5. Riggs
RIGGS
Twenty minutes—then he’d leave.
Granted, he had been on his way out until he saw her, standing on the balcony, staring at the stars.
He’d tell Killian he’d found a good lead worth investigating further, and it took a wee bit longer than expected.
Yeah, Killian would believe that. At least Riggs protected his identity, even if he wanted to tell her the truth.
Nevertheless, Leo was an attractive name—if the shoe fits—and based on the way she was looking at him now, it certainly did.
Riggs slid his hands into his pockets and admired the vast library, one that took his breath away.
Damn. A true work of art. It seemed as if the kingdom owned every book known to be written.
He was certain of it. His eyes rounded. He had never seen a rolling ladder before, or a piano in a place of silence.
Interesting.
“This library is incredible.” He glanced at her, and his stomach turned. He couldn’t see much of her face, but he could see the way her shoulders slumped, the way her fingers were intertwining together.
“So, do you live here?” he asked, surveying her gentle, careful movements, from the way she turned toward him, to the way her eyes roamed toward the floor, then back to him.
“Um, no.” Her eyes darted again, and this time directly to the left.
Cute.
Approaching, Riggs chuckled, unable to help his grin. “Oh, really? You’re a bad liar.”
She bunched her hands, taking a step back, almost stumbling over a stack of books. “And why is that?”
“When people lie, their eyes dart to the left.” He halted, tossing her his signature smart-ass smile, one Killian was painfully familiar with.
She blushed, her arms banding over her waist. “Okay, fine, you got me.” A shy smile overtook her face as she walked toward the bookshelf.
He followed her, considering asking Sophie—shit—is that her name?
He considered questioning her about Princess Elora, but he had other intentions. His gaze followed her delicate fingers, trailing the spines of books, passing a few of his favorites.
“What’s your favorite book?” he asked, half tempted to lean on the shelf. His feet were killing him.
“Nothing that you would know.” Her tone was a playful tease.
He laughed. “Try me.”
She reached for a book beside him, her arm merely brushing his as she pulled out a hardcover. His eyes caught the title. Dungeons of Secrets and Lies.
He fought back his surprise, almost too stunned to say anything at all. He forced out the words anyway. “You read romance?”
He knew the book was more than just romance. It was pure filth. Truthfully, that was the last novel he had expected her to pull out.
She whipped toward him, clenching the book to her chest, her cheeks a shade darker. “How did you know?”
A slow, mischievous smirk spread across his face, seeing her off-kilter.
He could admit it was one of his top reads.
To make her feel better, he said, “I’ve read it twice.
” A white lie to make her feel better. He could clearly see she was flushed, her skin red and blotchy.
He licked his lips, curious about what chapter she found most interesting.
She released a breath, attempting to place the book back, but before she slid it back, he grabbed the cover, his fingers brushing hers.
Her breath caught.
“It’s nice to meet someone who gets it.” He held the book between them, letting it linger for a moment longer, before he slid it in fully. His lips kicked upward. “I mean, did Ralph have to go crazy and kill all of those people?”
She frowned as she said, “He loved her, though.”
Love? He wouldn’t call murdering innocent people love. Ralph, the main character, had murdered Echo’s soon-to-be husband at their wedding, and all the guests. The fuck did they do? The writer was indeed twisted and blood thirsty.
“Seems toxic to me, but whatever gets your blood pumping.” His gaze fell on the shelf, his index brushing along the spines, trailing further down. Beaming, he pulled out Tales Of A Horseman, excitement surging through him. He held it up as if it were a trophy. “Now, this one is my favorite.”
The book deserved a round of applause from the world. If this were his library, he’d have it placed in the center in a glass case. What a shame.
“Do you like non-fiction?” She blinked. “I’d fall asleep on the first page.”
He sucked his teeth, waving the book in the air, laughing as he slid it back into its place. “I read facts.” He tapped on the side of his head, meeting her eyes. “It stimulates the brain instead of…other parts.”
He enjoyed history; meanwhile, she enjoyed lovemaking, and unhinged men murdering others—noted.
Her mouth dropped, her hand floating toward the loose strand of hair that snuck free, sliding it behind her ear. She looked toward the shelf once more, then back to him. “For your information, I read facts too,” she said in a matter-of-fact manner.
“Oh yeah, like what?” he challenged.
“Mystic and Magical Practices.”
He knew which book she was referring to. Eddie sold the encyclopedia in his shop. “Learn anything interesting?” He had read it too.
“I found it interesting that magic only thrives in Theradonia.” She sighed. “I have reached the part about lycans, and I plan on picking it back up later tonight, actually.”
Someone wasn’t paying attention.
“There are other places,” he said. “Where magic thrives.”
“Oh.”
“Starfall Canyon, Shadow Realm, Wraithwood, and the list goes on.”
“I must have fallen asleep…” She ran her fingers along the piano, glancing around the room.
The queen’s handmaiden must have a lot of time on her hands if she’s reading for fun and sneaking off with party guests in the library. Riggs grinned. “Spend a lot of time here?”
She chewed on her lip. “Sometimes, yes.”
He glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes passed.
Fuck.
He wasn’t ready to part from her. Not yet. He said, voice gentle, “Even though neither of us are interested in returning to the celebration, I hardly think it’s fair we miss out on the dancing.” He extended his hand. “May I?”
Her eyes dipped, her gaze trailing his scars as if she pitied him, or perhaps she was simply curious to know the stories behind them. If she asked, he’d tell. She didn’t mention anything as she placed her hand into his.
