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Atticus brushed his lips against mine. It was so chaste, so temporary that I didn’t even have a moment to sink into the sensation of it. But there was an electric buzz on my lips left from the whisper of his kiss. I leaned forward, and a smirk crossed his mouth. “That wasn’t a proper kiss,” I admitted.
“Would you like a proper kiss, Christine?”
I opened my mouth to respond, feeling reckless and ridiculous. I shouldn’t want this. I was nothing more than a prize for Atticus to claim.
“Well, don’t you look cozy,” August said. Atticus closed his eyes and cursed under his breath before pulling away from me. I gave August a shy smile while propelling myself off the wall. He wore his typical royal blue vest, tailored pants, and a crest pinned to his chest. A glass of champagne hung lazily in his grip as he stared where Atticus stood protectively at my side.
I blushed, suddenly feeling the need to explain myself.
“Hello, August…”
“You look like you need some fresh air. Something reeks of desperation over here,” he said before nodding at Atticus. “Will you excuse us?” August reached out and wrapped his hand around my wrist, pulling me away from Atticus with a forceful yank. I felt like a toy they were fighting over.
“Of course, your majesty,” Atticus gritted.
Leo trailed a short distance behind us as August led me out of the ballroom, pausing when the queen and king stepped in our path.
Queen Isabelle looked regal in her mauve dress, her black hair piled up on her hair. The diamond ring on her left hand glimmered under the chandelier lights. King Frederick stood beside her, his eyes bloodshot and cruel as he swept them across my body. He had brown hair like his son and tan skin. The wrinkles in his skin were deep and weathered. He was significantly older than his wife and twice as cruel.
“Where are you going?” Queen Isabelle asked.
“We have guests you need to visit with,” King Frederick added.
August gripped me tighter. “Just getting some fresh air for a moment. I’ll be right back.”
King Frederick scowled. “Always skirting your responsibilities. You’re such a disappointment.” Although the cruel king kept his voice low so that no eavesdroppers could hear, there was venom in his tone.
August didn’t back down. He’d become more defiant over the years. I wasn’t sure if it was the natural progression of his royal arrogance or if he was tired of his father walking all over him.
“We’ll be right back.”
Queen Isabelle looked around the ballroom, a fake smile poised on her mouth. “Boys. We have an audience.”
King Frederick took a step closer to his son and reached out to pat him on the arm, then grip his bicep. “Hurry back, son. General Halbert wants to discuss the strike on Redview. Apparently, some civilians were killed, and it’s a publicity nightmare. I don’t understand why it’s such a big ordeal. Who cares about the death of a few poor people?”
August paled. “Yes, sir.”
King Frederick looked at me. “Enjoy your fresh air, Christine. In the future, please focus on being less of a distraction for August. You know he has important duties to attend to. It was fine when you were children, but he’s an adult and the future king of Aldrich. He can’t coddle you for the rest of your life. You’re a grown woman now. You need to be thinking about your prospects as a wife.”
I swallowed. The lump of bitterness in my throat tasted like venom.
August didn’t like that one bit. It was evident in the way he gripped my hand tightly. “We’re leaving.”
Queen Isabelle cleared her throat. “Ten minutes.”
August bowed, a sarcastic move of submission, before shoving past his father and guiding me out of the ballroom and toward the royal gardens. Anxiety from the encounter made me shake. I tried to avoid the king as much as possible. It was easier to do when I was away at school, but he seemed to focus more on my friendship with August this week.
August told Leo to stand back at the beginning of the path, offering us some privacy. The moonlight cast shadows over his face as he smiled back at me. My heels were wobbly on the gravel, and when my ankle twisted a bit, August stopped. “Oh, Cinderella. These shoes aren’t very practical.”
“I usually don’t have a problem,” I whispered. I had a feeling my nerves were to blame for my inability to walk.
He bent down and propped my heel up on his thigh, his hands lingering on my ankle as he undid the clasp. “My father scares you.”
I chewed on my lip before responding. “He’s intimidating.”
“I don’t like what he said,” August replied before removing my shoe and picking up the other foot. The gravel dug into my skin.
“Which part?”
