Page 48 of The Wicked Prince

“Why?” Robin croaked.

“Because you didn’t have a portrait of them, and you should. I didn’t know you blamed yourself—but you shouldn’t. I just thought you should have been able to have one with them as a woman.”

It was the first time he’d painted her. The first time he captured her face with his hands at all since the night she’d found his drawings of her and threatened him.

“Because… you don’t have to keep running. Not anymore.” He bit back,‘Not with me.’

Robin stepped back from the easel. Then another. Slow, stumbling steps toward him. John stayed perfectly still. Whatever punishment she gave him for crossing the line that had sent her over the edge so long ago, he would take.

Then she was in front of him. Her hand sank into his collar, low on his chest. Over his heart. Her hand was shaking.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head. He braced himself for the hit.

It never came.

Instead, her arms slid around his waist, her chest pressed against his, and her face buried itself in his neck as she wrapped herself around him, crushing herself to him.

John’s arms hung at his sides. His head spun dizzyingly as he had stopped breathing the second her hands touched his waist and he didn’t know how to start again.

But since he was as still as a statue, the trembling was all Robin. Then he heard the first soft sob, muffled against his skin. That brought him back to consciousness.

He brought his arms up, wrapping one around the length of her back and sliding his hand into her hair, cupping the back of her head. Robin’s hands clenched into his shirt. He ran his palm up and down her back, his fingers brushing the skin of her shoulders when he reached the top.

John wasn’t sure when, but at some point one of them sank to the ground, pulling the other with them. John leaned his head against Robin’s, taking in the feeling of her hair against his cheek and in his hand. It was a horrid thing, to be trying to memorize what it was like to hold her while she cried, but John could not help his greedy, wicked heart. If this would be the only way Robin would ever be close to him, he was going to take it and engrave it into his memory.

Slowly, the soft noises she made faded, and all he could hear and feel was her breath on his skin and his movements stilled. Slowly, while John bit down on his tongue to stop the desperate pleas for her to stay in his arms threatening to fall out, Robin lifted her head and started to pull her hands back from his waist.

He let her pull back, but she did not leave his arms completely. She pulled back enough to lift her face from his neck.

Then he saw the most incredible thing.

Robin, with her eyes red and tear tracks on her cheeks, smiled at him. Not a pained grin or an annoyed smirk.

But she beamed at him the way she had smiled that day in the training grounds, the smile he had been chasing ever since, directed at him. Because of him.

The light that radiated out of her smile and her eyes went straight into the heart that seemed to beat only for her. It took root there and started to grow. Hope.

If he loved her enough without saying it, maybe she could love him in return.

Chapter19

The day after her birthday, Robin finally got her speech as well as distributing the leftovers herself. John was even going to be part of the speech with her. Even further, he insisted he also go with her afterwards.

Even if he wasn’t taking the credit, she hoped the people could still make the association that he approved or maybe at least was capable of indulging her.

As the carriage rolled through the streets, Robin could hear people calling out and caught glimpses of the crowd being held back by the guards escorting them.

John sat across from her, running his hands through his hair, his crown on his knee. He was leaning as far back in his seat as he could and away from the windows while he fussed with his hair and bounced his knee, threatening to send the crown to the ground. He looked like he was going to be sick.

She leaned forward to try to catch the crown before it fell, but before she could, John said, “Sit straight. Don’t wrinkle your dress.”

Robin rolled her eyes as the crown fell to the floor of the carriage. “Stop messing up your hair then.”

“I’mfixingit,” John snapped.

“I don’t think anyone out there is going to care.” Robin sat back. “They’re barely going to notice you’re there while I speak.”

“Let’s hope so,” he muttered.

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