“I’m so sorry …”
“And the berries in the glaze have gone extinct. But it’s alright. It’s fine.” He bent down and gathered the pieces, sniffling.
Asherton tried to reach for the tray, but Magdala picked it up and took it with her to her cot. Without breaking eye contact, she took a bite of his roll, his eggs, his apple. Each one she chewed and swallowed deliberately.
He sighed. “Dying yet?”
“It’s very good. You’ll enjoy it.”
“Less now that it’s been half devoured.”
Magdala shot him a cutting look. “Hyperbole does not become you, Your Highness.”
“And that scowl doesn’t become you, yet here we both are, indifferent.”
“The scowl is genetic,” Magdala retorted.
“And so is my hyperbole." He gazed at her for a long moment. “Your hair looks nice.”
Magdala took another huge bite of his roll.
“Never mind, it looks hideous,” he cried. “Give me my breakfast!”
Zephyr sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ve heard from your mother in Largotia, and she won’t be sending a guard for the coronation.”
Magdala nearly dropped the roll. “What? Does she not remember what happened last time Ash was in Largotia?”
“I think that’s rather the point, Mags,” Asherton said grimly.
She looked at Zephyr in helpless panic. “Then we’ll hire a private guard.”
“We can’t trust them,” Zephyr said. “Every corner of Largotia and most of the royal guard is corrupted. You know that.”
She did know that. If Asherton attempted to travel to the capitol for the coronation, he would be lucky if his coach made it to the palace gates. “We can’t …” She studied him. He gazed back, grave-eyed and quiet.
“It’s alright,” he said at length. “We’ll get through it.”
She felt like someone had pulled a rug from under her feet. He couldn’t be king. It was madness. He was tooirreverent and irresponsible, and if the queen wouldn’t give him the proper guard, then how on earth was she to protect him at the coronation?
But if Asherton admitted to killing Julian, he could abdicate, and she would turn down the house, stay with him here in exile and obscurity. Whether or not he’d killed Julian was irrelevant—Julian deserved it—but she couldn’t endure the terror of taking him to Largotia, facing a mob with torches and pitchforks. It was best for everyone—Asherton, Zephyr, even Seamus, if he was forced to abdicate.
She kept looking at him with growing dread, like he was a beloved, breakable thing balanced on the edge of a shelf. And when she caught him gazing back at her, she saw her fear mirrored in his eyes. He was just as worried about her.
She needed to keep her wits. He was the crown prince of Allagesh and she was just his bodyguard, and he would almost certainly fire her after what she was about to do.
Magdala shot out of her chair. “We need to train.”
Asherton looked sadly at his food. “Now?”
“Every day,” she said briskly. “The coronation will be dangerous.”
He pulled his sleeping shirt off and tossed it in the basket. His shoulders were spattered with freckles, which she’d found strange when she met him, but now they made her think of a constellation of stars, or the speckles on a robin’s egg. She saw the beauty in everything he did—and she wanted to take the fractured pieces in his heart and bind them like a wound.
“Do you think I’m handsome, Mags?” Asherton asked. His voice cut into her thoughts, and she realized she was staring. Her cheeks heated and she glanced away.
“No,” she lied.
“Then why are you staring at me?”
