Page 47 of The Wicked Prince

Her hair was down, completely loose and spilling over her shoulders in a wild mane. She’d abandoned her ballgown for a nightgown. Every night when they met up, Robin was still in her dress from the day, and it was only after she was half-asleep that she stumbled her way back to her room and would change into nightclothes. John assumed, at least. It was just as likely she didn’t bother changing at all. He had occasionally seen her in nightclothes, but always with a robe over her nightgown.

It wasn’t even an immodest one. It was long sleeved and made of thick, warm wool, and fell to mid-calf. But it was still an intimate sight that caused his heart to speed up.

“John!”

He blinked, pulling his gaze back to her face and away from the little embroidered collar. How could it be higher than the neckline of her ballgown and be the sight that most appealed to him?

“Why?” she asked.

His tongue felt like lead but he said, “Because I knew that’s what you would want. You also want to give a speech. We’re doing that tomorrow as well.”

“No. I mean why did you say it was my idea? This was you. It was all you!”

“Because no one wants it to be from me. They want it to be from you.” John crossed his arms and looked back at the window. “That’s the whole arrangement. The people see me as the villain and you the hero.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe people would see you as something more if you stopped just accepting it and started fighting it?”

Him? Fight?

“You know very well I am no fighter.”

“Not even for something that matters?” Her shoulders dropped as her voice lowered.

John stared at the training grounds below, her crystal blue eyes too much for him to handle.

“John?”

He turned around. “I still haven’t given you your gift yet.”

“Don’t change the—” Robin paused. “What do you mean? Wasn’t the ball, the dress, having the leftovers sent to the poor all your gifts to me for my birthday?”

“Those thingsinvolvedyou, but they weren’tforyou.” John hurried over to his easel, keeping his gaze lowered to the floor so Robin couldn’t catch it. He couldn’t let her see what was in them. The second she did, he would lose her. He shifted his feet as he wrapped his fingers around the sheet covering the canvas.

“John…” Robin’s voice was barely a breath and a warning at the same time.

He almost let go. He almost lifted his head and told her he was just teasing her. But for what might have been the first time in his life his courage didn’t fail him.

He pulled the sheet off, and Robin let out a choked gasp.

John’s head snapped up, to see whether tonight was going to be his last.

Robin had stepped back, a hand over her mouth. Her brilliant blue eyes were wide and watery. She was shaking.

This had been a mistake.

“I’m sorry. I—I’m so sorry. I did this before you told me—and I should have realized—” John stuttered, fumbling with the sheet to throw it back over the canvas. “I should never—”

“No!” Her scream pierced his ears. Before he could get the sheet back over the canvas, her nails were digging into his arms, ripping it back down. Robin shoved him away from the canvas as she reached for it, her hands still shaking. She grabbed the side of the canvas with one hand while the other with trembling fingers brushed the face on the left. Then the face on the right.

Lord Robert and Lady Elizabeth of Locksley. Robin’s parents.

Standing in the middle of them was Robin. A formal family portrait.

Robin’s legs shook as she stumbled back and finally pulled her gaze to her own face. John had painted them all in green and gold. Robin in the very same dress he’d had made for the ball.

“How—” Robin’s voice cracked, and she abandoned the question.

“Lady Marian. She sent me what survived the fire. The one that had been commissioned when you were born. It was enough. And well… you know very well I have no trouble capturing your face on paper; now it’s on canvas.”

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