14. Princess Erralee

fourteen

A brush across my cheek from a rough—but tender—hand, gave me goosebumps, causing my lashes to flutter. My eyes were closed but I could hear the wind moan through the trees outside as they seemed to hum out their own dirge. The air in the room was thick with the scent of burning logs, and ash, potent enough to scratch against my dry throat.

The hand firmly pressed against my forehead, doing some sort of assessment, then softened, lingering for a short moment longer, enough to awaken me more. I opened my eyes.

Reeves.

He was the darkest shape, a mere shadow, sitting alertly with his eyes glued to me. Something about his hushed expression put my mind at ease, and I wasn't afraid.

Mostly confused.

A roaring fire glowed, but other than that, the room was dark. I was in Reeves' house . . .

Out of reflex, I pulled myself upright.

Like an avalanche tasked with shattering the peaceful skyline, my memories flooded back. Father sold me.

Weston was at war.

I had run away.

That knot—the one that wrung the bile right from my gallbladder and charged acid into my throat—swelled so tightly, I resisted a dry heave. It was a nightmare. By now Father had to know I was gone. I never even made it out of the country! He'd surely be able to find me here. Panic continued to spiral through my chest with each inhale, and my exhale took on more force as I breathed out, "I need to leave."

Reeve's face crept into the soft glow emitted from the fireplace. His lips parted into a neutral position, and heaven-spun blue eyes held a quiet sensitivity, as if he knew all my secrets. "It's one of the worst blizzards in decades." His voice was gruff and sounded as hardened as the stony gaze he held on me. He clearly wasn't going to entertain any pushback from me now. "I found you about ten miles north of my house, on the opposite side of the castle, which means you walked almost twenty miles in a blizzard. You nearly froze to death. You aren't going anywhere."

My voice was weak, my breath barely enough to fill my lungs, let alone support whispering, but I'd been stubborn all my life, and wasn't going to stop now. I pushed my words out, "I, ah, told King Aswell I'd marry him, and I was going to do it." I waited for a beat, sucking more air past my lump. "This morning I found out my father let my guard—Weston, go to the frontlines to fight, and he'd been keeping it a secret."

Reeves' lashes lowered. "I'm sorry."

"I don't even know what that means." I stared forward. My vision was still a little blurry, but slowly adjusting to the dark room. Light haze fogged the room, and I wasn't sure if that was from my dizziness, or the dull ache in my heart. After a moment of introspection, I diagnosed it as the cloud of agony that encapsulated my life.

I squinted, doing my best to make out Reeve's features. He was his usual rugged self, as if he was doing manual labor all day, his blond hair was styled in a buzz cut, almost down to the scalp, clearly not shaking his military habit. He held a take-charge expression, but something else was layered beneath that. An irritation I couldn't place.

When he didn't offer any words, I nervously put him on the spot with a question, "Do you think I overreacted?"

His chin inclined, and he hit me with an indirect gaze as if he were weighing my words for truth. When he still said nothing, I went on the defense. "Weston is my best friend. For Father to send him to the front lines, after he promised to end this war if I married King Aswell . . . I felt like I'd died."

"You don't ever have to explain yourself to me." He shifted, now leaning even closer. His face was so near, it brought his scent of warm musky aftershave, adding to the miasma that already coated the air. The cocktail of scents had a calming effect on me. I hadn't slept more than an hour or two since I had met King Aswell. This entire week had my nervous system in knots. Finally getting away from the castle, even though it wasn't far, had a soothing effect on me and I felt as if my body was purging everything I left behind at the castle. Add to that, the hazy darkened room, and my six hours of traipsing in the snow, terrified out of my mind, I was exhausted. My eyelids wavered from opened to closed.

I searched for Reeves one more time, confirming what I already knew. He was still and sober, right next to me. Everything about this encounter felt like a dream. So much so, my eyes started to drift closed, and before I could resist, I'd fallen back asleep.

I awoke to the sound of someone walking on the roof. Unfortunately, I'd long since left the naivety of my youth to wish for Santa. My eyes grazed the room. It wasn't any different from any of the other farmhouses that father had owned. Each was very modest but had enough space for a family. The living room that I was in had a single plaid sofa in the center, facing a large fireplace with a mounted TV above it. It was clean, without wall hangings on the knotted pine walls and open wood beams that framed an arched ceiling.

The kitchen was adjacent and ran in a L shape along two walls with masculine wood cabinets and darker stone countertops. The entire space was free from clutter. Except for the coat rack by the door, piled with heavy coveralls, and a couple of hats, I could barely tell someone even lived here. It didn't look at all like it used to when the Barnes family lived here.

