Chapter 30
Magdala awoke to Zephyr scowling over his glasses at her, his lips pursed. Anton was snuggled against her side, snoring through his sharp teeth.
Magdala closed her eyes and pointed toward Asherton. “Oh look,” she said with feigned surprise, “he’s alive.”
Zephyr offered her a tight smile. “And I suppose you can explain why you two are both in the prince’s bed?”
Magdala stiffened, then rolled over. Asherton lay beside her, still asleep, on top of the covers. “Merciful heavens!” she exclaimed and pulled the covers over her chest. She was fully dressed, but it was a reflex.
Asherton sat up, looking around in alarm. When he saw Magdala, he relaxed. “There you are,” he said, stretching. “How did you get in my bed?”
A vague, foggy memory came to her of pulling on her sleeping clothes, dropping exhausted onto something warm and soft, and falling instantly into a cozy sleep.
Magdala didn’t like seeing the world through Zephyr’s eyes, but she imagined, were she in his shoes, she would find this scene suspicious as well. “Zeph, I swear, nothing happened.”
Another memory, this one not in the least vague, sprang into her mind, of her lips on Asherton’s lips, of her hands in his hair and his fingers splayed out beneath her shoulder blades. She swallowed.
“Yes,” Zephyr drawled. “You’re very convincing.” He turned to Asherton. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Like my valet tried to murder my bodyguard,” Asherton replied darkly.
“Well.” Zephyr sniffed and rolled one shoulder. “Your bodyguard tried to murder you.”
Wishing she could shrink into the floor, Magdala got up and hurried to the breakfast tray, where she took a bite of everything. Asherton watched her intently.
Zephyr did, too, with the nervous restlessness of a man deciding if he should accuse or apologize. His blue sweater, the one with the duck, was especially rumpled today, like he’d thrown it on in the dark. And his face was drawn—there were bags under his eyes.
“You can’t run about killing the help,” Asherton said. Magdala glared over her shoulder at him and he winked at her. “Mags and I have talked …”
Zephyr hmphed. “Is that what you did?”
“We didn’t sleep together,” Asherton said, annoyed. “Well, we slept together literally, by accident, but not in the way you think we did.”
Zephyr shifted uncomfortably. “I recognize that I may have overreacted yesterday.”
“Overreacted?” Magdala and Asherton cried together.
“Oh, so now you’re a two-headed monster with one voice, I see,” he said bitterly. “Intentional or not, Miss Devney did cut you with a poisoned dagger. And I would like to point out that she still has not explained who she is working for.”
Magdala’s eyes darted to Asherton and he shrugged. “She told me.”
Zephyr crossed his arms, clearly expecting Asherton to tell him as well, but Asherton just smiled.
“Oh. I see,” Zephyr said stiffly. “Very well, then.”
“You’re overprotective, Zeph …” Asherton began, but Zephyr cut him off, making a reflexive movement toward him.
“You are reckless and foolhardy. You will get your throat slashed before the crown touches your empty head!”
“And what happens then, Zeph?” Asherton asked, coolly meeting the immortal’s gaze. “You get your solitude back, no strings attached.”
Zephyr started back like he’d been struck. “Do you honestly think that your death would benefit me?”
“It would,” Asherton said flatly.
“Not in any way that matters!” Zephyr cried.
Asherton smiled wryly. “Give it eight hundred more years and I have no doubt you’ll forget all about me.”
Zephyr opened his mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again, but only a thin ‘ahh’ came out.
Twitching, he whipped around and made for the door, but he paused in the doorway.
“Miss Devney, for the love of all that is good, try to stay focused on your duty instead of running about in the moonlight.”
“I am,” Magdala said through a mouthful of bayberry muffin.
“Oh, and I found your brother’s jacket on the grounds this morning. No idea how it got there. It’s drying in the kitchen.”
“Thank you, Zeph,” Asherton said.
Mumbling, Zephyr wafted out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him and Magdala turned to Asherton.
