Chapter 13 #2
I watch Fennor set himself up to take a shot at a target someone placed on the grounds.
He looks steady, so I let myself give Hex more of my attention even though he’s also watching Fennor.
“Talk to me, Prince. Are you alright?” I need to hear his answer out loud, not trusting myself to properly interpret his expression.
“Hmm?” He looks at me and flashes a weak smile. “Oh, yeah. Brilliant.”
Fennor fires his rifle, and the others applaud his shot as he steps back to allow the next man to take his turn.
I narrow my eyes at the prince. “I think your lying skills have gotten worse since I saw you last.”
Hex sighs, at the same time letting his mask fall to reveal the extent of his nerves in the creases of his forehead and the downward pull of his mouth.
“I, er, haven’t heard from my brother since Wednesday morning,” he says quietly, “and I’m worried.
He promised to check in with me every day he’s gone, and he was following through until now. ”
For one, I didn’t expect him to be that honest with me.
For another, that’s more proof that I was completely wrong about the twins switching back and forth.
If Sander really has been out of the country, then Elliot wasn’t just covering for his family.
He was telling the truth, and every out of character thing Hex has done this week is something I’ll eventually need to ponder.
Crowell takes a shot, looking quite pleased with himself.
“Where is your brother?” I ask Hex, curious to see if he answers.
Frowning, he shakes his head. “I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry.”
“That’s the second apology you’ve given me in the span of three days. Are you feeling alright?” I meant it as a joke, but I wince because I already know the answer. I place my hand on his arm, not sure how best to help him here. “I’m sure your brother is fine, Hex.”
“Yeah,” he agrees without any sign that he actually believes that.
I need him to believe that, or he’s going to be more hindrance than help over the next few days. “Hey,” I say, moving my hand down his arm so I can lace my fingers through his. “Can you handle this weekend, Hex? I need to know you’re with me.”
For the space of three breaths, he keeps his eyes on our clasped hands. Then his posture straightens, shoulders going back and head lifting high. “Yes,” he says and meets my gaze. “I’m with you, and I can handle it. I’m sorry for giving you reasons to doubt me.”
“Three apologies,” I whisper and grin because in any other circumstance that comment would drive him mad.
His jaw clenches, but there’s almost a smile on his lips as he shakes his head. “Don’t get used to it, Storme.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you, Prince.”
That almost-smile grows into a full grin that steals my breath. When there’s so often a teasing tilt or a smugness to his smile, I far prefer this natural one. It makes him more human.
Another thunderous gunshot fills the air, and I look over to see Blackmere studying the target as he rests the rifle on his shoulder. As if he feels my gaze, he turns to face us and lifts his eyebrows in invitation. “Care to take a turn, Storme? No doubt you’ll be better than all of us.”
Heat spreads through my face, and for a moment I can’t gain control over my own tongue as I stare at the man. He’s inviting me to take part in the contest?
Hex chuckles and brushes a thumb along my cheek. “You don’t often blush,” he murmurs, which makes my face flame even hotter. Does that mean he’s been watching me more than I realized?
“Come on,” Blackmere urges. “Our egos can handle it.”
How am I supposed to say no? I would love to put these men in their places when they’re so used to being superior, but more than that, the more I play along, the more likely I’ll be invited deeper.
Someone at this retreat—whether it’s Blackmere, Fennor, Vardane, or all of them—might be able to get me into the heart of the anti-royalists, and I won’t waste any opportunities.
“Put their egos to the test,” Hex says softly and touches the barest of kisses to my cheek in the same place his thumb was a moment ago.
Flustered, I slip my hand free and use the walk back to the front of the patio to try to calm my heart rate. I’m a good shot under pressure, but I’ve never had to fire a gun immediately after being kissed by my longtime crush.
Crush. With the way he’s been acting lately, it’s starting to feel like so much more than a crush.
With a smirk for the prince and a genuine smile for me, Blackmere offers me the rifle he used. “I wasn’t sure you would agree.”
“That’s because you don’t know me.”
Hex snorts a small laugh behind me.
I roll my eyes, then clear the used cartridge.
The rifle feels solid in my hands, and from what I can see of the holes in the target, it must shoot pretty straight because the three men before me hit close to the bullseye.
I’d be more confident if I had a test shot, but I can manage.
The target is closer than many I’ve shot at during RIA training.
Taking another calming breath, I lift the rifle to my sight line and brace it against my shoulder. With my next breath, I exhale halfway then hold it in my lungs as I aim for the center of the target.
Then I adjust to the right a millimeter and squeeze the trigger.
The bullet explodes from the barrel, and I release the rest of the air from my lungs and smile because the bullet landed right where I wanted it to—one centimeter from the bullseye.
It’s the closest shot of the four, but not by so much that I make enemies rather than allies.
“Tough luck,” Fennor says, but he looks impressed as he smiles at me.
I chuckle and hold the rifle out to Blackmere, whose smug grin seems to say he knows exactly what I did. “Guess I can’t be perfect in everything.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” he says in a low tone and reaches out to take the gun.
Someone else grabs it, and I step back in surprise as Hex unloads the empty cartridge and lifts the rifle to his shoulder, firing off a shot before most of the others have even noticed him.
He releases the cartridge and fires again, then a third time, and his fourth shot echoes over the grounds until there’s nothing but ringing silence as everyone gapes at him.
He stands there unbothered, slowly ejecting the final cartridge and setting the rifle on the table with the others.
Northam is the first to look at the target, squinting at it in the dimming light. “Did you miss the target?” he asks, his tone disgusted.
I’m with Northam; there are only four holes in the target, just like before. It’s one thing to intentionally be mediocre, but to miss a large target entirely? Just how worried about his brother is he?
“No,” Rourke says, speaking for the first time since I got here. All I know about him is he works for Fennor as his barrister, and he’s glancing from the target to Hex like he’s just found his hero. “How did you do that, Your Highness?”
Frowning, Fennor strides across the lawn and pulls the target sheet from its stand.
He stares at it for a moment, then laughs as he heads back to the patio with his eyebrows high.
“We’ve certainly found our winner,” he says and holds the sheet up to the lights of the house.
Everyone gathers around it, and it’s hard to guess what they’re looking at when their expressions are a mixture of irritation and amusement.
I gasp when I finally get a good look at the sheet. Yes, there are only four holes, but that’s because Hex managed to mirror every single one of our shots, each one off by only a few millimeters to elongate the holes. I knew he was skilled, but…
“Impressive,” Blackmere says, though he sounds reluctant to compliment Hex as he studies him with a furrowed brow.
The prince shrugs. “I never miss.” His gaze finds mine, so intently focused on me that I blush just like I did before.
“The next time you think you need to hold yourself back to protect a few fragile egos,” he tells me in a low tone, “don’t.
” His eyes rove my face for a few agonizing seconds, and then he turns and drops back into his chair, his chin in his hand and his elbow on the chair’s arm.
No wonder I’ve been confused this week if he just went from panicked to coolly confident in the span of a conversation.
Who in the world is this man?