“Look at you, caring about another so deeply.”
“Be quiet.”
“I’m so happy for you.”
“Quiet, I said.”
“You know what? I’m going to have the servants help you out.” Deven clapped his hands together. “I know—perhaps they can deliver some flowers on your behalf? Or some other gift? Something so she won’t realize you have all the charm of a dead and flattened frog. Surely with myself and all of our servants’ powers combined, we could fool her into thinking you’re a romantic soul. That you’re passionate, and perhaps worthy of—”
“I’m going to passionately chuck this at your head if you don’t stop talking,” Tarron warned, popping one eye open and giving his wine glass a shake—though he was fighting off a laugh now. Devenwasincredibly annoying, as he’d said, but his brother’s good humor was also infectious at times.
“I was only trying to help,” said Deven, still grinning.
Tarron finally allowed himself to laugh. “I suppose I do need all the help I can get, don’t I?”
“Cheers to that.” The king lifted his glass and clinked it against Tarron’s.
Dinner arrived a moment later. They spoke no more of marriage or illnesses or romantic gestures after that, and the evening pressed peacefully onward, for which Tarron was grateful.
Hours later,once dinner was finished and his brother was thoroughly, happily drunk and ready to sleep, the prince retreated to his own room.
He intended to head straight for the small alcove of that room—one that contained a spare desk, which was littered with various reports and record-keeping books that he needed to look over. But after stepping into his quiet bedroom, he instead found himself drawn to the hallway to his left.
Just down that hall, in a room that mirrored his own in size and grandeur, was his bride-to-be.
She was in there brooding, most likely. Or frustrating the servants with her refusal to sleep and eat properly. Or perhaps feeding her food to Ketzal—she had developed quite the bond with the griffin over the past few days, mostly because of her unrestrained offerings of sugary treats.
As if that little beast needs more spoiling.
A wry smile threatened to spread across Tarron’s face. He fought it off. With one last lingering look in the direction of his desk, he slipped off his coat and draped it over the footboard of his bed, and then he headed for the princess’s room.
A guard was stationed at the end of the connecting hallway. There was one at each of the room’s entrances. It was less about keeping her inside, and more about keeping the more curious palace dwellersoutside.Because it was just as Deven had mentioned earlier—certain members of their courtweregetting antsy. And he didn’t want them harassing her.
The guard—Malark, was his name—bowed low as Tarron approached.
“How is my bride-to-be this evening?”
Malark seemed startled by the question. Maybe because of the distance Tarron had been keeping from that bride over these past few days.
“Well?” Tarron prompted.
“Sleeping soundly, Your Highness.”
“Good.” Something that felt suspiciously like relief washed over Tarron. He’d been more worried about her than he’d realized, perhaps. Worried enough that he even briefly considered going into the room to check on her. He wanted to see her, to personally make certain she was safe and comfortable.
He wanted to see her.
Why?
Let it be. You have other things to worry about.
“You may take your leave,” he told the guard. “I don’t plan on leaving my room for the remainder of the night; I can see to her safety on my own.”
The guard left with another bow, making his way down the hall and exiting through Tarron’s room. Tarron watched him go, and then he looked back to that door that would lead him to the princess.
A door.
That was all that separated him from that princess, and yet it felt like it could have been an entire ocean.
