Rolling onto her back, she grabbed the wooden frame and lifted it high. War, realizing her plan, put his nose under the frame to take some of the weight off. Ever so quietly, she slid under and lowered the settee, hoping the intruder left.
War never hid with her. She’d attempted to coax him into her bedroom closet a few times, but he always resisted. The cat was terrifying, but she couldn’t help but worry.
After another knock went unanswered, Violet heard the front door open, cranking up the pounding of her heart. Her family wouldn’t have knocked before entering, and the knowledge a stranger had entered her home uninvited sent Violet into a bigger panic. Heavy steps thumped across the wooden floor, akin to the way Clay and Abe had stomped through Roman’s rooms.
What if the rebels discovered she’d outed the rebel spy to her father? It’d been years, butwhat if?
She clamped her lips together to keep from screaming.Stay quiet and they won’t find you.
“What are you doing here?” Roman’s deep voice took her by surprise. It took her a second to realize he spoke to War. She almost cried with relief, just as she did every time something like this happened.
Rolling her head to the side to stare at War’s paws, she focused on slowing her breathing until her hands stopped tingling and lost that heavy feeling. If the gods had any mercy, Roman would take War and leave.
“What do you mean?” Roman demanded. Violet had witnessed Roman and War’s conversations before, and she’d always wondered why the prince never responded in his mind. Assuming he could. She didn’t know.
“Violet?” Roman called out.
She stayed quiet, not wanting to face the embarrassment of being found hiding under a piece of furniture like a child.
And by Roman of all people.
Roman’s voice dipped lower. “Under the settee?”
War, you traitor.
Roman’s boots appeared, followed by his knees, then his hands and face. “Hey, princess. What are you doing under there?”
She sniffled, mad at herself for almost crying, and turned her head the other way. “Taking a nap.”
Silence followed the lie, and she thought maybe he’d leave. No such luck. “Will you come out?”
“I’m trying to sleep,” she clipped. “Please lock the door on your way out.”
“Either you come out or I’m coming under there,” he warned.
Dammit.
“You wouldn’t fit,” she muttered half-heartedly. Roman stood atleastsix foot four with broad shoulders and defined muscles everywhere. She’d be surprised if his arm fit past his elbow.
Defeated, she pushed at the settee’s underbelly to lift it. Roman stood and the entire piece of furniture levitated. Violet crawled out from under it, and Roman set it back in its place. She motioned to the settee. “Thank you. What are you doing here?”
He considered her for a beat, and she nervously smoothed down her hair. They’d said little more than short greetings since their conversation in the woods two years ago, and every encounter they had exuded awkwardness.
“Looking for War. I saw he was in your house.” Violet hated that Roman could spy through hisfamiliar.She slitted her gaze at her feline friend for allowing the prince to spy, and Roman leaned over to run a finger down War’s quill sheaths. “Did you braid his sheaths?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I needed to practice.”
Roman rubbed a hand over his mouth to hide a smile, and she instinctively reached out to flick his forehead. His hand shot out and caught her wrist like many times before. The familiarity pricked at something deep inside her.
“You’re still too slow,” he teased. She rolled her eyes, and Roman dropped her wrist with a tip of his head toward the settee. “Why were you hiding?”
Violet busied herself by fussing with War’s sheaths to stall. She’d never been a good liar and decided to try her hand at deflection. “I’ll unbraid these and you can leave. It won’t take long.”
Roman touched her elbow gently, and she resisted the urge to shake him off. Pity was the last thing she wanted. “Talk to me, princess.”
And pity was what she got.
It made her want to punch something. His perfect nose seemed like a good place to start. “I’m fine.” She needed him to leave. Over the last two years she’d moved past her infatuation with the prince, but not completely. She suspected a piece of her would always belong to him, so she avoided him at all costs, even at their weekly dinners. “I want you to leave.”
