Page 32 of The Wicked Prince

Or had she fallen asleep and forgotten to put out a candle?

John knocked softly on the door but received no response. If Robin had fallen asleep and left a candle burning… it could cause a fire or a mess.

Richard would absolutely send John to the frontlines if he burned down his castle. Not to mention Robin’s parents had died in a fire started by unattended candles. And he hadn’t seen her for more than fleeting seconds for weeks…

John was surprised to find the knob turned under his hand. Robin really must have fallen asleep if she hadn’t locked the door. When had she unlocked it in the first place? He was just going to put out the candle and then leave before Robin woke up and killed him. Simple.

But when he pushed the door open, he spotted Robin sitting at her desk, the candles centralized to provide the most light there. They framed Robin in their glow, and John forgot how to breathe for a moment.

Her hair was down fully, not a tangled mess but perfectly brushed and spilling over her shoulders. She was in a nightgown and robe, designed to match, the robe belted shut at the waist.

Robin had several books open on the desk in front of her, stacked on top of each other, and papers scattered around her. Her elbow was on the desk and her chin was propped up on it, her whole body leaning into it. Her fingers were tangled in her hair, gripping it tightly as she stared at the mess before her. Her eyes shone with water in the candlelight.

John stayed in the doorway and called out, “Robin?”

She was wholly absorbed as she didn’t even blink.

John took a deep breath and stepped into the room, slowly moving toward the desk lest she rip that dagger out of thin air and plunge it into his heart for his approach. He said, “It’s late, Robin. Go to bed.”

Robin finally looked up.

There was no anger. No rage at him having crossed the boundary between them.

He’d never seen her look quite like this. Not when she was in chains. Not even when she signed her real name and forever bound herself to him. Even then there’d been some assurance in her eyes, some kind of fire.

Now… she looked utterly helpless.

“You win,” she whispered.

John stared at her from the other side of the desk.

When he didn’t respond, she shook her head and sat back in her seat, looking away from the papers in front of her. “I can’t… I can’t make it work. I can’t fix it.” Her voice cracked and she pulled her hand out of her hair and continued, “We’re hemorrhaging money at the border. It just goes and goes. And if we cut back, this gets bigger.” Robin pointed to the report on her desk that John knew had to be the casualties. Then she gestured to the window. “But if we don’t do something the people here will end up dead too.”

“It is a conundrum. Withhold from the army to feed the people today; they lose their lives tomorrow when Esmea arrives. Take from the people to supply the army today; will there be a country left for them to come back to?”

Robin ran a hand over her face for a moment before looking up at the ceiling. “I tried—I looked at all the expenses. Even if I slashed the expenses of the castle, cut out every frivolity, pinched every penny, made us live like peasants, that money would be only a fraction of what the army needs and what the people need. But I thought it was better than doing nothing, so I started, but then there were the contracts. Stars above,” Robin groaned, punctuating it with a kick to the desk with her right leg. “Those cursed contracts!”

John knew exactly what she was talking about. He stayed silent and let her continue.

“The second I tried, I turned around and someone was furious with me. I change the orders for food supplies for the castle to eliminate excess, and the butchers show up demanding to know why I’m trying to break the contract they have with the castle. I try to adjust the order to buy less expensive cuts and the nobles in the castle declare I’m insulting them and degrading them, and the butchers still aren’t happy because they’re getting less coin even though I’m trying to explain it will mean less leaves their pockets next time.” Robin looked close to tears again. “And I tried to cut down the castle staff and shutter guest rooms that aren’t in use, and then I’m accused of taking their livelihoods and now they’re going to starve; they have no other profession and nowhere else to work in Lathe. And that’s just our people!

“I switched my attention to our foreign contracts because at least then maybe I could find some additional money in the budget without hurting any of our people in the process, but those contracts and treaties are so much worse. I so much as look at a trade deal with a foreign ally and think of increasing taxes on the imports so that I can decrease the taxes on our people, it would cost us the support they are already showing us in the aid they’ve sent for the army. And even if I could, increasing those taxes would only increase the cost of the goods so our people would still stuffer.” Robin lowered her head, burying her head in her hands. “I can’t make it work. I can’t…”

Then she took a long, shuddering breath and lifted her head. All the emotion was gone. She was completely empty as she looked at him and said, “Congratulations, John, you win again.”

John didn’t like this game.

As he stared at Robin in the candlelight, he had a strange realization.

He didn’t want to win if it meant Robin lost.

John slowly moved toward the desk and started to close the books and gather the papers. He kept his gaze low, feeling Robin’s eyes burning into him. He murmured, “It’s not easy being king. Or regent.” As he finished, he moved to the side of the desk and leaned against it. “No one wins.”

“If I try… they’ll all hate me.” Her gaze was on her lap.

He could only imagine how terrifying that was to someone who had known only their adoration. John though…

He knelt in front of Robin, desperately wishing he had the courage to reach out and place his hand on her knee but not daring to. He caught her gaze and said, “No, they won’t.”

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