Chapter 11
Iyawned violently as we arrived at the familiar patch of wildflowers the farmhouse oversaw, and I really took time to wonder how my cousin seemed unaffected.
I could barely slide off of Isaac, and though she had only tried to throw me a couple of times, I felt like a novice handler.
The trouble was not with her. It was with me and my momentum—my mood, as Evergreen would say.
I moved like molasses poured upon a grassy plateau and she felt that weakness.
Falling asleep past Ser Willoughby’s visit had been a failed idea.
Somewhere between the embarrassment of divulging secrets of my childhood, and the guilt of working my Blade an entire night and an entire morning ate at me.
Somewhere else, thoughts of other Sers plagued what might be optimism, and it was difficult to shake the dust of what Elías’ had said on the lawn.
I felt helpless.
The Lord Commander had only ever done his job.
He had only ever wanted the best for me—only protected my obnoxious wants, and, in return, I was sunbathing beneath the Chalke sky while simultaneously sabotaging everything he’d ever sacrificed to see to my wellbeing, too proud to apologize and too sure he’d consider it praise for his deep devotion.
A lesson in manners, he’d promised, and a Rusted Blade to see to the job. I scoffed.
Ser Willoughby glanced at me. I smiled.
Mr. Evergreen did not need manners. He needed to run far, far away from me, and far away from Ser Elías. And then even farther from my deranged, and strangely considerate cousin.
But I didn’t want him to run. I wanted him to stay. I wanted to ride with him every day for the rest of our lives, and I wanted him to want me.
Mr. Evergreen gathered Ice’s lead from my hand and he released her into the fenced area along with Edith.
Ser Willoughby ushered in his horse and then Miss Jocelyn’s, and when they were all happily running amuck, he latched the gate and patted my swordsman on his back.
He leaned in, whispered something, and for it, Cyrus looked in my direction.
Josie came and gushed beside me. She said, “Ser Willoughby asked to show me the riverside.”
“He did?” I asked.
“He did, yes,” she said. “He said it was with your permission.”
“Oh, yes.” I nodded. “Yes. Of course.”
My heart raced. As promised, I’d be alone with Mr. Evergreen. Willoughby had come through.
Josie was glad. She buzzed. “I am forever in your debt, Miss Svana! Had it not been for you, I would never have spoken to him. Not so freely. Not like this. I am over the moon.”
“Oh, I don’t know if that’s true,” I told her. I touched my cheek, feeling my own excitement. “You were friends before my interference. Although he…” I stopped, remembering his request and then his special role. “Are you certain you wish to be alone?”
The boys sauntered closer; my cousin dawned a smile that felt created for her.
“I don’t mind revoking my permission,” I whispered.
Josie twisted. “What? No.”
“It’s just—”
Willoughby offered her his hand. “At your leave, Miss Jocelyn,” he said.
Her delight lifted her heels half an inch. She took his hand more modestly, but when she curtsied to Mr. Evergreen and myself, I swallowed a knot.
“If it pleases you, Miss?” she asked. Her eyes were begging.
“Naturally, Josie,” I lied though I was suddenly terrified for her future. “You don’t need my permission.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” she said.
“Have fun,” I told her. “I’ll be right here with Mr. Evergreen should you need me.”
Willoughby bowed. “We’ll see you soon.”
“Yes,” I said.
They departed, out of sight and out of mind, yet I spent a whole minute dwelling within my nerves.
Evergreen was quiet. He looked to see that they were gone before he spoke.
“Where shall we settle in, my love?” he asked.
“Willoughby told me he likes to hurt people,” I declared.
“What?” he asked.
I turned. “I asked him about his Rusted Blades. I asked him because you said it. Why would you give me such a thread to pull? He said he likes to hurt bad people. He asked my father to enlist.”
He opened his mouth, then didn’t. He said, “Ah, that.”
“Should I find her?” I worried. “Miss Jocelyn?”
Cyrus laughed. He shook his head. “That’s not what he does. Or did.”
“He said he likes to hurt.”
“Bad folk,” he said. “Right? Josie isn’t bad.”
I looked to where they’d left. “Then she’s safe?”
“Likely safer with him than anyone else in all the kingdom,” he said.
“Really?” I asked.
“Aye. Rusted Blades aren’t villains. They’re a necessity, Swan. Your cousin is part of the reason you won the War.”
“He is?”
“Not just him,” he said. “But the Blades. It’s deeper than what I’m sure he told you. It’s not about hurting; it’s about justice. That’s why I don’t fear him, and why Jocelyn is safe.”
I eased, only to realize that I was still mad at him.
Mad that for so much of the time we had been apart, I’d been trapped in a constant loop of our connection, of our kiss.
