Page 106 of Bound

To the point that she had to leave the room as he gathered up the few things from his stay in her land. The casual shirts and khakis he had been able to purchase from the palais clothier. A few books that Syn had gifted to him, apparently after he passed the kicking-bad-guy-ass-in-handcuffs test. A patch with the Cimarron crest, bestowed by Evrest after he passed the hands-off-the-injured-princess test. ’Raz had not been so demanding about his conditions, simply gifting Brick a blank journal. Remarkably, it seemed to be the most well-appreciated boon of the bunch.

With a frightening pang, she wondered what he would think of hers.

But she would never know that answer.

She took care to sneak back in when Brickham went to collect his stuff from the tuvalette. By the time he emerged with his toothbrush, razor, and hair shaving kit, she was already back out in the living room, feigning nonchalance with a game on her phone. He would not know about her present, along with the note she hastily scribbled to go with it, until unpacking it from the deep burial spot in his bag.

Once he gave the tote a final zip-up, he strode out to the living room with purposeful strides. Ohhh, yes. The walking version of approaching thunder, so long and forceful and—

Not nearly as magnificent as his kiss.

His massive sweep of a tree branch arm. His grip, cupping her bottom in lieu of her ribs, still able to hike her a good three inches off the floor. And then his lips on hers, force-of-nature fierce. His tongue along hers, act-of-God illicit. His moan in every crevice of her mouth, so heaven-and-earth moving.

Until, just as quickly, he let her go.

Before he turned without another word—and left.

Pretty much as she had decreed to him.

Making her vow to never make her own bible again.

Not that, within the next four weeks, she never peeked back at the one she already had made. Not because the recall brought mental reinforcement or even a good wallow of sorrow. Because it brought so much more.

Memories.

Of the way Brickham had gazed at her in the shadows of that midnight.

Of the way he embellished her story with so many attempts to make her smile.

Of the way, in the end, that he saw into everything she wanted to say because of it, though most of it was not what he wanted to hear. The way he honored her with his seriousness, even when he was trying so desperately to change her mind.

Even when she was being nothing but stubborn in return.

Even though it clearly killed him to back down.

Even when she should have offered him anything to stay. Even for just a little bit longer. What could they have done with just a little bit more time?

“Highness?”

She tugged her head up and glanced dutifully out of the town car’s window. “Yes,” she chimed. “Hello. Hi. I am here!”

Requiemme chuckled, despite having been on her third or fourth repetition of the hail. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.” She tried not to be snappy about it. “Of course. Honestly. I promise.”

She meant it. She had to. After all, if she had to stuff Brickham away for a while, one of the best distractions was getting to return to some princess duties. The medical team had not cleared her for distance travel or even full days yet, which meant sticking close to home and assisting Evrest with ceremonial and community events. Not usually the most glamorous assignments on the roster, but there were only so many books, phone games, and palais redecorating projects she could tolerate. This way, she was out in the sunshine and doing worthy work for her people.

“All right, then.” Emme extended a tube of lipstick and a small powder compact. While Jayd polished off appearances with the help of the pull-down makeup mirror, her maid added, “I see that the energy nectar has definitely kicked in.”

Jayd giggled. “You think?” She stole another glance outside, at the well-kept street in a higher-end section of Sancti. “Well. Ending the schedule with some swanky flair, hmm?”

“’Twould seem so,” Emme supplied.

“So what do we have?” she asked. “School appearance, perhaps? Please tell me it is not a culinary academy.”

“Thank the Creator, no.” This time, the woman’s laugh was strained. They had taste-tested some stew creations at a cooking school last week and both ended up flat on their backs for a day. Later, they learned a student had confused regular milk with expired buttermilk. “This is a preopening tour of a new business. A newcomer to Sancti, trying something new.”

“A preopening tour?” She scowled. “Of something new how? And why on earth are you smirking like that?”