Page 47 of Protect Your Queen

“Is this a new song?” I asked, wanting to be with him in this moment of creation.

“Mm-hm.” He gave me a slight nod. “Sometimes, your eyes look like the color of autumn leaves, when you’re staring at the sun. I was thinking about that when I started playing this.”

I blushed, and he groaned again. I brought my hand up to my cheeks, embarrassed, and it made me feel even hotter.

But then words started forming in my head. They were bad. They didn’t really rhyme. But they seemed to fit a melody that his chords implied.

“It’s a story we can weave, with the drifting autumn leaves,” I sang, unsure where the words were coming from. It was like I plucked them out of thin air.

If my singing surprised him, he didn’t let it show, as he kept on playing this new tune. I made up words of longing. The lyrics were terrible, and most of the time, I just hummed a fitting melody, while he followed my lead. It was strange to be the one doing the leading, for once.

When the song ended, I caught him looking at me, his light eyes boring into the side of my face. Just like last night, he leaned his head down.

I parted my lips, wanting to taste him. I had never in my life wanted to taste a man. I wasn’t totally innocent. I had kissed before – but usually it was for a music video. Once, it was with a drummer who worked for my tour. That was short-lived, and I pretended it never happened. Not that it mattered. A week on, he was fired, and Jareth gave him a one-way ticket home.

This was different.

I could see desire in his eyes. Desire that must have looked like mine. I could smell his scent – leather and wood, the way all men should – and I had seen his glorious chest and shoulders and not been immune to his particular brand of beauty.

“See? She needs a ballad!” Loïc’s voice echoed through the halls, despite all the sound dampening foam.

I almost snorted with laughter, as Chris pulled away, glaring at my “team” as if they were the biggest scum of the earth.

“I’ll get back to my guarding duties, now.” Chris gave me a little wink. It was an affectation of his that I was growing incredibly fond of. “Don’t let them choose what you do with your voice, little Songbird.”

The door opened, and in came Jareth. His dark eyes honed in on me and Chris on the piano bench. Heglareddaggers at us. Chris saw it, but he didn’t care. He stood up, straightened his blazer, and gave me another wink, as I tried not to giggle.

“I’ve got to go, Songbird,” he said, and I scowled.

“Your job is to stay with me.”

“My job is to keep you safe,” he corrected. “I have someone outside who’ll take over for me for a minute while I go handle something. Be a good girl, and be nice to my colleague, okay?”

“Hard pass,” I said, crossing my arms. I would have pouted if it didn’t make me seem too clingy.

“That-a-girl,” he said, running a knuckle against my cheek. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

I resisted the urge to grab his hand and hold him to me. I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t want him to leave me here with nothing but strangers.

“Jareth is here,” he said as if he was reading my mind. “It’ll be fine.”

I stared at the piano keys as the door opened and closed, marking his exit.

Jareth plopped himself down beside me. The Loïc-Simon war continued in the background. I placed my right hand on the keys, plucking what I could remember of the melody Chris and I had made together.

Or maybe it was all just him? I wasn’t sure.

“Stay away from him, Jes.” I was surprised at how gentle my brother’s voice was. “You were right to call him ‘thehelp’when he first arrived.” My playing faltered as my brother continued. “Do not rely on these other people when it comes to your career. Remember, it means nothing to them, and in the end, they’ll move on and head to another job. You will remain, living with decisions that may not have been your own.”

“We were just talking about music,Kuya,” I said, with a pout.

“You’re too beautiful to ever put trust in men. Especially a man who looks like that.”

“You’re a good-looking man. Should I trust you?” I turned my body to face him fully, and he met my challenge with a glare.

“It’s not the same, and you know it.” His fists clenched as he placed them over the music stand, looking down between his arms at the keys.

My brother used to play piano. He had learned from our father. When I was thirteen, I had begged him to teach me so that I could be a little closer to the Papa who disappeared, never to be found. They wouldn’t talk about him. They wouldn’t even say his name.

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