Prince Brendon Would Actually Prefer Not to Be Narrating Right Now, Thank You Very Much

Prince Brendon Would Actually Prefer Not to Be Narrating Right Now, Thank You Very Much

Brendon tried to chase after Rick, but the colorful cords quite literally bound him to Franny. He made it three steps before his arm was yanked back and he almost fell from the force. It was a good thing he didn’t, or he would have had a difficult time getting back up again. Why did Kit have to choose armor of all things? He’d spent only one day in the suit and already wanted to rip it off and melt it down into spoons.

“Leave him be,” Queen Francesca said, taking Brendon by the shoulders and forcing him back to face the Good Wizard.

“But Mother,” Franny began, working at the knots along her wrist. “Freddy—”

“Has always been a bit dramatic,” the queen finished. “Let’s finish the rehearsal first and then I will speak with him.”

“Honey, I do think—” King Frederick’s protest dwindled away.

The helmet blocked Brendon’s peripheral vision, but he assumed the queen had sent her husband a quelling look. So far, Rick’s mother had not made the best impression. It probably had something to do with the ‘tower incident.’ Some private, dark part of Brendon’s heart was glad for Rick’s strained relationship with his family and his semi-tarnished reputation in Woe. It would make it easier to convince Rick to come home with him, to give him a fresh start in Bane.

Once they had a chance to speak, of course.

Brendon was forced to see the wedding rehearsal through until the end, when the cords were meticulously untied so that they could be used for the real ceremony tomorrow. As soon as he was freed, he ran—as best as he could—all the way out of the room.

The queen called after him.

Kit’s voice, loud and strained, echoed down the hall as she said, “Your Majesty, I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but something was wrong with my room. I wouldn’t usually bother you—”

The door to the ballroom closed behind Brendon, cutting off whatever bullshit story she’d concocted to stall everyone else. As soon as he escaped the room, he yanked off his helmet and tossed it to the side. He wouldn’t need it tomorrow anyway, and he wanted to fully see Rick instead of glimpses of him through the visor.

On his way up the stairs, he shed as much of the armor as he could without someone helping him, leaving gauntlets and scraps of metal like breadcrumbs through the castle. He followed Franny’s directions until he reached Rick’s bedroom. Banging on the door, he called, “Rick? Rick, it’s Brendon. I need to talk to you.”

No answer.

“Rick, please open the door.”

Still no answer. Was it because Rick wasn’t inside, he was already asleep, or he simply refused to speak with Brendon? Only way to find out was to open the door himself.

Backing up several steps, Brendon braced himself and ran for the door, then stopped a few inches before smacking into the wood. He tested the doorknob and found it unlocked. Pretending he hadn’t almost made a grave, destructive error, he threw the door open and burst into the room.

Rick wasn’t inside. The bed was still made, the room neat and tidy except for the desk in the corner. There, dozens of letters had been piled up, opened and scattered all over the desk’s surface. Brendon examined them and found his own handwriting on every paper.

To his surprise, someone else’s handwriting mixed in with his. He picked up the letter on top—the last one he’d ever written—and read the note at the bottom.

Franny, you’re an idiot.

He sifted through the pile and read the other little notes, some of them summarizing the contents of the letters, some of them continuing the conversation as if Rick had been writing back to Brendon the whole time.

Franny’s favorite color is pink. She wears so much of it I sometimes believe she’s bought sole property rights. I personally think it’s just a watered-down version of red, a much better color.

Note—Brendon loves cats, despite sometimes claiming he doesn’t.

Gods, I don’t even know how Father would react in that situation. I don’t think we’ve ever had an animal interrupt court. Mother would probably delicately pick it up, smile never wavering, and hand it off to someone else to take it away.

Is this even the same Kit? The armor must subdue their temper.

Note—Brendon is allergic to pineapples.

Additional note—ask the staff what a pineapple is.

Brendon clutched the last letter and wished he’d really been writing to Rick the whole time. How different those years of waiting would have been.

Even though they were his own letters, Brendon put them back in the pile, letting Rick keep them.

If Rick wasn’t in his bedroom, the next likely place was the tower.

Brendon’s first stop was back to his guestroom to have his attendants help him remove the armor. Once they left, he changed into fresh clothes, wanting to look his best once he found Rick.

