Crown of Lies

“I know!” I grabbed my hair, twisting it with nerves. “I forgot. It all happened so fast.”

“If it meant so much to you, you should’ve remembered.” His tone wasn’t condescending or cruel, but his words bit into me like wasps.

I swallowed my sadness, embracing anger. “It was new. He gave it to me this morning.”

“And you’re sure they took it?”

“Of course, I’m sure.” I spun around, yanking my hair off my nape to show the cut left behind from when they’d yanked the chain. “See?”

“I asked for your belongings to be returned.” His face hardened as if taking my loss personally. “They returned them.”

“I know—”

“Be grateful you didn’t have to give up something else other than a birthday trinket.” He licked his lips, sullen annoyance bright in his gaze. “By the way, happy birthday.” He turned and stalked forward, either expecting me to follow or doing his best to revoke his promise to escort me home.

He was right, of course. A silly gemstone in exchange for avoiding pain? It was a small price to pay. But my God, it hurt to think of my father’s gift—my beautiful sapphire star—in the hands of those creeps. Being touched by them, sitting in their grimy pockets, destined to be sold to someone who would never know its origins.

Dad will hate me.

Guilt ate at me with sharp silver teeth. My father would understand if I told him the truth about what’d happened—if I was brave enough to admit I’d left without telling anyone. He would forgive me.

But what would this man think of me? He’d rescued me, and instead of being relieved, I’d almost burst into tears because a necklace that was worth a few thousand had been taken.

A life was worth more than a bauble. I wasn’t a silly child anymore.

I’d never been a silly child.

I won’t start now.

Breaking into a jog, I caught up to him and touched his forearm. “I’m sorry. I made it seem like I wasn’t grateful. That I was blaming you for not getting it back.” I licked my lips. “I’m not. I’m just sad I let them take it, but you’re right. It’s only a necklace.”

He slammed to a stop, his eyes locked on where I touched him. He swallowed hard. “You don’t have to explain to me.”

“Yes, I do. I owe you. I don’t want you to think I’m some sort of princess.”

He shifted, his mouth pursing as he looked me up and down. “What birthday?”

I blinked. “What?”

“How old did you turn?”

“Oh, um—” I struggled to tell him. Not because I wanted to keep my private life private but because he was older than I was. He looked mid-twenties with hardness only born from fighting every day of his life. I was soft where he was sharp. I knew how to fight but in boardrooms and on conference calls, not on the streets.

He sighed. “I get it. You don’t have to tell me.” Pushing away, he continued walking; his jeans scuffed by his dirty sneakers.

“No, wait.” I trotted after him. “I want to tell you.”

He paused as I returned to his side, comfortable beside him even though I didn’t know him. “I turned nineteen.”

He laughed, low and short. “Wow, I knew you were young but not that young.”

“How young did you think?”

His eyes tightened. “Twenty, twenty-one.”

“That’s not a big difference.”

He pushed off again, wedging his hands into his pockets, revealing a habit. “Still a teen.”

I didn’t let that irritate me. “How old are you?”

A slight chuckle sounded as he pulled his hood back up, hiding his shaggy black-brown hair, adding yet more shadows to his handsome face. “Older than you.”

With the hood and the night sky, his face danced on my memory, already fading—as if my eyes hadn’t captured his features enough to imprint long-term recollection.

I crossed my arms. “Tell me. I told you.”

He glanced at me sideways. “Twenty-five.”

“Six years. That’s not much.”

“It’s enough to get some people thrown in jail.”

“Some people?”

He tossed his head with a tight roll of his shoulders. “Forget it.”

We walked in silence for a moment, my fingers trailing once again to my naked throat. I hated that I’d forgotten about my necklace. That I hadn’t taken stock and asked for it back. Did that mean I wasn’t worthy of such a gift—if I didn’t appreciate it enough to remember?

In a rash decision, I said, “You know, if I had remembered to ask for my necklace, it wouldn’t have been mine anymore.”

He scowled, waiting for me to continue.

“It would’ve been yours.”

Surprise flickered over his obscured face before finally settling into polite refusal. “No.”

“No?”

“Just no.”

Prickles raced down my spine. Half of me wanted to force him to accept the imaginary gift. A sapphire could’ve converted to showers and meals and a roof over his head rather than dangle around my silly little neck.

But he hunched his shoulders—not in a regretful way but more regal, more honorable than I’d ever seen. “I don’t need your fucking charity.”

His curse cut through our odd conversation.

I couldn’t undermine his good deed by forcing him to hypothetically accept something he would never have. But he had to know how much I appreciated his help. “I’ll give you more money when we get home, okay? I’ll make sure you’re compensated—”