Chapter 7
SEVEN
My heart pounds as I race up the library stairs. I don't care if anyone sees me like this, I have too much on my mind to worry about what they think of me.
I'm out of breath by the time I get to the top, but don't let that deter me. I ignore the bookshelves lined with beautiful tomes, and head around the corner to get to Linc's private room.
I almost sigh with relief when I see his bodyguard waiting outside.
Only for that to be followed by feeling like an idiot because who has a bodyguard if they're not important?
Eric nods politely at me, and I return the gesture, barely able to focus on anything other than getting inside and talking to Linc.
For a brief moment, I consider barging into the room without announcing myself, but that seems a little cruel, especially when I don't know what I'm walking in on.
I knock twice and push the door open.
Linc looks up from his book, surprise written all over his face. "Beatrice, I wasn't expecting you today."
"You're a prince?" I mean to say more than that, or at least build up to it, but I can't when it's the only thing I can think of.
He frowns. "Yes? I thought you knew."
I let out a shaky breath and resist the urge to pace back and forth. "I didn't." Hope builds within me. "Who are you betrothed to?"
"Does it matter?" He closes his book and sets it down beside him, a serious expression on his face.
"Yes, Linc, it matters."
He looks at me a little confused. "Lord Fallmartin's daughter, I don't know her name."
"Beatrice," I whisper.
"Beatrice?" he repeats. "But that's..."
"Me," I finish for him.
"What?"
"Me. I'm Lord Fallmartin's daughter."
Linc stares at me. "How..." He frowns. "You're Fallmartin's daughter?"
"Yes."
He gets up, coming so close that he's barely an inch from me. "So that means..."
I nod. "Yes. I think so. I mean, if you're really the prince."
He chuckles. "Why would I lie about that?"
"I don't know, this whole day has been really surreal.
One moment, I'm trying on a wedding dress and Bastian is promising to try and set up a dinner so I can meet the mysterious prince I'm betrothed to, and the next moment I'm in Lord Fallmartin's study and he's talking about how he convinced the King to agree to our betrothal because of how fond we are of one another.
So yes, I guess I just need to be sure before the hope really gets the better of me. "
He reaches out and puts a hand on my arm. "I'm really the prince. Or the spare prince, Marcus is the prince." And yet another thing now makes more sense. No wonder he's on such good terms with Marcus. They're not friends, they're brothers. Or half-brothers.
"All right. So you're Prince Lincoln, and I'm Beatrice Fallmartin," I say.
"Yes."
"And that means that you're who I'm betrothed to." I meet his gaze, seeing all kinds of emotions echoing back at me. I'm not the only one who is realising how much this changes.
He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair out of my face, the gesture tender and full of hope. He leans in, bringing his face much closer to mine.
My breath catches in my throat, knowing what's going to happen now.
"I'm guessing this means the no kissing rule no longer replies."
"Break it," I murmur.
He chuckles. "I don't think it needs to be broken. It was only ever in place because we both thought we were betrothed to other people. If we're expected to marry one another, then I think it's safe to assume that the rule is null and void."
"Just kiss me, Linc."
He brushes his lips against mine, nothing more than a promise.
But it isn't enough. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him deeply.
His arms wrap around me and he pulls me even closer.
Every part of my body feels like it's on fire, and the only thing I'm capable of thinking is that I want more.
I want him to touch me, and I certainly don't want him to stop kissing me.
"You're the prince," I murmur against his lips.
He chuckles. "If you keep saying that, I'm going to start thinking you're after my title." His breath tickles my lips as he talks, not breaking the intimacy of the moment.
"I couldn't care less about your title," I promise. "But I do care that you're the one I'm supposed to be marrying."
"I promise I'm the prince," he assures me between soft kisses.
"Good." I lose myself in him, running my hand over his shoulder and down his back. His heart is racing beneath my touch, and I suspect mine is doing the same. How can it not be when this is everything neither of us knew we could want?
