Page 21 of The Heir's Bargain

My palms pressed into the bench, about to stand, when Fynn called out.

"Wait, Dani," Fynn said, leaning on his side again, making me pause. "Stay. Just for a little longer."

I gave him a cursory glance. "I'm not the only one avoiding my problems. Now am I?"

Fynn rubbed a hand across his face. "I never said I wasn't avoiding them, too."

"You're ridiculous," I said with an eye roll as I settled against the bench.

Fynn grinned. "But also charming and handsome and smart, right?"

I rolled my eyes again but laughed. "Sure. If that's what gets you through the night."

His smile fell. "I am sorry that you didn't get the promotion. You've worked so hard for it over the past year and a half."

I shrugged. "Some things cannot simply be handed down."

Fynn flinched.

My face twisting with guilt, I rushed to apologize. "That's not—that's not what I meant, Fynn."

The corners of his lip turned up, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He shook his head as if he could shake the emotion away. "It's fine. I get it. I was set to become king the moment I was born." He dropped his gaze, focusing on the cobblestone pavement between us.

"Fynn," I said.

My attitude was only a result of my frustrations with my situation, not Fynn acquiring the title of heir. My father was the commander of the entire Pontian military. He oversaw the promotions of the leaders, so I knew that to some soldiers, it would have appeared like a handout if I had received the promotion. But it wasn't. I had spent my entire life training. I had worked hard to build a solid knowledge base of strategy and to build trust among the soldiers in my platoon. My soldiers knew how hard I worked and how much I lived and breathed the military.

Still, it wasn't enough.

No, I corrected, it was too much.

I groaned. "I don't get it, Fynn. What more can I do? General Walen is retiring in five months. I have five months to prove to them that I—what? Can have a serious relationship? It's preposterous."

"Let someone court you then."

My jaw fell open. "You have to be joking."

"What?"

"You, of all people, cannot be telling me to listen to my mother when you aren't even listening to your own!"

"I mean—I attempted. You saw me dance with several women tonight, did you not?"

"And when the first opportunity to get away arose, you took it."

Fynn shrugged. "When the opportunity presents itself, whom am I to deny it? I am just a measly man."

"The queen isn't going to give this up," I said.

Fynn sat up, his head falling to the side as he looked at me with a narrowed gaze.

I jerked back, but my shields were still intact. Still sound. "If you're trying to read my?—"

Shaking his head, Fynn held up a hand. "I'm not. I promise. It's just?—"

"What?" I asked, still not trusting the mischievous glint in his brown eyes.

"What if—now hear me out before you say no," Fynn held his hands up, "What if I pretend to court you?"

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