The King’s Maiden (Camelot Court #1)

Landon

“ I ’m yours.”

I wasn’t supposed to be. I was never supposed to let it get this far, and I shouldn’t have kissed her.

But I couldn’t stand it anymore.

Her racing heartbeat. Those big, brown eyes widening. The hitch in her breathing called to me like I’d been made to draw it out of her.

She was mine. My Maiden. My ? —

But was this how I wanted to have her?

Taking her secrets when my mind held a mountain of my own? I was hers, but I couldn’t let my secrets go. I didn’t get a choice.

She deserved a choice.

All week, my sleep had been riddled with dreams I couldn’t make sense of, blurring images that felt real and impossible at the same time.

I dreamt of her.

I dreamt of lemon trees.

And I dreamt of that godforsaken sleep shirt with the grumpy cats all over it.

It had been happening for weeks. Her, messing with my head. She’d been doing it since the day I met her, pulling memories from dark corners of my mind.

Dragging up forgotten places I didn’t want to explore. Intensifying pain I couldn’t remember but felt deep within my bones. Changing me, or…

Bringing me back to who I used to be.

Someone who laughed. Someone who played.

Someone who loved.

I threaded my hands through her hair, and I kissed her so she’d know exactly who owned my heart.

Who I belonged to.

Even if, in the end, I couldn’t keep her.

Maybe she was meant to reach it and be with him, and that was how it needed to be. Maybe I didn’t have a choice but to let that happen.

It wasn’t unusual.

More often than not, I did what had to be done without having a say, and it bothered me on principle. I paid for mistakes that weren’t mine. I didn’t have a choice.

But for the first time, I wanted one.

I hadn’t wanted anyone since…

I couldn’t remember the last time.

So, when I realized she’d been lying to me, I couldn’t let it go. She hadn’t trusted me when she should’ve believed she could tell me. She should’ve known I’d do anything to keep her. Keep her safe. Protected.

Loved.

But I should’ve noticed it, too.

My ability to watch silently. My tendency to absorb details. To spot trends and shifts in an environment that appeared outwardly unchanged.

It had failed me for the first time, and I couldn’t let that go, either.

They’d called it a disorder. Treated it like damage. Said it was a repetitive anxious tic I couldn’t seem to control…

They found it fascinating.

But the scar on her head, the one she touched in the same way…it was trauma.

And now, I wondered if mine was, too.

My dreams were messing with my head. Something was happening to me, and I didn’t know what it meant. But I couldn’t have her like this, even if I couldn’t stand it.

And yet, knowing I had to pull back didn’t change what I had done.

It didn’t change the truth.

Quinn Everly was mine.

And I was, and always would be, hers.