Page 107 of Thrones We Steal

“Won’t be much longer now. A stronger person would’ve had him put to sleep. But I didn’t want him dying on an operating table. This is his home.”

“Do you mind if I stay?”

His only answer is a grunt which I take as an invitation. Stroking the soft fur between his eyes, I will Argos to leave this world peacefully and without pain. He just looks at me, his dark eyes luminous and beseeching. Poor baby. I press a kiss to his nose. It’s cold.

I study William covertly, keeping my head down. He’s crumpled on the floor, his back to the wall, his legs splayed in both directions. It can’t be comfortable, but by all appearances, he’s been here for a while. His suit is wrinkled, and he’s kicked off his shoes, leaving stockinged feet that seem strangely intimate.

I want to hate him. I do hate him for what he did to Henry. But at the same time my heart breaks for him. Right now he isn’t a harsh and imposing king or a cold and molesting father. He’s a man watching his dog die, and it’s killing him.

“I got him when he was a pup.”

I feign a stretch to cover my startle reflex when he speaks. “How old is he?”

“Fourteen.” He runs a hand over his face in a gesture that is so Henry my heart gives a tiny jolt.

I decide to just let him talk. What is there to say anyway?

“He followed me everywhere I went. Everyone thought I was ridiculous for getting a dog, but I had one when I was young. Best part of my life.” He strokes Argos’ head, his fingers nearly colliding with mine. I move my hand to the dog’s belly. “When I lost that dog, I was a mess. My mother didn’t know what to do with me. Offered to get me another one, but I refused. Another dog can’t take the place of the one you love, you know?”

He looks at me then and I nod.

“You ever have a dog?” he asks.

“No. My mum’s allergic. I’ve always wanted one though.”

He grunts, in approval I guess. It’s hard to say.

“They’re like people,” I say softly. “Once they’re in our hearts, it’s impossible to root them out.”

“They’re better than people. Dogs don’t hurt you.”

His words hang in the air, a dark, heavy fog swirling around us.

“Not everyone intends to hurt others,” I say.

“But some do.” His jaw clenches tightly. I wonder if he includes himself in that quantification. “My father told me I deserved to watch my dog die if I was going to act like a sissy about it. He’d love seeing me like this.” His upper lip pulls into a sneer. “A grown man—the fucking king—crying over a dog.” He swipes at his nose.

“Sometimes it takes more strength to show emotion than to hide it.” I pause, contemplate before I ask. “Does Henry know? About Argos?”

He snorts his derision. “He doesn’t care about him.”

I feel the deep trenches forming in my brow as I say, “He loves this dog. He would want to know.”

“Nothing he can do about it.”

“All the same, I’d like to tell him if you don’t mind.”

“Suit yourself.”

I pull my phone from my bag to send Henry a text. I’m searching through my contacts before I remember that I deleted his number weeks ago.

I’ll message him on Instagram. I open the app, and Bea’s story icon winks at me with its colorful ring. I realize I haven’t seen her for the past two days. I click on it and immediately regret it.

A photo fills my screen, the lights and closely pressed bodies in the background placing it in a club. Henry and Beatrice’s faces beam back at me, cheeks pressed together, eyes bright from what was likely an insane amount of cocktails. God, they look so good together, with their perfect symmetry and their flawless faces.

I tap to the next photo, taken right after the first. They’re in the same position, but this time Bea’s lips plant a saucy kiss on Henry’s cheek, her arm entwined around his shoulders possessively. He’s grinning.

I toss the phone back into my bag. Let Henry find out about Argos himself.

---