Yet, in his proximity, I couldn’t find the words to address it, and though a second sooner I had wanted to yell at him and I had wanted to kiss him, the moment I had found the strength to do it, there was nothing left but static. He was so gorgeous.
“I’ll get the blanket,” he said.
I nodded but in the same effort, began toward the horse myself. He watched me arrive next to him and then motioned to the yard where we had spent our first picnic.
“Here,” he said, handing me the basket. I took it.
Cyrus assembled our mat as we arrived.
I watched him unpack some things, and said, “If you’ve brought wine today, I think I should resist.” My stomach spun.
“Are you alright, Princess?” he asked.
I nodded.
“She’s safe with him,” he promised. “I wouldn’t let her get hurt, even if it meant taking on a Rusted Blade. I know she’s important to you.”
“Well, thank you, but that’s not what I was thinking about,” I said.
“I see. Care to share?”
“No.”
“Are you cross with me?” he asked.
“Cross?” I huffed. “Why would I be cross with you?”
“Ah, so then yes,” he said. He sighed. “What did I do and how do I apologize?”
“You can start by not assuming my feelings, Mr. Evergreen.”
“I don't have to assume anything,” he said. He worked on leveling our blanket. “That’s why I like women like you.”
“Oh, you like women like me? Do you?”
“Yes. I do. They’re direct. Directness eliminates misinterpretation. That said, if you ask a direct woman ‘Are you cross with me,’ and she replies with anything other than ‘No,’ like say, ‘Cross? Why would I be cross with you,’ she is, in fact, quite cross with you.”
“Stop dissecting me,” I said. “Stop comparing me to your conquests, too. I am not cross with you.”
“You’re not?” he wondered. “You sound cross.”
“You sound cross!” I grumbled. “I am perfectly content. But! But if I were cross with you, I’d sure have my purpose and my purpose would be decent.”
He checked around us. “Are you cross about our kiss?”
“Yes,” I said back. “I’m cross about our kiss.”
“You kissed me,” he said.
“You,” I shifted. “You kissed me back. How dare you leave that out.”
“I didn’t leave it out. I did kiss you back,” he said. He tensed. “But I apologize if that somehow offends you. I thought the kiss was mutual.”
“It was mutual!” I cried. “And that offends me. It offends me that you only kissed me once.”
“Once?” he asked.
“Yes. We’ve had plenty of chances to find ourselves entangled upon the floors of stables, or in farm houses, or- I just don’t understand why you have not kissed me a second time.
And that upsets me becau— Why are you always looking at me like that?
That. That is exactly why I’m so angry with you! Stop your torture!”
After the time he took to process, he picked and chose a single word to repeat. “Once?”
“Yes,” I urged. “You kissed me once. Do try to keep up.”
“Hmm. That can’t be true.”
“Uh? Unless you kissed me while I was unconscious that night, then yes, by my count, you have kissed but once.” I shook my head.
“This is stupid. This is a stupid argument, and now I am stupid for having it. I have blurted out my feelings and I am embarrassed. Can we not move on? We’re grown.
Let’s decide it was a blunder of insanity.
Let’s forget about it. Then we can both be quite happy and stop this maddening bickering and jus—Just please concede. ”
“No.” He folded his arms.
“No?” I asked.
“Yeah, no. I don’t want to do that.”
“That doesn’t-? What? Why? I’m giving you an out, take it, you fool!”
“Now I’m a fool. That’s lovely.”
“Cyrus!”
“Swan!”
“Stop calling me that!” I begged. “Ugh! You are so infuriating! Just agree to my terms!”
“No,” he said. He scowled. “I’m not even sure what your terms are, but I am sure you’re upset I only kissed you once. Is that right? Is that what I’m hearing?” He took an absolute step toward me. “Is that why your Blade told me to come find them when we were ready?”
“He told you that?”
“He sure did. You wanted extra time alone with me, didn’t you?” he asked. “Is that your problem today? Is that why you’re so tense? Do you want me to kiss you again, Swan? Would that make you happy?”
I looked up at him as he crowded me, his hand rising to brush the highest exposed part of my arm. I shamelessly melded to the contact.
“If you want me to be forward with you, I will be forward,” he said. “I don’t have to be polite.”
I felt unable to reply. “...I want to know what you want from me. We never determined that.”
“You want to know what I want? Are you sure?” he asked. His hand played with my shoulder, then went around my back to bring me closer, until he could lean down to my ear too easily. “I’m a man, Princess. I’m not a prince; I’m not a lord. What do you think I want from you?”
Within my chest, my traitor heart fluttered, and I reared at the sensation of his breath hot against my neck. Evergreen remained relaxed, perhaps eager for my response, but quiet. Very quiet.
“…Please,” I whispered. “Please tell me. What do you want?”