Page 75 of A Game of Veils

Then he sweeps past me too, without so much as a sideways glance.

As I whirl after him, my stomach sinks. I didn’t mean to make him angry by telling off those spoiled bullies.

The memories wash over me of the vulnerabilities he revealed the other night, the beauty he showed me, the tenderness of his kiss and his supportive touch after I collapsed in my illness.

I thought we’d founded something more real than I might ever get from his foster brothers. Have I just ruined it?

“Lorenzo.” I hurry after him, my quest for a replacement gown abandoned. “Lorenzo!”

He doesn’t slow down, and I don’t want to outright run—especially as we pass the area of the dining room and other nobles heading that way. But Lorenzo keeps going past the common rooms, down one side hall and then another, studiously ignoring me.

“Lorenzo, can we just talk?—”

Without looking back, he makes a gesture that clearly says, Go away.

I frown. I’ve dealt him an injury accidentally. Leaving it to fester doesn’t seem wise, especially when I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to speak to him without witnesses.

How many times have he and his closest companions barged into my space when they had no right to, even when I’ve told them directly to leave? Turnabout should be fair play. At least my reason is more honorable.

He swerves through a doorway, and I speed to a jog just in time to catch the door before it shuts.

As I push into the room after him, Lorenzo spins on his heel to face me, his gaze accusing. Pinned by his dark stare, it takes the rest of my awareness a moment to catch up—to realize I’ve followed him right into what must be his bedroom, based on the furnishings.

Of course. Isn’t this the same hall where I saw Raul emerging from his chambers the other day?

A four-poster bed stands off to one side of the room, a couple of armchairs arranged in a sitting area at the other. The shelves across from me hold an assortment of scattered books, papers, and at least a dozen instruments, all of their wooden surfaces polished to gleaming.

Lorenzo makes the same gesture as before, more emphatically. Go away!

I step to the side of the door, staying close to the wall so it’s not too much of an invasion but making it clear I’m not leaving. “When did any of you ever listen to me when I asked for the same? You’re angry at me. I’m sorry. I was only— They were being awful. They deserved to have someone knock them down a peg.”

Lorenzo’s hands flick through another series of movements, a little too hasty in his agitation for me to totally understand. At my puzzled expression, he makes a rough sound. He pulls a paper and pencil from his belt pouch and leans over his bedside table.

His handwriting slashes across the page in fierce strokes. I can handle them. Don’t need you rescuing me. I’m not feeble.

His anger starts to make more sense. The realization of how my defense came across makes me wince.

I soften my tone. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I’ve never thought you were weak. I never thought you needed me to step in. I just… could. They were right there in front of me, and I don’t like seeing anyone treated cruelly. It was only about them being asses, not anything to do with my opinion of you.”

Lorenzo gives me a skeptical look. He scribbles another note. Would you have done the same for Raul?

I can’t help snorting at the picture that question paints. “I have trouble imagining any of those pricks daring to go at him quite that blatantly. But Bastien or Neven? Of course. I mean… isn’t that what the three of you tried to do for me when you realized I was sick? You wanted to help because you could, because it’d have bothered you not to. Or do you think I’m feeble?”

The corner of the prince’s mouth cants upward. The tension in his shoulders appears to be relaxing. His next few gestures sketch more smoothly through the air.

I think he says, That night, you were a little. His tentative smile suggests he doesn’t mean it as a criticism.

I wrinkle my nose at the point made but can’t deny it. “So maybe you can agree I have a slight advantage dealing with spiteful idiots because I can talk to them more directly?”

Lorenzo glowers at me for a second, but as his animosity fades, so does any lingering tension in the air. He sighs in a long rush and twists his hand in the shape I recognize from when he apologized that night in the woods.

Sorry. I’m bad at taking help. Sometimes it’s worse.

Worse because his bullies hassle him more after the chiding or worse because most people who might defend him end up turning around to inflict similar treatment?

Probably some of both.

I nod, my throat tight. “I can understand that. I shouldn’t have barged into a situation that had nothing to do with me without checking with you first. In the future, I’ll do whatever you’d like.”

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