Riggs fought the urge to run his thumb along her skin, to savor the softness, to study the delicate lines along her knuckles. Pulling her close to his chest, he moved his feet in a way he had seen Killian do many times with his wife. He had never danced with anyone—not like this.
“Spin,” Riggs whispered. The only contact was their fingers pressed together. An imprint of her warmth etched into his chest as she faded away from him, twirling beneath him like an elegant butterfly, a butterfly he wanted to catch.
He reeled her in, placing his hand on the small of her back.
“You’re a natural.” The orchestra seeped into the walls, the highs and the lows, matching every step they took.
He scanned her, holding on to this moment, suspecting it’d be his last. He took in the details of her face, drinking in her dark-brown eyes, the curve of her lips, and the shape of her nose.
Then it was her eyes sweeping over his face as if she were remembering the details of him, too.
He didn’t need to see her entire face to know she was breathtaking, and he’d feel wrong leaving knowing he hadn’t told her. Riggs breathed, “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever danced with.” He meant it.
She stopped dancing and tucked her chin to her chest. Slowly, he reached for her jaw, lifting her to face him. “I mean it.” A soft smile formed, his voice a soft murmur. “You are so beautiful.”
The fabric around her throat worked. “Thank you. You are pretty handsome yourself.”
His eyes sparkled with amusement, his hand tightening around hers. “I’ve never been told pretty and handsome in the same sentence, but I’ll take it.”
She scoffed. “Arrogant too!” She poked at his chest. “I’ll just have to take it back then.”
“Well, that’s not very nice,” he teased.
She shrugged. “Don’t want it going to your head,” she said, lifting on her toes, and ruffling his hair.
“Do you know how long it took to style my hair?” Riggs said with a sly smirk, combing the strands to the side with his free hand. “Or how much spit it took to hold?”
“Gross.”
Her hand slipped from his, and then she was wiping her hands along his tunic, scrunching her nose. Riggs halted her with a gentle grip. “I’m only kidding,” he murmured. “But if you needed another excuse to touch me, I fully understand.”
She stepped back. “You are absurd.”
“Am I?” he purred. He closed the space between them, extending his hand. “I think it’d be absurd for us not to finish the dance. Wouldn’t you agree?”
She didn’t hesitate as she placed her hand back into his. “I suppose.”
He glanced between her and the long case clock. He’d delay it just a little longer. He’d make it worth it.
They began swaying, slower this time. “So, what’s your story?”
“My story?” She glanced up, wide-eyed.
“Yeah, tell me about yourself.”
“Once upon a time?—”
A laugh burst out of him, booming across the vaulted ceiling. “Sorry, that was adorable. Please continue.” They stared at each other for a moment.
Her cheeks sank. “My story is not worth telling,” she whispered, and he could have sworn her lips trembled.
“Oh, I doubt that. If you were a book on a shelf, I’d read it in a heartbeat.” Then he’d read it over again.
“Oh, would you now?” She chuckled.
The library door cracked against the wall.
Shit.
His heart pounded, mouth going dry. The metal clanking and the swords hissing were enough. He knew he was surrounded.
“Remove your hands from the princess.”
His breathing faltered, disappointment plunging into his gut. “Princess?”
He didn’t remove his hands, not yet, not as he stared into her eyes searching for his question, he already knew the answer to.
Her silence was enough confirmation, and he had been the fool.
Slowly, he slipped his fingers from her, backing up and raising his hands.
There was no getting out of this. He glanced behind his shoulder, rolling his eyes at who it was: Captain Rutherford and a handful of guards.
Yup, surrounded.
“On your knees, imposter!”
In a matter of seconds, he was thrown onto the ground, his knees crashing hard onto the marble, shackles tightening around his wrists.
Embarrassing.
As the guards tussled him, he fixed his gaze back on the princess.
Her eyes swept across the room, her hands trembling. “Mother! Tell the guards to release him. There must be a mistake.”
The queen came into his line of sight, blocking his view. “What do you think you are doing? I have been looking for you everywhere. You ungrateful, little––”
“Careful,” Riggs warned, baring his teeth.
What a royal cunt.
The queen halted, slowly turning to stare at him, a vicious laugh escaping from her too-thin lips. “Captain, remove his mask.”
Callous hands ripped the mask clean off his face. Still, he stared at the princess, letting her see all of him. Her chest rose and fell at a fast rate, her lips parted, hands clenching.
“How dare you let the riffraff inside our castle?” The queen’s voice slightly trembled as if out of anger, or something else, something like fear.
“Trash has no place among nobility, least of all my daughter.” She clicked her tongue.
“You and I will have a word, Captain Rutherford. Take him to the dungeon.”
Trash? Riggs stifled a laugh. “The only trash here is your wine, Your Majesty.”
What a joke.
The queen scoffed, waving her hand. “Get him out of my sight, and shut him up. I don’t need him disturbing my guests. Make it fast.”
Make what fast?
The guards held him down, one on each arm, then hauled him toward the door. Riggs' boots squeaked obnoxiously across the stone. What’d Eddie do to these damn fucking?—
A slap ripped through the space, brutal and relentless. Riggs turned to see the queen standing over the princess, cheek raw. His chest stung. Out of all days, her birthday.
His hands bunched into fists, the shackles straining. Riggs thrashed against the guards. “Get the fuck off of me!”
Captain Rutherford came into his line of sight, his emerald eyes pinning him. The captain slammed a rag over Riggs' mouth, and in a matter of seconds, the world went dark.