I peer over at him. He’s not sleeping.
I think he just doesn’t want to argue anymore.
…
The carriage stops suddenly, jolting me awake to find my head is resting on something warm and solid. I lurch upright, pulling myself off Dietan’s shoulder, and wipe my face to get rid of the feeling of his soft shirt on my cheek. I must have been lulled into sleep by a full belly and the gentle rocking of the carriage.
“I’m not contagious,” he says, watching me with bemusement. “Am I really that awful to be around?”
“Why didn’t you push me off you?” I retort.
“Why would I do such a thing? You looked so comfortable,” he says. “Besides, it was nice. Cozy.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
Thankfully, he makes no more mention of it, especially as the door is flung open and he steps out into the warm afternoon sun.
There’s murmuring outside, as it seems a dozen or so people have surrounded the carriage. We’ve reached a town south of Evandale called Elspeth. It’s known for its flower fields, which are often used in medicine as well as for decoration. I see rows of beautiful blue flowers off in the distance, and I wonder if the devil’s breath the marquis used to drug me was grown here.The bastard.
Dietan reappears at the doorway, his hand extended.
I look up from collecting our things from the carriage, since again, he can’t be bothered to pick up after himself. I put his book and cloak into his waiting hand.
Turning his face toward me, away from the crowd, he looks like he wants to burst out laughing. I feel I should be offended, but I don’t know why. Dietan sets the items down on the carriage seat and holds out his hand again.
I don’t move, confused as to what he wants from me.
He clears his throat. “Your adoring subjects await, my love,” he says pointedly, and it’s only then that I remember: I have a role to play. Princesses don’t handle the luggage.
“Don’t call me that,” I tell him as I finally accept his hand and step out of the carriage.
Cheers and applause wash over us, and I’m taken aback by the enthusiasm all around as Dietan presents me to the village. His hand is warm in mine as he raises it above his head, like we are victors coming home from battle. I look out at all the faces of people who could have been from Evandale—rough, bronzed, and worn but smiling. They cheer and clap.
Dietan lowers our hands and squeezes my fingers, drawing my attention.
I widen my eyes in question.
“Don’t hit me,” he murmurs out of the corner of his mouth.
Before I can ask why, he sweeps me into his arms, into a close embrace. One hand is still clasped around mine, while the other is gently but firmly on the small of my back. No one has ever touched me there, and I freeze.
“Tryto look like you want me,” he says, again talking out of the corner of his mouth.
“What?”
He leans in close and looks like he’s about to plant a kiss on my lips, except I turn my head at the last minute, and his lips land on my cheek instead. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, placing a gentlemanly peck there as if that’s what he meant to do all along.
Oh.
The crowd roars with approval, but I don’t hear any of it. It’s as if every nerve in my body is suddenly turned toward the sun. I’m acutely aware of every place his body touches mine.
His lips are warm and soft. His stubble scratches against my skin like sandpaper, in a strangely pleasant way. His breath tickles my neck while his fingers curl slightly on my back. His other hand engulfs mine like a glove. He’s so close to me that I can see the beginnings of his beard, every smile line, every lash touching the soft skin under his eyes. He’s beautiful. A true prince.
Thankfully, he doesn’t linger, though the brief moment his soft lips touch my cheek feels like an eternity.
When he opens his eyes—blue today like the deep, summer sky—they twinkle when he smiles.
“Good job,” he whispers.
