Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Brendon’s lips twitched in amusement. “She forgot to tell you which book she wanted?” he repeated, laughter hidden beneath a calm tone. “And you forgot to ask? Your kingdom truly is in great hands.”

“I was distracted,” I complained as I reclined on the couch. Absent-mindedly, I raised both of my legs to rest in Brendon’s lap. As soon as I realized what I’d done, I started to sit up and apologize, but his hand rested casually on my uninjured ankle. I settled back into the couch and tried to focus on anything other than his warm palm. “I love Franny, but the truth is, she can be a bit scatterbrained.”

“Exactly what you want in a future queen.”

I pursed my lips. “Don’t be mean.”

After a long pause he said, “You’re right, I’m sorry. It just surprises me—not that I have any reason to be surprised, I don’t even know her.”

Though he spoke lightly, I could taste the bitterness of his words. After all, he’d tried to get to know her. “I don’t think she ignored your letters on purpose.”

His hand tensed, gripping my ankle for a moment before he relaxed and stroked it as if in apology. “So, you think it simply slipped her mind?” he asked, his voice dry and disbelieving. “Every month for years?”

“No, but picture this: one of the secretaries hands her a letter. She glances at it, sees it’s from you, has no time to read it, and sets it off into a ‘to-do’ pile, thinking that she’ll read it later when she has more time. Except this is the ‘non-urgent’ to-do pile, not the ‘must be done right this second’ to-do pile, and for the next month she’s very focused on the latter. Then your next letter arrives, and she thinks ‘oh fuck, I’ve messed up.’ What she should have done was sit down, read it, and reply right then. Maybe that was even the plan, but then someone needed something from her. This time, it gets placed in the ‘not exactly urgent, but should definitely be seen to quickly’ pile.”

Brendon gave me a skeptical look. “How many piles are there?”

“In Franny’s office? Seventeen, at least. Anyway, don’t interrupt my hypothesizing.”

“My apologies.”

“You’re forgiven,” I told him solemnly, “even though that was also an interruption.” He pinched my calf in retaliation, which I ignored. “Where was I?”

“Franny’s seventeen increasingly more important piles that my letters apparently found their way into.”

“Oh, right. Well, after a point, she’s embarrassed because she hasn’t replied but they keep coming, and now she simply has no idea what to say. She keeps telling herself she’ll read all of them someday and send you the long, carefully crafted reply you deserve. Except the day just never arrived.”

“So, instead of maliciously ignoring me, I was simply never important enough to receive her attention.”

Fuck, when he put it that way, it almost sounded worse.

“Your theory is pretty specific. Did she tell you any of that?”

I shrugged, as best as I could while lying down. “No, but she did keep all of them and they were all unopened, so it’s a pretty good guess.”

He arched a brow. “You’ve seen them?”

“I’ve read them,” I said before I thought better of it. Those were his private thoughts and even if Franny had given me permission—forced the task on me, more accurately—that didn’t mean Brendon was comfortable with it. “I mean—” My words cut off as his fingertips caressed my bare skin. Until that moment, I hadn’t registered that he’d been drawing small, idle circles. My stomach clenched and I glanced up at him to find him looking down at me contemplatively.

“What did you think?”

His fingers slipped higher up, the touch light and burning at the same time. I struggled to remember what we were talking about. “Think?” I repeated. Who the fuck could think about anything when he touched them like that?

“About the letters.” His hand clasped the back of my calf and gently caressed higher, pushing up the edge of my blanket-turned-modesty-shield for better access.

One of my hands clutched the back of the couch, the other fisted at my side so tightly that even my blunt nails dug into my palm. I tried to say something—I have no idea what—but the sound I made was part frustration and part need.

The hand stopped, which was good because some brain function returned to me. The phantom caress lingered, a promise of more to come.

“Normally I like driving my partners to incoherent sentences, but you’re concerning me a little bit.”

“You should go,” I blurted.

“Go? Rick,” he said slowly, like to a student who hadn’t quite understood the lesson, “I can’t go.”

“Alright, then I’ll go.” I stood up, clutching the blanket tight around me. I made it about three steps before I remembered two things: one, my leg still hurt and was barely holding my weight. Two, there were still vicious attack vines waiting on the other side of the door. I stared at my only exit in dismay for a long moment, keeping my back to Brendon so he wouldn’t see my, ahem, uncomfortable state.

I heard the shifting of the couch as Brendon stood up behind me. In a half-panic I limped to put a chair between us before I turned to face him.

“I’m not mad about the letters,” he said carefully. “It’s nice to know someone read them. Feels less like I wasted my time. Now, would you stop fooling around and sit down? You’re going to reopen your wounds.”

“I’m fine like this.” Though if it weren’t for the chair I would have fallen over already.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Rick.” He took a step toward me and I hobbled a step back. He froze and his eyes narrowed at me, like he was reading the fine print of a contract, determined to understand it down to the last letter. His assessment somehow made me even more nervous than his hands.

He stepped forward.

I took another hurried step back, clutching the chair back to keep from collapsing in front of him. Falling into his arms while at half-mast was a surefire way to get the sails fully hoisted.

He stepped forward again, his stride long, leisurely, calculated. With my shuffling rate, he’d already cut the distance in half. He reached out to me, and I scrambled backwards until my knees hit the arm of the couch. I had nowhere to go, but I’d been moving too fast. As I fell backwards, my brain suddenly decided: holy shit, holy fuck, we’re falling off a cliff into a bottomless chasm and if we don’t grab something we’re going to die.

I grabbed Brendon’s hand. Instead of saving me from the not-actually-dangerous fall, I pulled him down onto the couch on top of me. We both landed with a heavy thud, the wind knocked out of me as he accidentally slammed into my solar plexus.

Even though he pushed himself up quickly, I still stared dazed at the ceiling, gasping for breath.

“Rick?”

He hovered above me with one arm supporting him above his head and the other still desperately clutched in my hand. My injured leg hung off the couch, out of harm’s way, while the other one dangled over the couch arm, which left Brendon cradled between my thighs. Honestly, I was lucky he hadn’t hit anything else important.

He looked down at me, brow furrowed in concern, and I stared into his bright blue eyes. Only a few inches separated us. My breathing eased, but my chest still felt hot and tight. Even Brendon’s cheeks were flushed under his infinite freckles. My gaze traveled down to his lips, pink and plush and slightly parted.

We moved at the same time, me straining up toward him and him leaning down until our mouths met, more fiercely than intended. I slipped my tongue into his mouth, wanting to taste him before I lost the chance. He’d probably recover himself soon, remember all the shitty things I’d done over the past few days, all the mistakes I’d made. It might be the only time—

The door exploded open and Brendon’s teeth clamped down on my tongue.

Mouth filling with blood, a knight and a wizard shouting our names, I had one stupid thought: still isn’t the worst kiss of my life.