Free The Marked Girl by Lindsey Klingele Page B

men’s room when a thought occurred to her. “I heard you talking to a girl in the tunnels. Is that the one you’re . . . betrothed . . . to?”
    â€œYes, that was her. Katerina.”
    Liv felt a small pang as she pictured the girl under the bridge. She’d been beautiful, all dark hair and fierceness. That girl seemed a perfect match for Cedric, with his rigid posture, untended wounds, and an actual betrothal ring. Liv imagined them in elaborate wedding gear, like two engravings from a fairy tale book sprung to life.
    As the male half of the living fairy tale pushed open the scuffed door of the men’s room, the image faded away.
    â€œShe said something about being killed?” Liv asked. “And now with the not-so-friendly alley attacker . . . what kind of trouble are you guys in?”
    Cedric turned to her, his eyes concerned.
    â€œYou were eavesdropping.”
    Liv shrugged.
    â€œYou should be careful when you do that, you know. You could overhear something you might not want to.” With that, he started walking quickly down the empty hallway, toward a door marked EXIT.
    â€œOkay, I can see you’re really, seriously committed to this whole man-of-mystery bit.” Liv said, her voice low. “But the vagueness stopped being charming around the time my face hit pavement. Don’t forget you owe me some answers.”
    â€œI have not forgotten, and I will keep my end of the bargain. If you are absolutely sure you want to know everything, follow me.”
    Liv hesitated, but only for a second.

THE PRINCE’S TALE
    T he diner just down the road from the museum was mostly empty, so Liv and Cedric took one of the orange vinyl booths by the window. It was mostly dark now, and when Liv looked through the plate glass, all she could see was her own reflection.
    Cold, recirculated air pumped down onto their booth from a grate in the ceiling, and Liv shivered. When the waitress came by to drop off some laminated menus, Liv ordered a coffee. She raised her eyebrows at Cedric. He just shook his head.
    â€œAren’t you hungry at all?” Liv asked.
    â€œI am fine.”
    But she saw Cedric’s expression as he glanced over the pictures of pancakes and French toast on the menu. Liv had seen that look before—hunger was hard to hide.
    â€œLook, I can’t decide between the Hash Brown Surprise and the Chocolate Waffles Supreme . . . split them with me? My treat.”
    Cedric tore his eyes away from the menu, but said nothing.
    â€œCome on, you’ll really be helping me out,” Liv continued. “I don’t feel like eating alone, and it’s not like my foster mom is going to have a hot dinner waiting for me. Rita has many gifts, but cooking? Not among them.”
    Cedric’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Foster mom?”
    â€œYou know, a foster parent. Legal guardian.”
    â€œGuardian?” Cedric’s voice was pitched unnaturally high. Liv wondered if he was messing with her. Had he really not heard of the foster system?
    â€œYeah, like, appointed by the state. She takes care of me because my parents can’t.”
    â€œOh,” Cedric answered, his eyes clearing. “Why can’t they?”
    â€œThey’re dead.”
    Liv kept her eyes on the table, feeling a little bad about her blunt reply. She knew just springing the dead-parent thing like that could freak people out, reduce them to stammering, pity-filled gazes, or worse—follow-up questions. Liv had become adept at steering entire conversations away from that inevitable next question— what happened to them?
    She finally lifted her eyes to Cedric’s. He was looking directly at her, his mouth turned slightly down. He sat very still.
    â€œI am sorry.”
    Liv shrugged and pointed to the menu again. “So are you going to help me with my pile of carbs or what?”
    â€œMaybe I will have a little,” he finally said.
    When the waitress