An easy promise. What he wanted was not words in a book, but the woman standing in front of him.
A foghorn blasted the air, followed by a cry in Balcovian from up above.
“Twenty minutes.” She bit her lip and looked at him as though her heart was breaking, too.
How the devil washesupposed to help?Shewas the one who was leaving.
Suddenly, she grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bosom.
“Come with me,” she begged impulsively. “Live at the castle. With me. I’ll sneak away from the barracks whenever possible, and—”
“I can’t.” Graham tried and failed to smile. “I didn’t pack a trunk.”
They both knew it wasn’t the reason he wouldn’t go. He was needed here. To record all the lives lived, to ensure no one was forgotten, to save anyone in need of rescue.
She dropped his hands and nodded, her eyes not meeting his.
His stomach was hard and small, his heart fluttering. He wanted her. He could have her…at a price he could not pay. But her question gave him hope. It meant she wanted him, too. She was searching for a way for them to stay together…if Graham could only think of one.
There was movement on the gangplank just ahead.
“Tenslotte,” came a harsh male voice.
“Zus.”The answering voice was more amused than angry.
Graham tore his gaze from Kunigunde to see the two Royal Guards he’d helped Kunigunde evade the day they’d first met. Her brothers, Floris and Reinald. Graham wondered which was which. They were both towering and well muscled, with dark brown skin the same color as Kunigunde’s, and eyes the same bright black. The angrier-looking brother was taller. A light scar crossed his unshaven jaw. The brother with a smirk flitting at his lips wore his hair cropped close, his visage clean-shaven. His expression was unimpressed.
“I’m Graham Wynchester.” He paused. Did they speak English? They had to. They’d come to England to perform reconnaissance. “I wish to formally beg permission to court your sister. I haven’t yet worked out how to manage the distance—”
Floris and Reinald looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“No,” the clean-shaven one said flatly.
“There’s nothing to ‘work out,’ Englishman,” said the other, his tone dismissive. His accent was stronger than Kunigunde’s, but his meaning was perfectly clear. “You’re not good enough for her.”
Kunigunde glared at them. “Mr. Wynchester is Baron Vanderbean’s heir.”
Her brothers exchanged looks of surprise.
Graham was surprised Kuni had mentioned it, too. He wasn’t certain what her unexpected defense meant.
“Well…” Speculation had replaced the look of amusement in the clean-shaven brother’s face. “I suppose if he’s part ofouraristocracy…”
Graham’s fingers clenched. He did not want to seem good enough because they believed him Bean’s son by blood.
He wanted to be good enough because he was the man in love with their sister.
“Graham, this insufferable beast is Floris de Heusch.” She gestured at the clean-shaven brother who had been impressed with Graham’s ties to a baron. “And the even worse one is Reinald de Heusch.” She gestured at the towering brother with the scar and the stony expression.
Neither man moved.
Graham did not bow, either. He did not know what the customs were in Balcovia, or whether a Royal Guard outranked not-quite-sons of barons.
He supposed it didn’t matter. Kunigunde was leaving.
“I’ll be back,” she told Graham, her voice unsteady. “In sixty days, with the royal family. They’ll stay a fortnight, and I’ll—”
“You might not do any such thing,” Reinald said as if bored. “Upon Her Highness’s betrothal, you’ll lose the post you are currently shirking.”
