”
    Rowan referred to the Duke of Brightlingsea, the de facto