Page 120 of Reckless
He reaches a hand to my face, intending to wipe away the tears there. I shake my head, pulling away. “No, I don’t want you to see me like this. I don’t want you to wipe my tears away.”
He nods slowly, taking in my words. “Okay. Then I won’t.”
His hand slowly finds mine from where it sits in my lap. I watch in confusion has he picks it up and lifts it toward his mouth.
Another tear escapes my eye when his lips brush against the pad of my thumb.
The action is so small, yet so significant. Now that I know the meaning behind it, I swallow at his willingness to share something so special with me.
But then he takes that thumb and guides it toward my cheek to wipe away a tear there. Then he pulls it back to his lips, kissing it again before using it to wipe away another one of my tears. “You’re strong enough to wipe away your own tears, but too stubborn to let someone care for you,” he murmurs.
He continues to kiss my thumb, helping me wipe away every tear decorating my face. My eyes are puffy, face splotchy, but he looks at me with a reverence reserved for religion.
When he’s kissed my thumb for the last time, I’m being pulled into his arms. My back is pressed against his bare chest, and he holds me tight despite his wound. A hand is running over my short hair, fingers brushing my neck.
“Thank you,” I whisper, placing my hand on the arm wrapped around my waist.
He leans his head against mine. “Are you feeling better?”
I’m quiet, considering his question. “For the first time in a while, I feel like that’s a possibility.”
CHAPTER 42Kitt
I haven’t been to the west tower since visiting the little girl who once occupied it.
In her place now lies a woman. A queen. A mother—perhaps partially even to me.
I set a quick pace across the plush carpet, content to avoid the many curious looks that follow. Servants smile politely; Imperials stare shiftily. Glancing at one of the many windows lining the hall, I attempt to catch of glimpse of my reflection.
Instead, my feet falter. My throat dries. My vision blurs.
I have yet to visit his grave. Yet to force myself to stare at the patch of dirt he’s buried beneath.
The small cemetery stretches beyond the window, tucked against an intimate corner of the castle. Decades of kings, queens, and their lineage have been laid to rest beneath the soft grass. Carved stones sit atop each grave, marking what decaying body lies beneath.
The breath I take is shallow, rattling in my chest.
Several pairs of watchful eyes prickle my skin, and I straighten atthe feel. Because I am their king. I am not mad. And I will not cause a scene.
Tearing my eyes from the fresh, upturned dirt that now swallows my father, I quicken my pace down the hall.
Head high. Back straight. Eyes clear.
In the days since my eye-opening conversation with Gail, I’ve visited the willow tree and apologized to Ava for missing her birthday. Hell, I apologized for more than just that. I likely looked every bit the mad king as I mumbled to the roots twining beneath my feet.
That’s when Calum found me, reminded me of those threeB’s. At the thought, I bury a hand into my pocket, finding the cool box beneath my fingers. I run the pad of my thumb over the velvet absentmindedly, recalling the much-needed coaching Calum has offered.
“Look the part of the king, even if you don’t quite feel it yet. For the sake of your plan, your people.”
I round the corner, finding an equally packed hall filled with prying eyes. My hand tightens atop the box, finding courage in the threeB’s it represents. Blowing out a breath, I stride evenly through the throng of servants and Imperials.
Head high. Back straight. Eyes clear.
I don’t have the chance to wonder whether I look kingly enough before I’m standing beneath the looming stairwell that climbs up to the west tower. This wing of the castle is reserved for the infirmary—otherwise known as isolation.
Steps creak beneath my feet, groaning against my weight. Trekking up the multiple winding stories has me quickly winded.
Damn, am I really this out of shape?
