“Help me understand,” Alaric persists. “You were so excited to discover the goblin’s gold and propose a trade. But then the miners arrived, and your whole demeanor changed.” His voice trails off, and he stops abruptly in the middle of the road. “It’s me, isn’t it?” he says with horrified realization.
Yes, I want to exclaim.You and your tender, bleeding heart arepreciselymy problem.
But Alaric keeps spiraling. “You completely shut down when you saw the miners interact with me. And I can see how it must look from the outside. What kind of ruler lets their subjects question them like that? You don’t think I have enough control—”
“Alaric, stop.” I finally turn to face him.
“No. I can take it. Say what you truly think of me. Everyone else does.”
The people in the road are blatantly staring at us, and I can feel ahundred more eyes watching through the cracks of their shutters. I grab Alaric’s wrist and tug him toward the palace, not allowing him to stop or speak until we’re back in our secluded wing of the castle.
“Why do you always assume the fault lies with you?” I ask, hoping the walk gave him time to clear his head. But his face crumples miserably.
“Because it does! No matter how hard I work, I will never be able to give my people the perfect future they would have had with Besnik. It’s why my father’s councilors look down on and despise me, why the courtiers pity and patronize me. And why you refuse to work with me.” He levels me with a devastating look.
I shake my head. “Have you ever considered thatyouare strapping yourself with these unrealistic expectations? Not your father or his councilors or anyone else?”
“What are you talking about? You’ve been here long enough to see their animosity firsthand! How can you deny—”
“WhatI’veseen are miners who trust and respect you because you get down in the dirt and work beside them as an equal. And courtiers who may not understand your work ethic but are more than happy to reap the benefits of your labor. As for your father’s councilors, they’re clearly jealous of the pride and confidence Soren has in you. They don’t think you’re less than Besnik—they’re worried you’remore. They’re trying to control you by stripping your confidence and making you think you need them. But you don’t need their help or approval. Vanzador will be the strongest and most prosperous it’s ever been with you as its king.”
Alaric gapes at me, mouth bobbling open and closed. “You don’t actually believe that.”
“I’ve spent most of my life despising you, so if I’m giving you a compliment, you know it’s done begrudgingly.”
Alaric laughs, but his eyes take on a glassy sheen, and he lets out a long breath. “It’s just hard to believe I’m ever good enough wheneverythingI’ve ever known is a lie.”
“Why do you assume everything is a lie? Just because your fatherkilled Besnik back then doesn’t mean he can’t be proud of you now. Those things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”
“I shouldn’t want him to be proud of me. I shouldn’t care what he thinks,” Alaric chokes out. “He tried to kill me.”
“Unfortunately, caring is part of being human. It’s what makes you better than your father. It’s what convinced me to trust you—when I was determined not to.”
Alaric cocks his head and regards me for a long minute. “Who knew gardeners could be so wise? Guess you don’t have peas for brains after all.”
“Who knew princes made of stone could be so sensitive and emotional?” I fire back, playfully shoving his chest.
Alaric catches my wrist and guides me gently back, until my shoulders press against my chamber door. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s definitely good,” I say, a little breathless.
“Then what’s the problem?” He leans in closer, and his voice drops to a husky purr that I feel in the lowest part of my stomach. “If you no longer think I’m terrible, why the sudden hesitation regarding the goblin’s gold?”
“It isn’t you I distrust,” I admit, tilting my face up to look at him. “It’s myself—when I’m around you.”
Alaric’s gaze darts between my eyes and down to my lips. And nowI’mlooking athislips again, and our chests are heaving, every nerve ending in my body zinging, as he slowly brings a gloved hand to my face. His fingertips trace the line of my cheekbone and slide into my hair, making me shiver.
“Is this okay?” He leans even closer, eyes still locked with mine, giving me every chance to pull away. But I don’t. For the first time in a long time, I’m certain I want this. And not out of duty or vengeance, or on behalf of someone else.
I want this forme.
Alaric’s lips brush mine—rose petal soft—and I wait for Rowenna to roar into my mind like a whirlwind and obliterate the moment. Toinsist I stop this foolishness and remind me kissing our enemy will ruin everything. But the only sounds I hear are my and Alaric’s mingled breath and the erratic thumping of my heart.
When it comes to Alaric, my sister’s opinion no longer matters.
I lean up on my toes and press my lips more firmly against his, which are warm and wet, and taste of honeysuckle. With a groan, he eases me back against my door, surrounding me with his cardamom scent, and my body comes alive in the same way the earth awakens to my incantations.
I grapple with the doorknob behind me, unsure what’s come over me. I’ve never felt so out of control yet wholly unafraid, and I want more of this feeling. More of him.
