Page 18 of Falling Princess
I will always resent Lorcan for so readily trading my freedom for his education and advancement. And my father, for ruining this experience for me before it started.
I perched on the hard wooden chair at my desk and ran my palm over the printout of my class schedule taped there. I’m already struggling. I shouldn’t be. Before now, I always had private instructors. The large lecture halls and small group discussions are exhausting. It doesn’t help that I’m tired. Crossing time zones and settling in has been more taxing than I thought it would be. This is the longest I’ve ever been away from home, except for the Olympics.
“Zosh? It’s done.” Raina poked her head around the door, with flushed cheeks and eyes shining.
“That was fast.”
Lorcan’s competence is bewilderingly limitless. It makes me feel useless, which I don’t need more experience with, thanks very much. Useless is pretty much my default. I reluctantly rejoined them in the living area. Sure enough, my shelf was standing in the center, looking just like the picture apart from a couple of scuffs from my previous assembly attempts.
“Do you want me to do the other one?”
I blinked with surprise. Words. Actual words, in the form of a question. I don’t think I’ve heard him speak beyondyes, no, orYour Highnesssince we arrived. “If you’re feeling ambitious. I certainly have no aptitude for it.” He didn’t answer, just set about tearing open the next box. “Lorcan.”
He glanced up, warily, from beneath that fall of hair. I had the strangest impulse to brush it away from his face. “Thank you.” I kept my hands to myself.
He shrugged, and returned to his work.
“I’ll put this one in the study room,” I tell Raina, while trying to distract myself from that fleeting, disturbing urge to touch him. That’s probably why he keeps his hair long. To entice women into touching him. Impossible to imagine Lorcan ever making the first move—how long has Raina been dropping hints?
WHY am I THINKING this?
I lifted the shelf. It wasn’t heavy, but it was awkward to navigate around the coffee table and past the television without bumping into Lorcan, who was making fast work of the next one.
“I’ll help you,” Raina took the opposite end.
For the next few minutes, I lost myself in setting up pots for the seeds I smuggled in from my home country, measuring light, jotting notes, and making lists for supplies. Raina seemed to sense my need for a bit of distance. She chatted amiably at Lorcan while he worked. I could hear her talking and him moving pieces of plywood around through the door, which isn’t exactly soundproof.
After a while, I was interrupted by a soft knock. Raina.
“May I keep some of my dresses in here, too? These wardrobes aren’t very big. Mine is already overflowing.”
Small wonder. I smiled.
“Sure. I’ve hung my formal gowns on this side but there’s still plenty of room. You’re welcome to use it. Father sent a list of public appearances we’ll be making between now and Midwinter.” I showed her the printout.
Raina examined it. “I’ve always wanted to see New York.”
“I doubt you’d actually see it. It’ll be there and back, not a single sight to be seen.”
“Well, at least I could say I’ve been.”
There’s a knock at the door. Lorcan, with the next shelf. I shook my head in disbelief. Those directions don’t even make sense.
“There’s no room.” He eyed the small space.
“The shelves can be stacked.” Then I realized that for him to carry it into the room, I would either have to back up against the desk or try to slip past him. Since the latter felt too close to touching, I perched my behind on the corner. “Come on, you’re small enough. You can make it.”
My dig at his height got no response.
Maybe he’s not that small—
I closed my eyes and pressed one hand to my forehead. Goddess help me; I need to get away from Lorcan before I lose my entire mind. Fortunately, we have class soon. I need to survive four more months of daily contact and then I can go home for Midwinter.
You know it’s bad when I’m homesick for a place I don’t want to be.
When I opened my eyes, it was to the sight of his shirt hiked up a few inches as Lorcan hoisted the new shelf to place it on top of the other. That narrow strip of abdomen revealed taut muscles and smooth skin marred in places by faint scars. I was mesmerized by the long, raised, pinkish one just below his navel. It looks recent, and deep. Clearly not enough to disembowel him, but it must have been a close call. What in the name of Auralia Herself has he been doing, to earn such a wicked injury?
There was a scuffle of wood. The curtain of his shirt dropped, ending the show.