The Barnes raised three kids, and always kept things piled in every corner. Books or toys. With them being the closest neighbor with kids, Weston and I visited several times in our youth. There was always laughter ringing in the air, and something freshly baked on the stove. Of course, they treated me specially, offering me all the refreshments they had. Often, I wasn't hungry, but I accepted the treats on behalf of Weston. As a growing boy, he always had an insatiable appetite, and I'd stuff the treat in my pocket to give to him later. My gaze dropped to the side as I thought about Weston . . .

Things had changed so much since then. This war was speeding up transformation in the most unpleasant ways. I blinked, pushing the thought of the war away, and rose to my feet, crossing to the window, and listened. Obvious footsteps. Scraping. Then a massive plume of snow tumbled down. Is he shoveling the roof?

When his boots dangled down above my head, my suspicion was confirmed. A minute later, he shimmied down, using the porch rail as a step. When he landed on the deck, his eyes caught mine through the window. One side of his lips pulled up into that crooked grin he has, and he immediately pivoted and came inside. "Morning." His voice was softer than expected, as if he was committed to protecting the silence.

"Morning." Surprisingly I wasn't moping. Something about being tucked away at Reeves' house made my whole predicament feel unreal. I obviously couldn't stay here, because I would be found but the storm gave me a respite. "Shoveling the roof?"

Shaking his head, he moved toward the coat hook, removing his boots and heavy coveralls. Snow powdered down on the tiny woven rug beneath him, piling up. "This old house is such a piece of junk; I woke up to water drops in my face. I figured I didn't have long, or I would have a huge mess."

Wrapping my arms across my body, I protected my warmth from the chill the open door had let in. "That's not good."

"I clearly have issues with water." Dropping his hat on the hook next to his coat, he moved to the corner where a little broom was stored and quickly began sweeping the snow back outside, then rushed to close the door. "The pipes, the roof. It's like they are forcing me to move away."

"Let's hope not." It was just a response. It didn't really mean anything, but as soon as the words were out, his head tilted away as if he was trying to hide the tiny smile on his lips.

"I bet you're hungry." Reeves sauntered into the kitchen, removed a pot from the cupboard and looked at me as if wanting an answer. "The power is still out, but I can throw a can of soup in a pot and cook it over the fire."

"Yeah, whatever you have is great." I was self-conscious as I stood back and tried not to feel bad that I couldn't help cook. I didn't want to confess that I had never even made hot water for myself. Maybe I should have thought about that before I ran away? My life was going to change drastically, not having servants to do everything for me. I moved further into the kitchen, studying what he was doing. If I was going to learn to do things for myself, I might as well start now.

The tips of his fingers were still reddened from the weather as he held up two cans, flashing them at me. "Chicken Noodle or Vegetable?"

"Chicken is great." I pulled both of my brows up, gesturing toward the cupboard, trying to figure out how to be useful in the kitchen. "I can set out dishes—" I nervously rubbed my neck as my eyes drifted over to the tiny kitchen with no table. "Where do you eat?"

"Right." His T was extra sharp as he dumped the can into the pot and carried it to the fire. In my search for the table, I had missed him opening the can. I hadn't heard any power tools. Did it just pop open?

"Secret's out," he said in his teasing voice. "I'm a bachelor, and I eat right on the sofa."

"Perfect." I gave him a dismissive wave, careful not to show how out-of-place I felt being part of the cooking process. I shuffled my feet back toward the couch since I didn't find anything to do in the kitchen.

He was quiet as he lifted the cast iron pot with the handle, and carried it to the fireplace, adding another two logs to the already roaring blaze. He clearly wasn't one for small talk, but it was comfortable.

I arched my neck, peering down the hall. "Did you say you have a bathroom?" I filled in a beat with a deliberate blink.

"I dooo." He stretched the word to have three syllables while his eyes seeded with humor. "But remember the no-plumbing?" His gaze drifted through the window to the snow-covered deck.

"Oh." I stiffened. I obviously loved nature, so that didn't bother me, but it was a complete blanket of snow. "So, just head out outside?"

"There are some trees you can squat behind." He chuckled as if he was enjoying my fish-out-of-water predicament, but I couldn't see his expression because he was still turned toward the fire, adjusting his pot.

"Right." I inched toward the door, clamping down on my bottom lip as this conversation strengthened my urge. "It's like camping." I forced a positive tone, as I slipped on my shoes. When I stood up straight, Reeves had managed to move in right next to me, and offered his heavy coat. I took it, smiled at his conscientiousness, and placed a hand on the doorknob. "So…just trek on out and find a spot?"