My fangs descend, grazing against his bottom lip and accidentally cutting it. A drop of blood lands on my tongue, and a whole new need springs up within me. But we can't. That's too far, especially when we're only just coming to terms with the fact we're betrothed.
I break the kiss and cover my mouth with my hand. "I need a moment."
He smiles, revealing a hint of his own fangs. "Understandable."
"Is this real?" I murmur.
"Yes," he says. "Or it's a really cruel shared dream."
"I'd know what to do with my fangs if it was a dream."
"I think what you do with your fangs is fairly obvious," Linc responds, reaching out and brushing his fingers against the vein in my neck.
I shiver at the touch. "How does it feel?"
"No idea. You're the only person I've ever had the urge to bite."
"Oh."
He leans in, his lips close to my ear. "I've heard it's very pleasurable."
My breath catches in my throat. I can't see how he'd be wrong about that, especially with how much I'm enjoying the way it feels just to think about it.
"A break, Linc," I say.
He nods and steps back. "We should have some blood."
I nod. "Blood is a good idea." Maybe it will distract me from the fact that I want to sink my fangs into him right now.
He heads over to the table where a pitcher and goblets sit.
"Do I want to know why you have two?" I try not to think about it too hard. He wasn't expecting me today, but maybe he was waiting for someone else.
"I didn't send one back to the kitchens yesterday," he admits.
"Ah, right."
"I gave you the clean one." He gestures for us to sit down.
"And no wine," I say, examining the tray.
"I asked Eric to take it away. He probably took it home to drink or something."
"I'm proud of you." I lean in and kiss his cheek.
"I only did it because if it was here, I'd have drunk it."
"I know, that's why I'm proud."
He smiles and hands me one of the goblets. Even this small touch is enough to make me feel like I'm on fire.
I pull away and go to sit down on the cushions, glad that I don't have to force myself to be away from him again now. I take a sip of my blood, glad that I can distract myself with it.
"So, Lord Fallmartin told you who I was?" Linc asks, coming to sit beside me.
I nod. "He told me that he thought I'd be happy about my betrothal, and then he said your name," I respond. "And then I came here to ask you if it was true."
"Then I'm glad I'm able to confirm that it is."
"Me too." I lean against him. "I mean, I'd much rather do the marriage thing in our own time, but somehow, I don't think either of our fathers are going to let that happen."
"No, likely not, I'm surprised that we haven't been marched down to the wedding stones already," he says.
I let out a small laugh. "Can you imagine if that was when we'd found out about this?"
Linc chuckles. "That would have been interesting."
"I don't think I'd have dealt with it very well. I probably wouldn't have been able to do all of the wedding ceremony things. I don't even know what they all are. They're going to tell me before it happens, right?"
"You've seen most of it," he responds. "You exchange blood, and make the vow, and that's pretty much it."
"That's somehow less grand than I expect it to be."
"I've never really thought about it. I always intended to avoid marriage completely."
"What changed?"
"Agnes ran away with her bodyguard."
"That also makes more sense now," I murmur.
He raises an eyebrow. "It does?"
"Yes. I'm just seeing all the reasons it was obvious you were a prince and realising I'm an idiot."
"You're not an idiot, Bea," he assures me. "If I never said, how were you to know?"
I groan. "Marcus has got to think I'm an idiot now."
"How so?"
"Because after he caught us in the library, I went on like an idiot about how my future husband wouldn't be pleased about what just happened." I run a hand over my face.
"I actually had a similar conversation with him, so he'll think we're both idiots, and when we tell him, he's going to laugh at us."
"He'd be right to," I respond. I close my eyes and lean my head on his shoulder. "I'm glad it's you I'm marrying."
"Me too," he says, reaching out to put his hand over mine.
I know there's a lot to figure out still, but things do seem a little less bleak when I know who I'm going to be figuring them out alongside.