“Like a man who’s waited years for something, only to find out he can never have it.” Tommy’s fingers tapped against the desk. “You’re dazed and incensed.”
Kris raised his hands, pulling a face. “I’m just sitting here, man.”
“But I’ll bet the thought of tearing every book off its shelf holds appeal. Throwing them out the window. Hauling the curtains down after them.”
Kris narrowed his eyes at the nearby bookshelf. That did sound pretty good.
“After that, it’d probably feel cathartic to start a fight—venting through a shouting match, and it’d probably be with me because you know I don’t take any of your shit.” Tommy cocked a brow, as if to ask, am I right? “You’d keep at it until it forced Frankie to show up and intervene for our own safety.”
Frankie. Her hands on him, hauling him away from Tommy. Her face close to his as she barked at him to get it together. Furious with him. Responding to him. Looking at him.
“I don’t want to see her,” he said, almost choking on the lie.
“Holding yourself captive isn’t going to help.”
“I’m just sitting here,” he said again, voice turning harsh.
“Feeling caged.”
“Hanging out with you.”
“Because you have nowhere else to go.”
Aggression slapped his palms on the desk, pushing him into Tommy’s space. “Are you trying to make me start that fight?”
“No.” Tommy leaned back in his chair, gaze level. “But I’m angry with her, too, and I don’t like that she’s won. She’s confused you by coming clean and then making herself your bodyguard—so you’re avoiding her. You pose no risk of ditching security if you don’t even leave these walls.”
Kris pulled back, crossing his arms.
“Either sort it out,” Tommy said, raising a shoulder. “Or get rid of her. You’ve got too much going on to dwell on it.”
Kris wanted to overturn the table at how matter-of-factly Tommy said get rid of her.
Looked like he had to sort it out.
“I don’t know what to say to her,” he muttered. “Still don’t know how I feel about it.”
“You’re never going to feel only one way. It’s complicated. Now, make plans for the weekend. Out there.” Not meeting his eye, Tommy gestured in the direction of Kira City. “That don’t involve bothering me.”
Translation: Tommy was still pissed at him over the king thing, and despite being supportive, he didn’t want to have to pretend nothing was wrong whenever Kris came knocking.
“But I love bothering you,” Kris said, unsettled by his brother’s continued resentment.
“I don’t love losing at cards.”
“Then why do it so often?” Smirking at his brother’s glare, Kris left him to his family history research.
By the following night, Tommy’s words had grafted onto Kris’s already thriving frustration, growing into a rippling outrage. He prowled his sitting room. She’d lied for years and then stunned him with the reveal, using his pain as a management strategy for keeping him in line. A wicked trick. He should reposition her within the palace, somewhere they’d never cross paths, and be done with it. Except—
The image of her with Darius. He couldn’t shake it. It softened her, like seeing a woman with her hair down for the first time, but well, a thousand times more than that. The way her body had leaned into the boy, her arm brushing against his pile of black hair as she turned the page. Kris’s heart had fallen apart right there in the stable doorway. Hard and hurt one moment, then so tender the muscle had all but flopped out of his chest the next. Unfair. She shouldn’t be allowed to read to children; she shouldn’t be allowed to reunite them with their mothers. It confused everything.
Fine. Fine. He would go out tomorrow evening and drag her along with him. He might ignore her or he might confront her. He’d find out.
For now, his irritation was making him hungry.
“Kitchen trip,” he said to his night guards as he strode out into the corridor.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
It was late, nearing midnight, and the wall sconces in the corridors had been dimmed to a gentle glow. On the ground floor, he made his way to the simple passageway that led to the palace kitchen. It was narrower than the main areas—a space that functioned rather than displayed, though a large silk tapestry had appeared within hours of him first sniffing out the kitchen months ago. A hurried, he’s-not-supposed-to-come-down-here attempt to make it fit for royal presence.
He almost sighed when Hanna emerged from an adjoining corridor and entered the kitchen ahead of him, her candy-apple red jumpsuit hinting she’d just returned from a night out. Great. There’d be no stimulating conversation from her over supper.
Kris rounded the entrance—then halted as Hanna let loose a squeal.
“Gul!”
She ran across the half-lit room. Not in a subduing-a-threat kind of way, but more like a girl pelting toward a puppy in a field of flowers. Glee in her stride, petals billowing around her.
Kris blinked. Gul had been Ava’s old guard before she’d run away, and now worked for the Kiralian Royal Guard handling VIP guests. He was the only other person in the kitchen, standing with his back to the entrance in front of an open fridge stocked with leftovers, a loaded plate in hand. He’d stiffened at Hanna’s call and swiftly set the plate down on the fridge shelf in front of him—an instant before she leapt onto his back.
Stunned, Kris stood rooted to the spot.
“Gul, I’ve missed you!” Hanna’s arms were tight around his neck, her legs wrapped around his middle. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you for ages.”
“It has been at least six days, you’re right.” Gul’s low voice was warm with affection. “I’ve been living a half-life without you.”
“You’re teasing me!” But she clung on, pressing the side of her face against the back of his neck. “I’ve been dying to tell you about Frankie and Prince Kristof. Oh my God. There’s something epic going on there. Did you hear he asked to kiss her?”
Kris flinched, and his vision blazed red. Frankie had shared that moment with her team? Then he remembered her earpiece—the way she’d told him to wait on the drive back to the palace. No. She hadn’t told them. They’d overheard.
His night guards shifted uncomfortably beside him. Suspecting they intended to draw attention to themselves—and therefore to him—to stop Hanna talking, he shot them a silencing glance.
He wanted to hear this.
“Yes, and that she didn’t actually say no,” Gul responded, picking up his plate again and rifling through the fridge with Hanna on his back. “But I think you mean tragic, not epic. She’s a commoner.”
“She’s also a badass.”
“And while that deserves its own social status, high above us working class, the world remains unjust.”
“It’s not imposs—ooh.” Hanna unhooked one arm from his neck to pat at his shoulder. “Blueberry pastry, blueberry pastry.” He passed one up to her and she continued talking around a mouthful. “They’ve both been bulldozed by it. He’s like a rabid animal and she hasn’t slept since. Her skin is a little green, like the whole episode subbed out her heart for a kidney, but it can’t clean the anguish from her blood because even her body knows that Prince Kristof is supposed to flow through her.”