Page 10 of Reckless
I’m unsure of how, or where, or when, but Adena wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t make promises unless she could keep them.
I rummage through my pack before pulling on the worn jacket that belonged to my father. It’s far too large, and yet, nothing has ever fit me more perfectly. I shove my hands into the pockets, shivering slightly as I continue pushing through the sand.
The hours creep by, stealing the darkness and replacing the sky with streaks of orange and the promise of a sweltering sun. My breaks are brief, only long enough to rest my sore legs as I eat my rations anddrink my warm water. I frequently inspect my wounds, taking extra care with the fresh one along my thigh.
A gift fromhim.
The bloody gash is his handiwork—I’m sure of it. The sheer accuracy of the throw alone could only belong to him, along with the idea to slice me open in order to get me off the rooftops. I would expect nothing less from the calculating Enforcer who’s so desperate to catch me.
All the more reason to pick up the pace.
I push my sore legs faster as I try to push him from my thoughts.
He’s coming for me.
My lips twitch at the thought, tugging at the scar trailing from my jaw.
And I won’t hesitate again.
CHAPTER 4Kai
“You look like hell.”
Kitt’s eyes skip over the scarlet splotches staining my shirt, courtesy of the Imperial he doesn’t need to know I buried.
For her.
Borderline treasonous at best.
Pathetic at worst.
The king’s scrutiny finally meets mine, our eyes locking, laced with amusement. Familiarity forms a smile on my lips involuntarily, simply at the feeling of being brothers. Brothers who don’t have titles wedged before their names. Brothers who, for this blissful moment, ignore their allegiances tethered by blood.
It’s the first time he’s let me look at him in days. Really look at him.
He’s traded tears for tiredness, smiling eyes for haunted ones, accompanied by slightly sunken cheeks and a stubbled jaw. My inspection snags on the same wrinkled shirt I’ve seen the past three days—half-unbuttoned, sleeves splattered with ink.
“Yeah, well, you don’t look much better,” I say, something akin to a smile still surprising my lips.
Kitt blinks, taking in his stained hands and the smudged papers sprawled out before him as if seeing the scene for the first time. Then he sighs, slowly shuffling the papers he’s been so engrossed with into a sloppy pile. “I’ll be fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.”
“You are aware that there is a simple solution to that—correct?” I sound annoyingly timid as I try to walk the fine line between lightening the mood and attempting to talk some sense into him.
Kitt is different. We are different. I no longer know where my brother ends and my king begins.
When he doesn’t respond, I finish with a quietly concerned, “You should try to rest. Get some sleep.” I nod toward the worn leather seat he’s inherited. “I haven’t seen you leave that chair in days.”
“Sleep is for the dead.” The noise Kitt follows his blunt statement with can only be described as a choking scoff. “Sorry,” he half laughs, shaking his head with what seems to be amusement. “Too soon?”
I force a smile while facing what feels like a stranger. In another life, I can hear those same words falling from Kitt’s mouth, only they are lacking the bitter edge, the crazed crack of his smile. Grief has morphed him into a man I’m wary of.
“Fine,” I sigh, “sleep is for the dead. Though it doesn’t seem you’re living much either.” My eyes search his, pleading in a way I never would with words. “You haven’t left the study since your coronation. We could take a walk through the gardens, go see the queen.” I swallow at the thought of what grief has done to her. “The physicians say she’s getting worse. She hasn’t left her bed, and they fear… They fear there may not be much time left.”
He stills, silent long after my suggestion. I shouldn’t be surprisedby his reluctancy. Kitt has no bond with my mother. Because she is exactly that—mymother. Not his.
Clearing my throat, I quickly change the subject to more appealing endeavors. We could visit Gail in the kitchen. She won’t stop asking to see you until you eat one of her sticky buns—”
“I’m quite happy here, thank you.”
