CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE #3
“I’m glad I’m betrothed to you, too,” he said, and kissed the palm of my hand. “Much as I never truly cared for power or prestige, I am determined to ascend to the throne. To become king. It’s my duty, but also because I know it’s best that Jaron never rises to power.”
“Why does he have so much support, you think?” I slid closer to him, shifting until our legs touched, our hands entwined.
“I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like it’s a matter of identity.
Like if a family always supported House Bathiner, they must continue to do so until the day they die, for no other reason than it’s what they know.
Some I’m sure truly believe he would be better, would be more fair, and have more of their interests at heart. ”
I laughed. “That I absolutely cannot see happening.”
“Me neither. But I think, for many, it’s not so much that they truly support House Bathiner, and more so that they simply stand against my father. They want change, and they’re willing to support anyone who remotely appears to offer it.”
“Would you change things?” I asked. “If you—when you become king.”
“I plan to. I’ve had a long time to think about what I would do, how I could make their lives better.”
“How did that happen? Did you spend much time with the commoners of your country?” I asked.
I believed every word he said. I knew him too well not to, and yet, it was so unlike most royalty I’d encountered to care so much for those whose status was considered beneath theirs.
Even I hadn’t fully understood my own privileges as a princess in Azeal, not until they were gone.
Brennan–by all accounts, should have never cared for anyone beyond himself. Like Jaron. But he did.
“No,” he said, his voice tight. “Not until recently.”
So he truly had no idea what kind of rules governed Geoffrey’s Tavern when he first walked through the doors.
“I must not sound very princely,” he said.
“On the contrary, you sound like the very definition of one. You’re everything that I think a prince should be.”
Brennan bit his lip, leaning in toward me. “My mother was a commoner,” he said.
I blinked. “She was?”
He nodded. “She was not born of a noble family. Not even close. In fact, some even say—” He shook his head.
“It’s not important. But she was the greatest person I knew.
So beautiful and loving and kind. She never treated anyone differently, no matter how much or little wealth and status they had.
She taught me that. To treat everyone as I wished to be treated.
She told me that because she was someone who was never meant to be queen, I should treat everyone I met as though the crown might belong to them one day.
For anyone’s status could shift overnight, but who they were inside would remain. ”
“That’s beautiful,” I said. “She sounds like an amazing woman.”
Brennan sniffled, shaking his head, and looked away. “She was.”
“How old were you when you lost her?”
“Ten,” he said, his voice tight.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Brennan’s breath was heavy as he nodded.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” I said, trying to give him a moment to compose himself. “For telling me about her. For trusting me.”
“I almost never speak about her. Or my plans. But it’s easy when I’m with you. Easy to share it all.” He frowned. “I was advised not to,” he said with a huff.
“What?”
“I was told I should see you as my enemy until our wedding night.”
“By your father?”
“It was how he saw my mother. Even after.”
“But she was his wife.”
“It didn’t matter. Although I don’t think he ever loved her, or anyone.
He doesn’t know what to do with a son like me.
‘My mother’s son,’ he calls me. Not his.
But I could never see you as my enemy.” His eyes stared through mine.
“I’ve felt so strongly about you, right here,” he placed a hand on his heart, “like I know you, like I can trust you. I don’t have any reason to, but I do.
I trust you. I’ve felt that since the tourney. ”
Since it was me inside Olivay’s body. Since it was the girl he’d already fallen for. My heart raced.
“I don’t often feel that,” he said. “I’m not comfortable with most people. Not at first.”
But he was with me. At Geoffrey’s Tavern as soon as we were alone, and I’d felt it, too. Felt a tug toward him.
“You know, she would have liked you,” he said. “My mother.”
My mother would have liked him, too. She would have loved him.
“I wish we could have all met,” I said.
“Me, too,” he said. Then we were both quiet, sitting in silence together. And it was comfortable. Peaceful. It felt right.
Until Brennan yawned. I could not help but follow, even though I knew I was the source of his exhaustion.
