Oculta

“Qué? Firework only worked when we were younger, lighter, and infinitely dumber.”

“Dumber?” Luka questioned while stroking his chin. “Or more innovative?”

“You have grown up on tales and histories of kings and queens, some worthy and noble, others driven by greed. Do you recognize a common thread among those who rose to become legends?”

Alfie cocked his head, thinking of the tales he’d heard throughout his childhood. “Confidence?” he said. “Strength?” Two things he sorely lacked.

“No,” Paloma said with a shake of her head. “Hesitation.”

Alfie stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“The rulers who were consumed by greed and ambition were the confident ones who ran to claim the throne without a second thought, never wondering if they were worthy. They sought glory, not the betterment of their people. At best, they were forgettable rulers; at worst, they were disgraced. Those who became great and loved and remembered were those who hesitated, those who knew the task before them was one not to be taken lightly. Those who were afraid but stepped forward nonetheless.”

But things had changed. Neither the invigorating roar of a crowd nor the thrill of a well-executed thieving made her feel seen. Not anymore. What made her feel seen were the prince’s golden eyes, thoughtful and imploring. The gaze promised that beneath the grime of all that she’d done, she was still flesh and bone. Still human.

Broken, yes, but never beyond repair.

She’d lose herself there and then find herself once more when she found him.

In the back of the journal, instead of sketches of the faces she’d stolen, were drawings of Alfie. Some were of what she imagined him doing now, reading a book in the library or sitting at his desk in his rooms, his brow furrowed. Some were of moments they’d suffered together—her favorite was the sketch of him asleep at her bedside, his head lying in the cradle of his arms. She tucked it back into her pocket, his words echoing in her head.

I believe you. I believed you then and I believe you now, even if you don’t.

It was his voice that made her want to wear the face she’d been born with.