Page 31 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
“Why do you assume that I went to the crime scene?” The side of his mouth ticked as his gaze raked over her.
She was over the back-and-forth question game. “Your attire is disheveled, which is uncharacteristic of you.”Disarmingly disheveledat that. She spoke clinically and without looking up. “And you’re wearing dress shoes that are scuffed and covered in mud. Your hem is also coated with mud, your right cufflink is missing, and the collar of your shirt is ruffled. A splotch of dirt runs from your neck to behind your ear. I can’t imagine you were playing in the mud for fun.” She bit her lip, the fire in her belly bouncing to a three-four tempo. “So, I ask again, why are you tampering with evidence and trying to cover up this murder?”
Silence coated the room like coagulated blood. He sucked in a breath but said nothing. Perhaps he was shocked by her deduction.
“I am not tampering with evidence nor trying to cover up the murder,” he said finally.
Lies. It was all lies. The guilt was plain to see on his clothing.
Emotions bombarded Quinn from every angle, and she could no longer keep them hidden and trapped in the deep prison inside of her. They spilled out when she said, “You’re such a liar.” The words came out more as a sob.
“I’m not,” he nearly growled. “I want to solve this murder. I need to.”
“Because you feel responsible?” She spat out, “Because you threatened her last night.”
“Because I care.” His voice was hollow.
He sounded sincere, but Quinn had never known him to care about anything other than having fun. He attended the Viridian at least three times a week and had the nickname of the Playboy Prince. He was callous and spoiled.
So, it was hard to believe he cared. Emrys Avalon didn’t care about anyone.
Even if he didn’t kill Jane, her death was not a spectacle. It was not an opportunity for a bored royal to play with or demean. Quinn wouldn’t allow it.
“That is the last thing in the world I would ever believe,” she said. “You don’t have the ability to care.”
Every muscle in his body went preternaturally still. “You’re so right. All I am is a rogue to be used and abused.”
Used and abused, right. She scoffed. “Who is Jane to you?” Quinn glowered.
“Perhaps I enjoy ballerinas, Quinnevere.” Emrys cocked his head. “Maybe I like the taste of them, the smell of them.” His devil-may-care smirk returned, but it was covered in rot and anger. “Maybe they’re my type.” His voice was a soft, unnerving velvet like the insides of the intestines. “Maybe I fuck them andthen kill them.” His broken smile stretched wider. “Maybe you’re next.”
He took a vicious step forward, and without thinking, Quinn picked up one of the tools on her tray, and she hurled it at him.
The next events seemed to happen in slow motion. The edge of his lips quirked up as the blade carved through the air.
She’d thrown a scalpel.
Oh fuck, a scalpel. She’d thrown a knife at his throat, and it would hit and slice through his carotid artery at its current projection.Shit, Quinn didn’t mean to do that. Was she now to be a murderer as well?
“No.” The word slipped from her mouth.
The last seconds were the worst because he hadn’t moved, and Emrys Avalon, prince of New Swansea, was going to die.
But—
But he didn’t. In the last second, Emrys moved his hand and caught the blade between two fingers, a centimeter from his skin.
“What the fuck?” Quinn breathed, stunned.
Emrys was not . . . normal. She was certain of it now.
“I seeyou wantto murder me,” Emrys said, lowering the knife from his throat.
She did. Metaphorically. Never in reality.
“How in all the mirrors did you do that?” Quinn asked. “You’d have to be Mirror-Blessed.” It wasn’t a question anymore. With a move like that, it was undeniable. The prince had magic.
“I know you’ve always wanted to hold a knife to my throat, Quinnevere”—his anger dropped, and his voice was back to his usual dark and sensual tones—“but this seems excessive.”