"The world is your oyster." He playfully winked at me as if he was enjoying this too much, but the spark that seeded in the corner of his eye made my breath rush in unexpectedly. I didn't ever remember being affected like this just being near someone. Or maybe it was just my need to pee?

"You mean bathroom," I managed to joke back.

"That too." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the kitchen. "And I'll start the water for coffee on the fire, too."

"That would be lovely." Turning the knob, I didn't even have to pull the door back, because the wind was so strong, it flung the door at me. Gritting my teeth into the gusts, I plowed forward, pulling the door shut behind me. "This will be fun."

I surveyed the yard, deciding that proximity would be my friend. My eyes landed on a pine tree a few strides away. The tree was near, but the snow was almost waist high, and I struggled to move forward. My legs sank deep into each footstep of snow. My teeth chattered together as the snow filled my shoes, burning my feet. This was awful. I don't even know what the point of squatting is because the snow was so high, when I pulled my skirt up, my bare bum touched the snow. Still, I tried to stay positive, as I closed my eyes and squeezed.It was only a minute and it'd be all over. There wasn't an angle that was graceful, and no matter how I leaned, I couldn't stop the pee from getting on my shoe. If only Father knew what I was doing now. He'd immediately rush me back to etiquette school. This was disgusting, but it was done.

I gave myself a mental pat on the back. As I stood to fix my dress, a gust of wind rustled up the tree branches. It was almost like time had been put into slow motion as I saw the spiral ripple through the tree. I didn't react fast enough before an enormous mound of snow rolled off the top branch. Throwing my hands up in protection, it was obviously a feeble attempt at coverage that failed, and the mass plummeted directly on my head. I squealed as the pile dissected and snow trickled over my whole body, freezing me still.

Shaking from the cold, I strained to brush it away, while running toward the house, desperate to get warm. I rounded the tree, my eyes met Reeves, who was standing on the deck. He had a rascal smile on his face, as if he was dying to make fun of me.

"Not funny." I stomped the snow off my shoes as I trekked across the deck.

"I heard you scream. I thought a coyote had got you." He stood back, allowing me to go indoors first, still chuckling through his words. "I think you're going to need to change. I don't have anything your size, but I can get you a sweatshirt and some shorts."

My eyes regarded the coat, layered in wet snow. I could easily remove that but the whole bottom of my skirt had been layered in snow from traipsing through it. There was no way I could brush it clean. It would only take a minute in the warmth of this cabin, and it would be soaked. Clearly, I hadn't thought out this running-away-on-foot thing, as I could have used at least one change of clothes. Without another option, I relented. "That would be great."

"Come back here." He led the way to his bedroom. I maintained a straightforward stare, trying not to snoop, but I was curious. You can tell a lot from a person's room. Even though he had recently moved in, it was apparent he'd tried to make it his own. The single window had blackout curtains and a blue blanket on the wood-framed bed. The bed was neatly made—military corners—and I gave him huge props for that. On the side table, he had a set of earbuds, a wireless phone charger, and a Bible. A large dark wood dresser sat across the room, the top space bare except for a small fan. "Here." He laid his items on the corner of the bed and went straight to the door, calling back, "Let me know if they don't work."

With shivers still trembling through me, I slipped off my dress as quickly as I could and picked up his sweatshirt. The inside was a soft fleece that was cozy against my skin. As I grabbed his shorts, a blush hit my cheeks. I stepped into them and then padded back to the living room, the aroma of strong coffee leading the way.

Reeves already had two bowls of soup waiting on the counter.

"Thank you." I reached out and cupped a bowl with both of my hands, and brought it close to my body, the heat warming me. With one eye steady on my filled-to-the-brim bowl that was steaming out of the center, I headed to the sofa. I don't think I'd ever eaten anything that came from a can before. I wouldn't really know as we always had chefs at the palace, but I went an entire day yesterday without a bite to eat, and I was famished. Nothing ever looked more delicious to me in my life.

Reeves retrieved the other bowl and casually took the spot on the couch next to me. "Sorry about the seating arrangements. I wasn't planning on having company."

"Don't apologize." I lifted my spoon, scooped up a noodle, and held it up, letting it steam. "I'm sorry about my intrusion. You must know this wasn't my plan."

"I don't mind." As he lifted his hand to eat, his arm brushed against mine, and it left prickles that spiraled up my arm.

Sitting with Reeves was not uncomfortable, but he was always so quiet, and the silence expanded enough to make me risk small talk. "How much snow did we get?"

