Chapter 4
Four
THE BOOT THAT FITS
Agust of wind blew the heavy steel hatch of my loft open.
Surprised, I whirled around.
I wasn’t expecting anyone to come calling this late at night.
A flash of lightning lit up the tower momentarily as the heavy rain pattered and plinked against the outside of the dwelling.
My heartbeat was already speeding up.
Despite the chill in the air, I hurried to the door, not caring that the rain was blowing in sideways, sprinkling on my face, my clothes, and spattering against the wooden floor. Looking at the sky, I already knew what I would see.
With a flutter of his thick, hooded cloak and pale, blond hair against the darkened skies, a shadowy figure rode the ominous, rumbling clouds rolling in. Still in a fog-like cover of black smoke, he touched down on the balcony. The entire desert seemed to hush.
Starting to heave, I clutched at my chest as those steel-blue eyes met mine.
He crossed the gap between us in long, deliberate strides that felt less like movement and more like inevitability. There was no hesitation in him—only hunger, only certainty.
When he reached me, the heat of his body collided with mine, and he did not stop. He kept coming, pressing forward until I yielded step by step, my breath faltering as the world narrowed to the space between us.
His hands found my hips—strong, possessive, almost lifting me as he drove me back across the loft.
The rain-soaked floor blurred beneath us until the cool glass wall met my spine and I had nowhere left to retreat.
Nowhere I wanted to. He caged me there with the length of him, the delicious, consuming heat of his body sealing me in, stealing the air from my lungs.
A trembling breath slipped from me. I was already undone by his closeness, by the scent of rain and storm clinging to him.
His clothes were drenched. He didn’t care that his cloak was dripping wet from the rain.
The dampness bled into my own clothing, but I welcomed it—welcomed anything that proved he was real and here and touching me.
I braced my palm against the broad, unyielding plane of his chest, feeling the powerful thrum beneath my hand as I lifted my gaze to his. I stared up into those familiar eyes, warmer than I’d seen in months.
His gaze dropping to my mouth made my heart pound even louder.
One hand left the wall, moving slowly, reverently, to cup my cheek. His thumb brushed my skin as though reacquainting himself with a memory he had feared lost. Then his touch trailed lower—over the sensitive curve of my neck, along my exposed throat.
He should have been freezing from the rain, from the night air.
Instead, his fingers were fire.
I gasped when his hand settled over the center of my chest, right above my pounding heart, as if he could feel every frantic beat calling to him.
I furrowed my eyebrows, mirroring the strain and longing etched into his expression. Whatever battle raged in him, it echoed inside my own ribs.
The deep rumble in his throat when he spoke made me shiver, his tone, all need and yearning.
“You have my heart.”
Swallowing hard, not tearing my gaze from his face, I nodded.
My palm was still pressed against his chest, where his own heartbeat thrummed through his clothes. “And you have mine.”
I couldn’t help but slide my other hand up his shoulder, his neck. I almost moaned when I plunged my fingers through that silky, pale hair.
Groaning as if struggling to control himself, he caught my hand in his.
Leaning his forehead against my own, he squeezed his eyes shut as he whispered his vow, “Remember, you’re all I want.
You’re all I will ever want. No matter what happens.
” He bent his head to take my mouth, and my eyes fluttered closed of their own accord.
Remember…
No matter what…
Sucking in a breath, I took a moment before opening my eyes.
Awake.
Flopping over, I lay flat in my bed.
Alone.
I stared at the ceiling for a moment, then blew out a huge breath.
Damn.
Sitting up, I shifted to plant my feet on the floor. I put a cold hand to my clammy forehead, shaking my head as I briefly surveyed my loft.
Empty. Quiet.
Scant streaks of sunlight broke through the overcast sky outside, filtering in through the thick curtains hung against my windows. It was morning.
Damn it all.
It was a dream.
Another dream of him.
It was true that he had come for me that one night some months ago, from the kingdom that had suddenly become his, vowing those words of comfort, of reassurance, a haunting, ominous imploration.
