“I’m used to being slick,” he said. “Suave. The prince surrounded by potentials. It’s kind of my thing. Or was. After the fight with the fairies—fighting with you—and after two weeks of traveling and thinking, I acknowledged that being that kind of prince wasn’t enough for me. Not anymore.”
My heart pounded, as if it understood something the rest of me hadn’t yet. “What kind of prince do you want to be?”
He looked up at me, blue eyes shining as if they were lit from within. “The kind that’s good enough for you.”
I grasped at words, but they scurried away, totally uninterested in being wrangled to express my dizzying emotions. “I don’t know what to say.”
He smiled. “Of course you don’t. You’re confident, Elisa, maybe a little arrogant. But not smug. Not cruel. You’re a skilled fighter and intelligent and funny, and you have a very charming obsession with rules.”
“So the things that made me bratty as a child make me a very good adult.”
The smile became a wicked grin. “Your words, not mine. You want to be good, to be skilled. But you can still empathize. You care about justice and doing the right thing. And you keep doing the right thing even when you’re afraid of what’s inside you.”
I didn’t flinch at the reference to the monster because the sentiment was so complimentary. It was odd to hear myself described that way by him—a guy I’d spent nearly twenty years mostly wanting to slug.
“I’ve been very privileged,” I said. “And I was taught—just like you—the very clear differences between right and wrong. You’re confident,” I said with a smile. “Maybe a little arrogant. Occasionally smug, but never cruel. You’re a skilled fighter and intelligent and funny, and you have an occasionally charming obsession with breaking rules. You also care a lot about doing the right thing. You care about your people. You travel to help them, risk yourself to help them. You’re good enough for anyone.”
“Even after harassing you for most of your teenage years?”
I couldn’t help but grin. “You were a holy terror, but let’s acknowledge my role in that, too. While I will deny everything if you bring this up again in the future, I could be . . . bratty.”
“Big admission,” he said, his smile as wide as mine. “I don’t believe in fate. But maybe we just needed to be ready for each other.”
We just looked at each other, smiling.
“I love my parents, my family,” Connor said. “But I’m aware I was spoiled because they considered me the prince. The Apex in training. I had attention and love. I was encouraged to take chances, and I was forgiven if I screwed up. I was praised for being cocky because it was a sign of being alpha. Showed I was on the right path.
“That’s the thing about Apex,” he said. “Being Apex is about listening to the Pack, doing what’s best for the Pack. Acting on behalf of the Pack. If you aren’t confident enough to be who you are, to care about those who you care about, you’re not alpha enough to be Apex.” He paused. “It’s Alexei’s fault I grew up.”
“Is it?”
Connor nodded. “He’s always been more serious than me. Not as serious as you,” he added with a grin, “because he’s still a shifter. But he has . . . an old soul.
“We were out on a run,” he continued, “scrambling around in the woods. Chasing rabbits, turkeys, deer, whatever. We heard this really odd sound—some kind of bird, but nothing like what we’d heard before. So we followed it, found a pond in the middle of a field. There was a full moon, and it was shining down on this water, and the water was perfectly still. Except, in the middle, was a bird.”
He frowned. “A crane, I think. A sandhill crane. White, with black-tipped wings and a spot of crimson right at the top of its head. It was alone in the middle of this water, the light reflecting off its feathers. And it was . . . majestic.”
He stared into middle distance, as if watching the memory play back. “It was alone, as far as we would see. No other birds—no other wildlife. Just this one single crane in the middle of this silvery water.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I was—I don’t know—eighteen or so. We shifted back, and I made some stupid joke about food, and let’s hurry up and go. I’m sure it was witty, but it was callous. And he said something like, ‘It can fly. We stumble around in the dirt, and it can fly. We should see what it has to tell us.’ And then the bird spread its wings and lifted up, droplets of water flying behind it like a trail of stars. It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”
“I bet it was lovely,” I said, imagining the scene clearly.
He settled his gaze on me again. “You’d have appreciated it. And after that, I began to appreciate things more. Alexei has depth. And for the first time in my life, I wanted to have some of that depth. Some of his gravitas. Does that sound ridiculous?”
“Not even a little. It sounds important.”
He smiled, seemed relieved that I thought so. “It was.”
“While we’re being honest, can I make a confession?”
“Sure.”
I cleared my throat, had to work myself up to it a bit. “As a kid . . . I enjoyed it when you got in trouble.”
He threw back his head and roared with laughter. When he’d calmed down, he wiped at his eyes. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry. It’s just—that’s not a confession I’d have ever thought you’d make. I know you enjoyed it. You weren’t exactly subtle, Lis. That’s one reason why I called you brat.”
He smiled at me, and there was something so open and unguarded about his smile that it tugged my heartstrings. Vulnerability wasn’t something I saw very often in Sups, much less in the man who wanted to lead them. I let myself enjoy that smile, that moment, and thought how much time had changed us.
Something beeped, and we both looked toward the sound. Connor’s screen was on the counter, flashing with light and buzzing with sound.
“Hold that thought,” he said, and maneuvered around to check it. “My alarm.” There was resignation in his voice as he turned it off. “I set a reminder. We need to get moving.”
I looked down at the plates of eggs that had gone cold, and probably a little rubbery. “You still hungry?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling as I picked up a fork, and began to shovel in eggs.
He grinned, did the same thing. And for a moment, we were kids again, supernaturally hungry and unselfconscious about the need.
“Oh,” he said, swallowing a mouthful. “And since I cooked, you have to do the dishes.”