The Cruel Prince by Holly Black

King of all Faerie, asking me what I want. I barely dare answer, and yet I must.
    â€œI—I want to be your knight,” I stammer.
    His eyebrows go up. “Unexpected,” he says. “And pleasing. What else?”
    â€œI don’t understand.” I twist my hands together so he can’t see how they are shaking.
    â€œDesire is an odd thing. As soon as it’s sated, it transmutes. If we receive golden thread, we desire the golden needle. And so, Jude Duarte, I am asking you what you would want next if I made you part of my company.”
    â€œTo serve you,” I say, still confused. “To pledge my sword to the crown.”
    He waves off my answer. “No, tell me what you
want
. Ask me for something. Something you’ve never asked from anyone.”
    Make me no longer mortal
, I think, and then am horrified at myself. I don’t want to want that, especially because there is no way to get it. I will never be one of the Folk.
    I take a deep breath. If I could ask him for any boon, what would it be? I understand the danger, of course. Once I tell him, he is going to try to strike a bargain, and faerie bargains seldom favor the mortal. But the potential for power dangles before me.
    My thoughts go to the necklace at my throat, the sting of my own palm against my cheek, the sound of Oak’s laughter.
    I think of Cardan:
See what we can do with a few words? We can enchant you to run around on all fours, barking like a dog. We can curse you to wither away for want of a song you’ll never hear again or a kind word from my lips.
    â€œTo resist enchantment,” I say, trying to will myself to stillness. Trying not to fidget. I want to seem like a serious person who makes serious bargains.
    He regards me steadily. “You already have True Sight, given to you as a child. Surely you understand our ways. You know the charms. Salt our food and you destroy any ensorcellment on it. Turn your stockings inside out and you will never find yourself led astray. Keep your pockets full of dried rowan berries and your mind won’t be influenced.”
    The last few days have shown me how woefully inadequate those protections are. “What happens when they turn out my pockets? What happens when they rip my stockings? What happens when they scatter my salt in the dirt?”
    He regards me thoughtfully. “Come closer, child,” he says.
    I hesitate. From all I have observed of Prince Dain, he has always seemed like a creature of honor. But what I have observed is painfully little.
    â€œCome now, if you are going to serve me, you must trust me.” He is leaning forward in the chair. I notice the small horns just above his brow, parting his hair on either side of his regal face. I notice the strength in his arms and the signet ring gleaming on one long-fingered hand, carved with the symbol of the Greenbriar line.
    I slide from the chair arm and walk over to where he sits. I force myself to speak. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
    He touches a bruise on my cheek, one I hadn’t realized was there. I flinch, but I don’t move away from him. “Cardan is a spoiled child. It is well-known in the Court that he squanders his lineage on drink and petty squabbles. No, don’t bother to object.”
    I don’t. I wonder how it was that Gnarbone came to tell me only that a prince was waiting for me downstairs, but not which prince. I wonder if Dain told him to give me that specific message.
A well-seasoned strategist waits for the right opportunity.
    â€œAlthough we are brothers, we are very different from each other. I will never be cruel to you for the sake of delighting in it. If you swear yourself into my service, you will find yourself rewarded. But what I want you for is not knighthood.”
    My heart sinks. It was too much to believe that a prince of Faerie had dropped by to make all my dreams come true, but it was nice while it lasted.