But never again.
And each time that he’d come again since had all been in my dreams, my imagination.
I wrapped my arms around myself. The ghost of his warmth lingered on my skin, in my mind, his gentle touch, the way he held me—firm, possessive, certain.
—my very, very vivid imagination.
I shook my head to clear it of the dream fragments.
Of the ridiculous, pointless yearning. I surely knew better than this.
Almost absently, I reached for my jeweled hairpin on the table to fix my hair.
Turning my head to one side, I studied the emerald green adorning my silver-white hair in the small mirror by my bed.
He had given me this last gift that same night as well. I’d once thought it was a token of his love. Perhaps it was the only remnant that any such thing ever existed between us. I told myself I didn’t wear it for that reason, but that it was simply convenient. I told myself a lot of things.
My heartbeat steadied to normal in my chest.
Hollow. Incomplete.
A fresh ache stung my chest.
That man was gone.
I shook my head again, more vigorously this time.
Snap out of it.
It was perfectly irrational to lament what once was, but which cannot be again.
Straightening, I smoothed down my clothes. The Duchess’s foofy gown, depleted of its magic, had deflated into a plain green housedress as soon as I’d returned last night.
I hadn’t heard from or seen Chez or the Duchess since before the ball.
I imagined they would come knocking on my door or the magic mirror shortly with all sorts of nosy questions. Even more so, if they’d gotten even a whiff of the riot that had broken out in the evening.
I saved his life again. Why? I smacked my palm against my forehead several times. Why did I do that? Why couldn’t I stop myself doing that? I really must have gone mad as well.
I shuffled toward the little kitchen, nearly tripping over my boot on the floor where I had carelessly tossed it last night, having given up my other one as lost. I’d never be able to wear them again.
I was reaching over to warm up the engine, which ran my coffee machine, when there was an insistent knocking on the front door. I almost rolled my eyes.
Figured.
But before I could move to answer it, the heavy steel hatch burst open with a bang.
“What—?” I blinked in surprise.
It wasn’t Chez or the Duchess.
A black stagecoach was floating right outside the front door, despite my loft being about five hundred feet above the ground. Shrouded in shadow, I almost mistook the carriage for storm clouds.
A blank-faced footman wearing a stiff, boxy uniform emerged to open the door, his other arm gesturing for me to get in. The scolding voice that boomed out didn’t come from his sealed mouth.
“Did you think you would escape the king’s notice? It took His Majesty mere moments to figure out who the owner of the boot was that nearly hit his head.”
I wrinkled my nose, mocking my correction out loud to the air, at nobody in particular. “Uh, I think you mispronounced ‘saved his life’.”
“Regardless, the king summons you, and you will be quick about it.”
I almost flinched at the snappy bark in the disembodied voice. For a moment, I couldn’t make myself move. It was much easier to dismiss my apprehension of seeing him last night. But the thought of him seeing me sent a ripple of dread through my insides.
Perhaps to some degree, it was on purpose that I had stayed away, preferring to stay in the dark about the truth.
What if there was really no trace left of the man I once knew?
What if he was really gone? Irretrievable?
As long as we never saw each other again, there would be no proof.
I was content to live in the same haze I had been in for the better part of a year.
The limbo paradise of not knowing. Schrodinger’s cat.
I considered trying to slip away, to escape, to race through the tower, jump into a rabbit hole, and disappear through the woods. I ran through possibilities the way I would a problem on my chalkboard—outcomes, variables, risk—but emotions were maddeningly unscientific.
There was only one conclusion left to accept. Whatever he had become, whatever we had been, I would walk through that door and face it.
I threw up my hands in resignation. “Fine. Fine. I suppose it is high time to pay tribute to His Royal Majesty.” I unhooked my lab coat from the wall and threw it on, then grabbed my one boot. As I stepped through the hatch onto the metal balcony, that voice boomed again.
“Hands.”
I stared at the iron shackles magically appearing in the blank-faced footman’s grip. My jaw dropped in full skepticism. “You have got to be kidding me.”