“You don’t give him enough credit,” Magdala said. “Zephyr, I mean. He cares about you.”
Asherton didn’t reply.
“We need to discuss the coronation,” she said.
“I think we need to discuss last night.”
Magdala shook her head. “We don’t.”
“We really do.”
“You’re attractive, and you find me attractive. We were excited and tired and alone and we kissed. It happens.”
“Not like that.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m your bodyguard. I had a lapse in professional conduct that won’t happen again. Now, can we talk about the coronation?”
Asherton tapped his foot, then said abruptly, “No.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not time to worry about that yet.”
“I am worrying about it. I’m worrying about it a great deal.”
“Why?”
“Because something might happen.”
“You know, Mags,” he said flatly, “sometimes I wish you were more vague. All this agonizing detail—exhausting.”
She sighed, her tenderness turning to familiar exasperation. Both of them relaxed—this felt safe, this felt comfortable.
“Now.” He stretched and she turned away so she wouldn’t see the strong line of muscle in his shoulders. “There’s something we need to do, but I don’t want you asking any questions until we get there.”
Magdala raised her eyebrows. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
He held out his hand. “Trust me.”
“Not a whit!”
But he snatched her hand anyway and led her through the house, out the front door, and down to the pond.
The sun was up, golden summer light spilling through the trees.
The water rippled, warm and green and humming with frogs.
Golden and gray fish swam through lily pads, gulping insects from the water’s surface.
Asherton stopped and stepped away from her, then pulled off his shirt and trousers. “Come on,” he said.
“And do what?” she asked warily.
“Today, you’re learning to swim.”
“Oh, no.” She backed away from him. “I hate water.”
“Because you’re scared of it,” he said, following her. “If you knew how to swim, you wouldn’t hate it anymore.”
“No. Absolutely not. Ash! No!” She ran, but he chased after her, catching her around the waist. “You are a cruel and unreasonable man!” She laughed, doubling over in his arms.
“And you’re a coward.” He lifted her off her feet and bore her, protesting, toward the pond. “Get in the water or I’ll tell Zephyr what happened in the cave!”
She gasped. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“I absolutely would.”
“Fine!” she barked, setting her feet down. “I’ll do it, but only because you forced me. If I drown, it’s your fault.” She ventured as deep as her ankles before she froze. “This is far enough.”
“Your toes are barely wet,” he said.
“Maybe just demonstrate for me and I’ll think over the physics for a day or two.”
“No one ever learned to swim standing on shore. Come on.” He pulled her deeper into the pond, up to her knees. “I’ll protect you.”
Her heart sped, but she managed an uneasy smile. “That’s backwards.”
“Maybe,” he replied. “But it feels alright, doesn’t it?”
He drew her, step by step, into the water until she was waist-deep, her shoulders tense.
“Mags.” Every time he said her name, a thrill ran down her spine. “I’ve got you. I’m not going to let you drown.”
She knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn’t control water. She couldn’t think her way out of it. “No deeper,” she said stubbornly. “This is far enough.”
“Alright.” Asherton shrugged. “First, you need to learn to float.”
“I don’t float. I sink.”
“You need your body to be flat in the water.”
“That’s impossible.”
Asherton sighed. “Lean back and I’ll support your shoulders. Just kick up your feet and keep your core tight.”
She shook her head, hugging herself. Goosebumps spread down her arms.
“Don’t tell me you’re not strong enough.”
Magdala narrowed her eyes. “Oh, you’re devious.”
Shivering, she leaned against him, and he held her shoulders as she attempted to lie flat. Panic flooded her, and she planted her feet.
“No, I’ve got you!” he said. “Don’t stand!”
“It’s an instinct!”
“A bad instinct. That’s why you sink.”
She tried again, and again, she put down her feet.
“Stop standing!” He laughed. “You’re such a coward!”
“I am not getting paid nearly enough for this,” Magdala grumbled.
“Very well,” Asherton said primly, looping his arm around her waist and dragging her deeper. “Then we go where you can’t stand up.”
