I barely slept a wink last night, thinking of all the ways today could go horribly wrong.
Not just with the council... but with everything.
The fear is real.
But right now, sitting quietly next to Rhys, I can’t seem to bring myself to care. At least not until Atticus strolls in, looking like he just stepped off the pages of a Tom Ford runway. His hunter-green suit tailored perfectly to his lanky frame, and his golden-brown hair hanging just a touch too long, probably as a fuck you to the old-school suits, AKA Parliament and the council. I may not have been around these men long, but I’ve picked up on their strong dislike of old-fashioned authority. Even if they don’t have authority over either Windsor brother.
“You’re going to have to learn to drink tea to be queen if you don’t want to see Rhys overthrown, poppet.” Atticus pours himself a cup of tea, adds a splash of milk, and cocks a brow. “If your surprise marriage doesn’t send the country reeling, clutching their precious pearls, the fact you prefer that slop to tea certainly will.” He throws back his tea like a shot of tequila, then looks at Rhys. “I thought Joss was tutoring her.”
“She was...is,” Rhys corrects himself. “But it hasn’t been that long yet.”
“Umm... Hello.” I look between the two of them as my nerves reach Empire-State-Building levels. “She’sright here. Andshe’salso not giving up her morning coffee. Not even for your country, boys.”
“Referring to yourself in the third person now, little bee?” Rhys rests his hand on my thigh and squeezes. It’s meant to be a gentle teasing, but that small touch sends a shiver down my spine. “And it’s your country now too.”
The look on Atticus’s face says it all, but of course he has to add his two cents. “Men, queenie. Not boys,” he piles on, and I can’t hide the smile tugging at my lips.
Right now, hidden from the rest of the world, their relationship reminds me of the way Cross and Ares play off eachother, and it makes my heart pang from the way I miss my brothers and their kids, followed by another wave of fear about how they’re going to respond when I finally tell them the truth.
“Bee...” Rhys pulls my attention. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t have to give up my coffee, right?” I glance between the two of them, attempting to keep the light mood. “Because that might be a deal-breaker.”
“Well—” Atticus starts before Rhys glares at his younger brother.
“No, love. Drink your coffee. He’s just teasing you.” He stands and drops a kiss on my head and lifts my chin to meet his eyes. There’s a softness there today. An understanding. One I cling to. One I desperately need. “I’ve got to speak with Devon before we meet with the high council. I’ll collect you in an hour, okay?”
I nod and watch him walk away before Atticus drops down into the now-vacant seat. “Are you nervous?”
“That’s a loaded question. Any sane person in my shoes would be nervous.” I guess the question is can I really call myself sane and throw myself into this world? I clink my coffee to his nearly empty tea. “Rhys keeps telling me I shouldn’t be, but I can’t shake the feeling I’m in over my head and the sharks are circling.”
Atticus’s grin grows devious and slightly deranged. “It’s like you know the high council already. Rhys will do whatever he can to make this as painless as possible.”
“Rhys, but not you?” For the life of me, I can’t figure out Atticus. While he’s a goofball one minute, sometimes I think he might be a shark.
“No. I’m a realist. Pain reminds you you’re alive. If you feel the sharks circling, you have better instincts than I gave you credit for, queen bee. Those sharks already smell blood in the water. Once they hear about you, they’re going to surface, readyto feast. It’s going to take us all working together to make sure it’s not a bloodbath.”
“Don’t hold back on my account, Atticus.” My palms sweat as I slide them into my lap, trying to hide my nerves. It’s hard not to picture the great white shark fromJawsand his horrifically scary teeth taking a bite out of the boat.
I think I’m going to need a bigger boat.
“I need you to trust me, Bellamy. We’re going to get you through this.”
“Why?” I question and remind myself to breathe before I let my fears drag me under. “Why are you being so nice to me? You don’t even know me.”
Atticus leans back in what looks like a hundred-year-old chair. Old, dark wood with thick cream, green, and gold upholstery that would have looked right at home on an episode ofGame of Thrones.
All we need are three giant dragons and a bitchy queen.
Oh wait . . . that’s me.
I’m the bitchy queen.
I’m so fucked.
“The truth?” My new brother-in-law tilts his head, appraising me, like he needs to be absolutely certain of my intentions before he gives me his answer.
Or maybe like he’s a predator deciding whether or not to strike.
