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Because he was too damn good at it.
Chapter Eight
Zautland
Frederick walked by me in his impeccable black-and-white suit, his sash, and all his medals. His gloved hands held a glass of champagne. “I guess congratulations are in order.”
I was wearing a black suit, longer coattails with a red sash, medals from my father and black gloves.
The dark horse, if you will. “What are you doing? Really. Make me understand.”
“We’re at your engagement ball, I’m having a drink. Smile at the Duchess she just gave birth, and her poor husband didn’t realize it would be triplets.”
We both waved while she shot us a glare that said burn in hell. “Shall we send her a box from our vineyard?”
“Send her four.” He nodded. “At the very least.” He sighed. “She prefers the white wines though, very picky.”
We made our way around the room, smiling as we passed guests. “So, what is it? Can I trust you? You’ve never given me a reason to doubt you or your intentions, you’ve been one of my best friends, you and Arthur, so what’s happening?”
He stopped walking and looked over at me with his blue eyes, reading me like he did his books. I waited for his answer. “I just cannot fathom her changing so quickly in such a little time. I know you well and I know you have your charms, but she’s never liked them she’s always loathed your crassness, so I want to know, as one of her oldest friends, what the ever loving hell did you say to her to get her to be this smitten? I’ve read books, I’ve read poetry, I’ve watched—”
“—I’ll stop you right there.” I held up my hand. “It’s not about what scholars tell you, it’s about what’s here.” I pointed at his chest. “Sometimes you can’t predict life, do you think I did? So there was nothing to gain in getting stuck in a snowstorm other than taking care of her, and answering her questions honestly and with a faith that she’d see me for who I really am. That’s it, that’s all I did, well and take off my clothes because she didn’t want to freeze to death.”
“And you didn’t”—his frown was so deep it was alarming—“do it on purpose? Promise her anything? Ply her with poetry, gifts?”
I clunk my glass against his. “I’ll tell you my secret, but shhh, and it was earnest from the start.”
He leaned in like he would learn a huge life lesson. “Not only did I nearly cry like a baby, by accident, but we talked and in the end I noticed her hair was messy and wanted her rescue to be one of dignity, so I offered to braid her hair.”
He gasps. “You, you, you.”
“I, I, I.” I clinked my glass against his. “Am thankful you aren’t vying for my spot because know I would have fought for her before, but now? Oh dear friend, it would be war.”
I walked off in search of Samira.
And then I realized it wasn’t hard to miss her.
She was standing in the middle of the room, a glass of champagne in her right hand, she hadn’t even sipped it yet, because there were no lipstick stains across the glass.
Something maybe I’d like to think only I would notice.
I strode toward her.
I pushed through people.
Maybe I looked angry, but I just needed to be by her side.
She turned midconversation. “My king.” Her curtsy was perfect.
My bow was clumsy as I said, “My queen.”
Her eyes roamed my body. “Are you doing well?”
“Very.” Now that I saw her, so very well.
Because I’d found my home and I’d been so lost. So lost without it.
I held out my elbow and handed her glass to whoever she was talking to, which maybe a day ago she would have thought was crass, but I didn’t care. “I think it’s time for our dance.”
