My fingers automatically curl into his jacket, because his hands have landed on my face and I simply can’t bear the thought of him letting go. But my thoughts are my enemy, and as soon as I feel the brush of his tongue again, I pull away. “But—there is still the matter of pity—”
“Honestly,” he says. “Do you hear yourself? Shall I find you a mirror? I simply cannot decide if this is arrogance or stupidity, because you cannot in one breath claim to be afraid of someone yielding to your crown, and in the next worry that I’m only kissing you because Ipityyou.”
“I believe we’ve crossed far beyond the point where you’ve grown too bold.”
“Imustbe repaying some kind of penance, because I’ve been lusting after you for two years, yet on the day you finally kiss me, I am forced to have a ten-minute discussion each time we share breath.”
“Quint.” I stare at him in wonder. “You have not beenlustingafter me for two years.”
“You’re right.” He leans against the wall, conceding. “Lustinghas been far longer than that.Falling for youhas been the shorter time, but as I said, there was no indication my affections would be returned.” He straightens, affecting a stern disposition. “So. Very. Stoic.”
“Are youmockingme?” I feel like I’ve completely lost any sort of control of this conversation.
“Just a little.” He gestures toward the door. “Shall we call for Thorin?”
In spite of everything, that makes me smile.
Quint presses his hands over his heart. “That!” he says. “That smile is what I’ve been longing for.” His gaze turns a bit wicked. “Lusting after. Falling for.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He goes still. For an instant, I think I’ve wounded him again, and I regret it. But then he heaves an impressive sigh and says, “Oh, dear lord,fine, I will tell you. I can prove it. The dates? The dates in my book that you’re so curious about?”
I frown. “What do the dates have to do with any—”
He puts a hand over my mouth, and I’m shocked at the audacity until he traces a thumb along my lip, and it sends a pulse of warmth right to my core. “Thefirstdate,” he says, “was so long ago that it isn’t even in this book. I’d been working in my role for three months, and you were so stern, so severe—”
“Sostoic,” I intone behind his hand.
“Well—yes. In truth, I was a bit afraid of you. When the former Palace Master retired, I was shocked when I was promoted from apprentice.”
I gently pull his hand down. “You have Corrick to thank for that.”
“I know thatnow. Butthen, it was so unexpected, and I was desperate to impress the king. You were so imposingly regal, so resplendent at court, so very magnificent on the throne—”
I flick my eyes skyward. “All right, that’s quite enough.”
“Oh, but you are!” he declares. “But you always seemed so angry. So cold. You never smiled, never laughed. I thought perhaps I’d be miserable in my duties. The first time I saw you smile, I thought, ‘I should write down the date becausethiswill likely never happen again.’ So I did. Then itdidhappen again, a monthlater, and I wrote that down, too. And then again, six weeks after that. It became a . . . ?a habit. An offhand preoccupation. But because I was paying such close attention, I discovered that you weren’t angry and cold, but sad. You care about the people of Kandala so much. You miss your parents so very much. You love your brother so very,verymuch.” He presses his hand to the center of my chest. “Every time you smile, it’s a reminder of how much of that you lock away. And that’s what I was falling for.”
I put a hand over his and hold it there.
“No more talking,” I say roughly, because as usual, he’s spun me past irritation and captured me with devotion. If he keeps going, there’s a chance I’ll reveal any secret, swear to any oath, and offer him the entire kingdom.
I take hold of his lapel and pull him forward. His hands settle on my chest, and his eyes spark with light, but our mouths barely meet before I stop him again.
“I need to be clear about something else,” I whisper against his lips.
“Oh, Iknewit,” he cries. “My penance, for certain.”
I burst out laughing. “Forgive me.” I draw back, suddenly shy again. “It’s unimportant.”
He smiles, but his eyes hold mine. “I’m teasing. Tell me.” His voice is more patient. “Please.”
“It really has been years,” I say. “And even then, that was all . . . ? ah, mostly boyish fumbling. Part of my reticence has always been that people have certain . . . certainexpectationsof their king. If . . . if you expect me to be well versed in . . . in . . . well, inanything—” I break off, my breath stuttering. One of his hands has settled on my waist, but the other is drifting along my skin again,tracing a line down the center of my chest. His eyes are so intent on mine, and his tongue slips out to wet his lips.
I have to choke out words. “Well.You spoke of arrogance, but I’mnot, truly.Or . . . ?I don’t mean to be.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He moves in closer, then leans in to press a kiss to my neck. That hand at my waist tightens its grip. His other hand slips lower, his fingers tracing a slow circle around my navel.
