Page 11 of Reign

He doesn’t look at me. His attention stays on the road, one hand loose on the wheel. Like nothing in the world could rush him unless he allowed it.

It’s obnoxious.

It’s also the only thing keeping me from crawling out of my own skin.

“I don’t want to celebrate,” I say, quieter than I mean to.

Riot takes the next turn smoothly, his forearm shifting beneath the tailored sleeve of his designer shirt. My sister-in-law, Vasilisa once said he looked more like a runway model than a guard. She wasn’t wrong, but Riot moves like someone counting exits, not waiting to be admired.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was here to walk me down a red carpet.

But I do know better.

I know what those hands feel like off the steering wheel. I know what his mouth can do.

I crush the memory immediately. Absolutely not.

Not today.

“Then don’t celebrate,” he says finally.

I blink. “That’s not very bodyguard of you.”

His mouth twitches, almost a smile. “My job is to keep you breathing. Not force you to enjoy cake.”

A laugh nearly escapes. Then the word catches up with me.

Cake.

Candles.

Happy birthday, Elena.

Like this day has ever been happy.

I turn back to the window and watch our reflection ghost over the city. Me in a black dress I didn’t want to wear. Hair pinned back because Vasilisa said it made me look elegant. A thin gold chain at my throat. Lipstick too red for my mood.

Twenty-one.

Everyone keeps saying it like it’s supposed to mean something, but my life split open on this day.

My birthday has never belonged only to me. Not since I was eight. Not since I learned birthdays don’t stop terrible things from happening.

My father is gone now too.

The thought lands like a stone dropped into deep water.

I swallow hard and look down at my lap before Riot can catch my face.

“You can tell them you’re sick,” he says.

I glance over.

He still isn’t looking at me.

“You’d lie for me?”

“No.”