The door slammed open as Kit let herself into the room without knocking.

At least he was only half-naked. “Kit, get out!”

She glanced at his bare chest and snorted, “Nothing I haven’t seen before, and nothing I’m interested in. Although nipples are the same no matter—”

“Why are you here?” he demanded as he pulled his shirt over his head.

“Well, I went to Rick’s room first, but neither of you were there, so I thought I’d come here next. I was a bit worried you’d be preoccupied.”

He suspected she was doing the damned immature hand gestures again and refused to look at her to confirm.

“But I listened at the door and didn’t hear any screams of passion, so I came in.”

“Well, you’ve found me, and now I’m leaving to find Rick.” Brendon tried to step around her, but she shifted her stance to block the door.

“I know, which is why I’m here. I assume you’re riding off to the tower and I can’t let you do it alone.” Somber stubbornness replaced her previous levity.

He arched a brow and asked, “And if you’re not needed?”

“Better to have me and not need me than run straight into someone’s sword without me.” She placed her hand on his shoulder and locked eyes with him. “Something is going on in this kingdom. With the defense spell, there shouldn’t be any imps, shadow-dragons, or spontaneous evil foliage growth. Whether he’s the cause or not, Rick is always at the center of it. If I let you go alone, some fuckery is going to go down. You know how much I like fuckery!”

Brendon rolled his eyes. Of course she’d have to ruin a moment of heartfelt concern. “Fine, come along if you must, but if I give you the signal, you need to find some way to occupy yourself. Rick’s tower has plenty of books.”

“Agreed. I know exactly what the signal should be.”

Brendon ignored her.

They only made it a few steps down the hallway before a voice called out, “There you are!” They both paused and turned in time to see Franny skid to a stop, her expression of delight and relief souring as her eyes landed on Brendon. “Oh, you’re together. Shouldn’t you be with Rick?”

“He wasn’t in his room, so we’re going to find him. Since Kit is my bodyguard, she’s coming along,” Brendon replied as if he hadn’t just argued with Kit about the issue.

Franny’s mouth screwed up further until it looked like she’d tried to swallow a lemon whole. “Very well, I shall join you.”

The last thing Brendon wanted was his somehow-still-fiancée to join him on his mission to comfort-slash-seduce her brother. “No, it’s best if you stay here. It could be dangerous.”

“At some point tonight, my mother is also going to look for Rick. If she finds out that he’s gone and you’re gone and Kit’s gone, she’s going to come find me. I refuse to be left behind to deal with her. I’m coming along.”

Kit stepped forward and took both of Franny’s hands in hers. She was almost a foot taller than the princess and they gazed at each other like a painting of long-lost-lovers reunited. “Franny, I haven’t had a chance to tell you about last night, but I really think it’s best you stay here. Those woods are dangerous, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Kit raised her hand to Franny’s face, gently caressing her cheek with a thumb.

Brendon made a show of gagging and pretend-retching.

“Kitten, I love you dearly. If it’s that dangerous … I absolutely must come with you. I won’t take no for an answer.”

Kit glanced at Brendon, her expression pained. He thought she was silently asking for assistance to convince Francesca, but when she said, “Alright, dearest, since he is your brother …” he realized, the expression was meant to convey her regret for going against his own wishes.

“Excellent!” Franny exclaimed, clapping her hands to celebrate her triumph. “I’ll go change and we’ll set off immediately.”

“We don’t have time for you to—”

She ran off before Brendon finished.

Refusing to wait around for her, Brendon started in the direction of the main entrance, Kit keeping pace beside him. “Kitten?” he asked, side-eyeing her.

Kit’s cheeks darkened in a blush, her only acknowledgement of the pet name.

Somehow, Franny caught up to them before they reached the front door. She doubled over to put one hand on her knee while the other clutched her side. “I’m … ready,” she panted, smiling faintly.

She’d changed into bright pink breeches and pale pink shirtsleeves that billowed out to ridiculous proportions.

Brendon thought of Rick’s notes on the letters and agreed that Franny owned far too much pink. In one day she’d already managed to wear six different shades. Since he couldn’t shake her off at this point, he asked, “No more distractions or costume changes?”

Kit nodded, eyes downcast and contrite.

Franny narrowed her eyes at Brendon, but agreed, “Let’s find my brother.”