Page 12 of Fallen Crown

“Limiting it to today isn’t a resounding endorsement, but since I don’t want to fall”—he glances at the top of the wall—“a hundred meters to my death, I’ll take the help.”

“Seems you’re terrible with size and distance.” I close the space between us, and this time, the faint odor of eucalyptus reaches my nose. He’s used some kind of rub for his sore muscles, and a zip of triumph shoots through me. The run and paddle weren’t as well tolerated as he wants me to believe. “Perhaps a basic measurement class is needed.” I tug on the straps around his waist, and I’m keenly aware of how close to his groin I’ll have to work to get the harness together correctly. Perhaps taking it all apart to showcase his ignorance was a bad idea.

“I’m much better at judging size when I’m looking down at it.”

“I’m sure everything seems much bigger from above.” If we’re talking about his dick, I can easily counter that one.

“Once I’ve grasped it, I’m pretty confident about the size.”

Gross. He’s definitely referencing his dick. Or who knows what other body parts on other people. Keeping my head down, I make short work of the harness, and I wedge the final strap into the right loop, yanking it tight. When I glance up, he’s staring down at me with amusement. His reaction takes me by surprise since he seems to dislike me almost as much as I detest him.

“By the end of this, you’re either going to love me or hate me even more.”

“Shall we make a bet? I know which side I’m on.” To change my mind, he’d have to become a totally different man.

“I am a gambling man,” he says. “What would we wager?”

“Not a clue. There’s nothing I’d ever want from you.” The idea of owing him something if he somehow managed the impossible causes my heart to kick. I don’t want a scrap from him, but more importantly, I don’t want him to lord his victory over my head either. Gloating would ensue, there’s no doubt. Prince Brice would not be a gracious winner. The good news is that he’d have to get me to admit my opinion had changed, and I’m very good at hiding my truth.

“We’ll see,” he says with a cocky smile. “I tend to grow on people.”

“Like a fungus.”

“Ah, yes. The fungal infection—which reminds me. Didn’t the Tucker family try to latch on to the Summersets recently? Your older sister, Sawyer, went on a date with Alex, didn’t she?”

“While he was not-so-subtly wife-hunting?” I cock an eyebrow. As if he thinks he can infer my family is the problem. “She declined. A happy miss for her,” I say.

“Yes, I’m sure Celia and Jonathan Tucker were delighted.”

Ugh. This is what he does. Gloats. My parents’ desire for a title is fuel to use against me. How he believes anyone could think the mess his older brother made of his multiple engagements is anything but a lucky escape is beyond me. In the right circles, what Alex did is an open secret. None of us would ever confirm it to the press, but we all know. Two engagements, a royal baby out of wedlock. The story Alex fed to the press is utter nonsense. If Brice was smart, he wouldn’t be rubbing my parents social clawing in my face. Unlike most Bellerivian families, the Tuckers have enough money and clout to go nuclear.

We’re at an impasse. Both of us in our climbing gear, glaring at each other, and neither of us seem to be willing to break the standoff.

“Oh, you’re here,” Wren says from the doorway. “What a coincidence! I opted to train climbing today too.”

“We were just about to start,” Brice says.

“Excellent,” Wren says. “I’ll join you.” She strolls past Brice and blatantly examines his harness. “Maren give that to you in pieces?”

“Yes,” Brice says, and he slides a glance my way.

His expression is hard to read, but if he’s surprised my teammates know me well, he’ll soon understand the bond we share. Once you’ve been through an adventure race together, anticipating a teammates’ actions or reactions becomes second nature. Beyond the racing, we enjoy each other’s company. Though I’ve been enjoying Wren’s attitude a lot less since Brice joined the team. He doesn’t need to be babied; he needs to be toughened up.

“Good for you getting it together properly.” Wren already has her harness on, and she strides to the far station, the easiest starting place.

“Yes,” Brice agrees, his amusement returning. “I sure showed her.”

“Why don’t you climb this route first?” Wren says. “Maren can guide you and check your form, and I’ll be your belay.”

“I’m sure Tucker will enjoy my form,” he says.

I press my lips together to avoid snapping back, which is what Brice wants. If I can’t keep my retorts focused on training, I’ll undermine my authority as the coach, and I’ve worked too damn hard and earned every scrap of my knowledge to look like a fool.

Wren hooks Brice up to the ropes, and he approaches the wall, examining the placement of the holds. When he goes to reach for the first one, Wren cringes but doesn’t say anything.

“You want to maximize your static reach.” I release a deep sigh and go to the wall to demonstrate how to straighten his posture and rise on his toes to get a good grip. “Otherwise, your arms will get tired quickly.”

He gazes at me wordlessly for a beat, and I can’t tell if he’s taking me seriously or not. Then he says, “Any more tips, Coach?”