“Ash!” Magdala yelped, half laughing, half panicking. “You’re going to drown me!”
“Magdala.” She'd never seen him this earnest. “I would never, ever let you drown. Do you believe me?”
“No.”
“Do you believe me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. But you’re confused because I’m supposed to be your bodyguard.”
“And think how much better you’ll be at that when you can swim!” he said brightly.
When his chin was barely above the water, Asherton stopped.
They were in the very center of the pond, tangled in water lilies.
Magdala clung to his shoulders, climbing him like he was a ladder.
Then he ducked under the water. She let go instantly, splashing, but he popped up next to her, put his hand on her back, and guided her legs up.
“This is very undignified,” she spluttered.
“You’re doing fantastic.”
She glared at him, but, afraid to sink, she finally leveled her body and managed to keep her toes up.
“Arms out,” Asherton ordered. She obeyed.
Slowly, Asherton moved his hand away from her back.
“Ash, no! Don’t let go!”
“There!” He held up both his hands. “You’re floating.”
She was. Awkwardly, and far too rigid, but she wasn’t sinking. He smiled down at her. “And that’s the first step.”
She was prone and exposed, lying on her back with her body stretched out on the surface of the water, but Asherton wasn’t looking at her body. He was gazing down at her face with a thoughtful half smile.
“What?” She gulped.
“You’re so lovely,” he said softly.
She glared at him and his smile widened.
“How do I stop?” she asked, sounding waterlogged.
His smile turned to a wicked grin. “You turn over and swim.”
She cut him a furious look.
Gently, he laid his hand under her back and guided her upright. Unable to touch the bottom, she wrapped her arms around his neck in terror.
He swam back to shallower water and she pushed away from him, awkwardly wading through pond muck to the bank. She refused to meet his eyes, fearing she might collapse into him again. If she did, she knew she would never extricate herself.
Asherton paused, still waist-deep in the pond. The sun sparkled on the rippling water. Lily pads carpeted the surface, and a mist of insects rose into the sky, like sparks. A wall of iris and cattails shielded them from the house, like a secret hideaway.
Magdala marveled at him—the taper of his body from his shoulders to his waist, the sharp angle of his jaw, his long, dark eyelashes.
And the more she marveled, the more her terror grew.
If the coronation turned violent, how would she protect him?
What would she do if she lost him because she wasn’t strong enough or clever enough to protect him from such relentless, mindless hatred?
Asherton joined her on the shore, “Don’t worry, Mags. We’ll be alright at the coronation. I’ll protect you.”
“No, it’s my job to protect you,” she said.
Asherton reached up and brushed a red curl from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. “We protect one another.”
“That’s not the arrangement.”
He leaned forward, searching her face. “Perhaps we need to make a new arrangement.”
Magdala’s fingers tingled. He was a prince, and she was just the hired help. She did not deserve to love him—was not allowed to love him.
“Don’t go to Largotia,” she murmured. “Say you killed Julian and abdicate.”
“I want that,” he said. “But I’m not allowed to abdicate unless I’m forced to, and I didn’t kill Julian. I can’t say I did.”
She glanced down, but he hooked his finger under her chin and tilted her face up.
“Stay with me,” he said. “Forever. We could be together in secret, and no one will ever know.”
Her chest tightened, a rib-cracking pressure. “We can’t,” she said. “It would never work.”
“Why?”
“Because my father hates you. Because you’re the king and I’m nobody. It’s not allowed.”
“No one needs to know.”
“What if there’s an heir?” she asked. “What if we have a child?”
He sighed. “That would be a complication.”
Someone cleared their throat and Magdala jumped, then pressed her palm to her forehead. “Zephyr,” she growled. “Stop sneaking around!”
“If I was an assassin, I could have just pop, pop killed you both,” he said sharply.
“I don’t think …” Asherton began, but Magdala stood and gathered her clothes.
“No, he’s right,” she said. “It won’t happen again. I’m going to check the grounds.”
Zephyr cast his eyes heavenward. “Youths,” he groaned.