Page 20 of The Heir's Bargain

Fynn picked up his crown and turned to his side to face me, mimicking my position. "Is it that ridiculous of them to want you to have a connection with someone? To have something and someone to fight for when the time comes?"

I sat up, my fingers curling around the edge of the bench. "How many times have I told you to stay out of my head, Fynneares?"

"Using my formal name now, are we?" He winked.

"Would you prefer Fynnie?"

Fynn grimaced. "Never call me that again."

I chuckled. "How about Fynneares Andros Nadarean, Crown Prince of Pontia?"

A cocky smirk appeared on his face, the pleasure of hearing his new title practically illuminating his face in the dark of night.

Smug bastard, I thought.

"I heard that."

"Good."

Fynn huffed and mumbled, "Well, at least get your facts right when you insult me. I am not a bastard, and you know that."

"Oh, is the little prince upset?" I asked, putting on my best mocking smirk.

As much as Fynn tried to play it off that he did not want the title, he cared more about the crown he twirled around his finger haphazardly than he let on. He might have been reckless most of the time, but his heart was always in the right place. He never did anything to harm another person or put his kingdom at risk.

Fynn laid back on his back, dropping an arm over his eyes. "You're just trying to change the topic."

"And what if I am?" I slunk back against the bench, my back hitting the cold metal.

He sighed. "Avoiding the problem isn't going to solve it, Dani."

"Like you're the one to talk. Aren't you avoiding your problems by being out here instead of in there?"

"The ball ended nearly half an hour ago," Fynn said.

I snapped my head toward the castle, and my brows furrowed.

The music and chatter that once poured from the closed doors were now nonexistent. The only people I could see through the grand windows were the staff cleaning up and the musicians packing up their instruments. I hadn't even noticed that the music had stopped or that the crowd’s constant chatter had dwindled. Usually, I was more observant of my surroundings.

Deep wrinkles creased the center of my forehead. Perhaps it was for the best that I had not been promoted after all. If I hadn't even realized that the ball had ended and almost everyone had disappeared, was I responsible enough to lead a battalion into battle safely?

"Come on, you know you don't believe that," Fynn said, with a click of his tongue.

The muscles in my jaw tightened. "Get out of my head, Fynn."

"What? It's not my fault your thoughts are so loud right now. They're practically begging me to listen to them."

"That's no excuse. You reading my thoughts is a complete invasion of my privacy."

"You know that I can't help it sometimes. It's not like I can turn it off."

I narrowed my eyes. "You could at least try not to listen to them."

Fynn shrugged. "Normally, you're more closed off. Unlike some people, you're usually good at keeping your thoughts to yourself. Except, you know"—he waved a hand in the air—"when you're distracted."

I pursed my lips. I was distracted tonight. Usually, I could shake the concerns and worries of the day away easily. Blocking things out and separating them into their designated boxes within the confinements of my mind was not just easy but necessary. Protecting my mind from Fynn's abilities aside, being able to walk away from the stresses of the day was a vital skill for a soldier and leader. While there hadn't been a war in Vaneria for almost one hundred years, political strife was rising across the seven kingdoms. Even though Pontia was separated by a body of water, messengers and spies traveled back and forth, relaying news about the unrest in the kingdoms to the south.

I needed to focus.

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