Knew that as we talked and sat, he’d been sending me a small stream of energy.
And if we hadn’t had such a long, brutal day, it might not have affected him.
But I was what I was. And it was too late to turn back.
He smiled affectionately at me. “I’ve kept you awake and from your book.” He eyed the table furtively. “Which fairy tale were you reading before I interrupted?"
“The one about the girl and the robins.”
“Orsete’s Robins?” he asked.
“That’s the one.” I’d never read it before, but in the story, a girl found herself alone in the woods, abandoned by parents who could no longer afford to feed her.
All she had left to her name was a single piece of bread.
She planned to eat it for dinner until three starving robins came, begging her for it.
She gave it to them without question, happily watching their stomachs fill, even as she cried, terrified of what might happen to her.
The first robin returned at nightfall and led her to a cave where she found shelter.
In the morning, the second robin she’d fed showed her to weapons to hunt for food.
When a chimera came, the third robin warned her it was coming.
Facing the beast all alone, she drew a seven-pointed star on the ground and called out to Kavrir for aid.
Touched by her kindness and devotion to the God, the birds tripled in size and carried her away to a castle where Orsete waited and made her queen.
It was a sweet, if not simple, story. It seemed as if Kavrir had received all the credit for saving her, since she called on him.
But truly it was Orsete all along who’d been offering aid.
It was obviously her robins all along. Typical of a country that favored a male God, and vilified Orsete nearly as much as the horned Batrir.
Especially a country willing to put its women in boxes.
“My mother used to read that one to me.” Brennan looked longingly at the book. “Though she was always annoyed that the girl had to call on Kavrir when Orsete was helping her all along.”
I burst into laughter. “I had the same exact thought.”
“She really would have loved you,” he said.
“Do you want to—” I froze, the question on the tip of my tongue before I could truly consider what I was saying, what I was asking.
My heart thudded. I needed to send him away.
To not take anymore energy from him, to not hurt him.
The wisest course of action was to be alone, to avoid opening myself to any possibilities of fucking up in front of him, revealing who I was.
But somehow, I found myself asking, “Do you want to stay and read with me?”
His throat bobbed. “I’d like that. Very much.”
I walked over to the bed and picked up the book, gesturing for him to sit beside me. “Just so we can be comfortable,” I said.
Brennan coughed. “Of course.” He removed his boots, then his belt, carefully placing it on the couch.
Then he joined me, sitting formally beside me, careful to keep his distance, to let me know this was about reading, and nothing else.
We turned to the next story together and read.
And then read the next, and the next. And some time as the light of the candle flickered low, as the moon shined bright, becoming the only source of light in the room, as the torch flames smoked out, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
My entire body was relaxed, warm, and comfortable.
And I felt more cherished and loved than I’d ever felt in my life.
Brennan slept right behind me, his chest slowly rising and falling against my back, his knee between my legs, and his arms hugging me to him.
One hand was splayed across my stomach and the other above my chest, dangerously close to the top of my breasts.
Brennan breathed slowly and evenly into my hair, my breathing in rhythm with his as the spiced musk of his perfume enveloped me.
Gods, we’d fallen asleep reading. We were both exhausted, but neither of us wanted the night to end, until at some point, I just couldn’t hold out anymore and closed my eyes.
We hadn’t been touching when that happened.
Brennan had been determined to remain noble, to not repeat the unbridled passion that took over in the moon garden.
He’d been adamant about not crossing any lines between us, aside from the fact that we were lying in the same bed together.
But at some point as we slept, we must have moved toward each other. Our bodies twisting together into this. And it was … nice. More than nice. I’d forgotten how safe it could feel to sleep next to someone, to sleep in their arms.
I inhaled deeply, and wiggled back into Brennan, snuggling closer to him, still half-asleep myself and half-drunk on his scent. My eyes were still closed, but I lazily stroked his arm. I’d wanted to touch him since that first night. Wanted to hold him and be held. Be this close. Closer.