"A little over sixteen inches so far, but it's supposed to pick up again this morning and bring another foot today. With the wind, it will be a complete whiteout again." He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "You won't be going anywhere for at least another day."

"That might be okay." I considered the timeframe as I spoke. "It will give me time to come up with a plan."

His brows furrowed together, pinning a confused look in place. "You don't know what you're doing?"

"Do I ever?" I flashed a look heavenward. "I obviously didn't plan any of this. I'd been preparing my heart for engagement, but this feeling of betrayal enveloped my heart." I paused, taking time to swallow, even though there wasn't any food in my mouth. It was the swelling that came whenever I pictured sweet Weston on the frontlines. Yeah, he was a trained infantry soldier, but never a fighter. He went into the military with the sole intention of being my personal guard because Father had already laid the offer on the table. It was known from the start that Weston was always to be at the palace, and never in danger. It was a way for him to earn money right out of school, without having to go from home. And don't get me started on his poor, single mother. She had to be beside herself. As far as I was concerned, Father betrayed us all.

"You could go to America." His expression was indifferent.

I hadn't thought about going that far, but it made sense once the words were out. I couldn't hang around here where I could be recognized. As I scooped up the last of my soup, I pictured myself walking on an American city street, blending into the crowd. I could get a job in some office, maybe as an assistant or something. Nobody would ever suspect a princess would work that kind of job. I'd wear those high-rise trousers that I always see American businesswoman wearing on TV, with white button shirts. I could easily cut my long hair into something that's perceived to be more professional. It could work. "I've never been there. Have you?"

"A few times." He reached over and took my empty bowl from me, returning our dishes to the sink. It hadn't dawned on me until that moment that perhaps I was supposed to take care of my own bowl. I'd never cleared a dish in my life. I wasn't even sure what you did with them when they left the table. He put them in the sink. Did you air them out for a while? I would assume you'd need soap . . .

"Do you want coffee?" He cut off my train of thought, by flashing the coffee pot at me.

"I'm good, thank you." I brought my feet up in front of my body, curling into a ball while pondering on the idea of America. "If I went to America," I rubbed the back of my neck, speaking as the thoughts came. "I'd have to fly and could be tracked. Unless do you have a way—"

"I wasn't special intelligence." He snickered as if he was reading my mind, but after a moment of silence he had some suggestions. "You'd have to get a fake ID to travel commercially. Or, if you have the money, you can risk paying someone off." He held a serious expression as if this was an average conversation, but that grated on my conscience. Clearly, he'd been through some stuff, but disappearing and faking identities shouldn't have been such an easy conversation for anyone. I considered it, but it felt so far-fetched, I had a hard time not giggling. It was absurd. His ability to have this conversation, and not be affected, made me curious about him.

Whenever we were together, I was the one who did most of the talking. I didn't know much about him. "So, the Army," I echoed, taking the rare chance since he brought it up. "What was that like?"

"Sucked." His one-word answer slammed the door on that conversation.

"Care to expand?" I winced at how not smooth that sounded, and I was glad he was standing behind me.

"Nope."

"You have to have gained something from it." I cringed, wondering why I was forcing this when it was clear he didn't want to talk about it. The thing is, I was curious. With Weston on the frontlines, I was terrified of all the things that were happening. Maybe I was wanting Reeves to say it was the best experience and you're never scared. It was silly because I wasn't naive about war. I was grasping for hope that maybe . . . someday, I'd see Weston again. I was also insanely curious about his hand, something that was always there but he never talked about. I turned, peering over my shoulder, hoping to glimpse at his facial expression or anything that would help me better to understand everything.

"It's one thing you're glad about when it ends." As if he couldn't risk even another prying question, he moved toward the door and slipped on his coat. "I'm going to check on my animals."

My brows knitted together. I had hit a nerve, and now I felt awful. I wasn't trying to upset him, but I wanted to know something about him other than what was obvious. "Sorry," the word burst out.

He folded his bottom lip under as he gripped the doorframe and slipped on his boots. "I'm fine not talking about me."

My lips fell apart as I now had this nagging guilt. I pinched my words as he placed his hat on his head, nodded his goodbye, and left.

Bringing my thumb to my mouth, I chewed on the tip of my thumbnail as I watched through the window. I thought about how he forced me to dance with him at the festival. He had seemed so charismatic that night, so different. Almost as if he were playing a character role of some sort. Today, he slipped back into a somber tone. He was hard to place. Definitely moody. It was clearly two different people.

A chameleon. Though I could understand his need for different facades, that made me nervous. Who was he really, and why did it seem as if he was trying to be someone he wasn't sometimes?

It's almost like he's up to something.