Page 70 of The Heir's Bargain

"Mhm." Fynn nodded. "Right, the rules. Did I mention that rules are often made to be broken?"

My fists tightened at my side, my frustration about to boil over. "Second, do you know how embarrassing that was?"

He smirked.

He fucking smirked.

Holding up a finger, he said, "To your first question: I told Patrick to deliver the package after your training. But if you wish to blame me for Patrick's inability to follow a simple set of instructions, so be it." He held up a second finger. "Second, now I'm an embarrassment?"

I groaned and pulled the ribbon holding up my hair, hoping to release the headache that was forming.

It didn't.

"It was careless, Fynn."

"How? People who court each other often send one another gifts."

Point taken, I thought, but I refused to admit that to him.

"General Walen retires in less than three months, Fynn! What if that letter revealed the truth? And Sylvia had read that letter to the leaders of First Battalion? What then? Everyone would have known this is?—"

"Dani, stop." Fynn pushed himself off the door and took a step toward me. "Do you think I am that foolish?"

"Yes, I do!"

"Wow, all right." He clicked his tongue. Something akin to hurt flashed across his countenance, but it was too quick to decipher.

I exhaled, long and hard. Pressing my palms flat against the table, I dropped my head, my anger simmering as I squeezed my eyes shut. "Fynn, I didn't?—"

"No, it's fine. I get it. I'm the daft prince who had the misfortune of being named heir. Terin is too timid, too quiet. That's the real reason I'm the Crown Prince, right? If Terin had fought for it, the title would have been his." Fynn grabbed the crystal decanter and poured a glass. Once filled, he picked up the glass and spun the clear liquid before shooting it down his throat. He peeled his gaze away from the drink. His chocolate brown eyes met mine, a flurry of emotions swimming within his irises. "I know what people think about me. I just didn't realize you thought that, too."

My shoulders dropped, and the anger vanished. "Fynn."

He offered me a small smile, but it was far from convincing.

With soft, quiet steps, I stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. The muscles in his shoulders softened, the tension lessening.

When he spoke next, none of the fire or anger that had been there previously was present. "I'm sorry. Today's meeting was rough. I know it's not an excuse, but?—"

The change in Fynn's demeanor wasn't some ploy to trick me into calming down. Something was clearly bothering him.

So, instead of holding onto my anger, I nodded, squeezing his shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head

"When you do, I'm here."

He nodded.

My hand fell to my side. "Fynn, I swear I didn't mean it like that. I've told you before that I think you will be a great king."

He scratched the back of his head, making a mess of his hair. His cotton shirt stretched across his arm. "I know. I'm not upset about what you said."

"Then what is it? I know you said you don't want to talk about it, but?—"

Fynn lifted his head, dark strands of hair falling in front of his face.

The sun was beginning to set. Golden light streamed into the windows and splashed across the exterior wall of the advisors' room. Without thinking, I brushed the hair from his face, and the hair ran through my fingers like silk. When Fynn looked up at me, a hint of gold shimmered in the otherwise pool of dark brown that even the sun could not penetrate.

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