She rolled her eyes. “Yes. But you’re confused because I’m supposed to beyourbodyguard.”
“And think how much better you’ll be at that when you can swim!” he said brightly.
When his chin was barely above the water, Asherton stopped. They were in the very center of the pond, tangled in water lilies. Magdala clung to his shoulders, climbing him like he was a ladder. Then he ducked under the water. She let go instantly, splashing, but he popped up next to her, put his hand on her back, and guided her legs up.
“This is very undignified,” she spluttered.
“You’re doing fantastic.”
She glared at him, but, afraid to sink, she finally leveled her body and managed to keep her toes up.
“Arms out,” Asherton ordered. She obeyed.
Slowly, Asherton moved his hand away from her back.
“Ash, no! Don’t let go!”
“There!” He held up both his hands. “You’re floating.”
She was. Awkwardly, and far too rigid, but she wasn’t sinking. He smiled down at her. “And that’s the first step.”
She was prone and exposed, lying on her back with her body stretched out on the surface of the water, but Asherton wasn’t looking at her body. He was gazing down at her face with a thoughtful half smile.
“What?” She gulped.
“You’re so lovely,” he said softly.
She glared at him and his smile widened.
“How do I stop?” she asked, sounding waterlogged.
His smile turned to a wicked grin. “You turn over and swim.”
She cut him a furious look.
Gently, he laid his hand under her back and guided her upright. Unable to touch the bottom, she wrapped her arms around his neck in terror.
He swam back to shallower water and she pushed away from him, awkwardly wading through pond muck to the bank. She refused to meet his eyes, fearing she might collapse into him again. If she did, she knew she would never extricate herself.
Asherton paused, still waist-deep in the pond. The sun sparkled on the rippling water. Lily pads carpeted the surface, and a mist of insects rose into the sky, like sparks. A wall of iris and cattails shielded them from the house, like a secret hideaway.
Magdala marveled at him—the taper of his body from his shoulders to his waist, the sharp angle of his jaw, his long, dark eyelashes. And the more she marveled, the more her terror grew. If the coronation turned violent, how would she protect him? What would she do if she lost him because she wasn’t strong enough or clever enough to protect him from such relentless, mindless hatred?
Asherton joined her on the shore, “Don’t worry, Mags. We’ll be alright at the coronation. I’ll protect you.”
“No, it’s my job to protect you,” she said.
Asherton reached up and brushed a red curl from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. “We protect one another.”
“That’s not the arrangement.”
He leaned forward, searching her face. “Perhaps we need to make a new arrangement.”
Magdala’s fingers tingled. He was a prince, and she was just the hired help. She did not deserve to love him—was not allowed to love him.
“Don’t go to Largotia,” she murmured. “Say you killed Julian and abdicate.”
“I want that,” he said. “But I’m not allowed to abdicate unless I’m forced to, and I didn’t kill Julian. I can’t say I did.”
