Page 29 of Guarding the Princess
I’m suddenly very tired. I just want to go back to my coffee shop and serve up drinks for old ladies without the proper change and young adults who don’t bother to remove their earbuds while ordering.
Magnus steps closer. “I just want to know what the last three years have done to my beloved cousin. Are you fit to be Queen?”
I scoff. “Yes, I’m sure your attention is from the overwhelming good in your heart. Always looking after our country, aren’t you?”
His eyes narrow, making me guess he doesn’t like to be called out on his lies. In the next second, he’s shrugging and smirking like he hasn’t a care in the world.
“The people need to see a queen who’s ready to put them first, not run away to another country after a commoner at the first sight of a lover’s spat. Just like your brother, aren’t you?”
Bringing up my brother is going too far. I lunge forward, no rational thought in my head, just a soul-deep need to wipe that grin off his face. Ryker grabs my elbow and steers us around Magnus. “Let’s head back inside, Charlotte. It’s entirely too icy out here to stay a second longer.” The look he gives Magnus sends a firmer message than words ever could.
Magnus doesn’t follow us, of that I’m sure because Ryker keeps a close eye behind us. I’m not sure if he’s worried about Magnus or more worried of what I’ll do if he lets me loose. The minute we step back inside the warmth of the palace, Ryker lets go of my elbow and steps back, a good meter away from me. He doesn’t meet my gaze, just stares over my left ear.
“And that’s why we can’t be together, Charlotte.”
12
Ryker
As if my day couldn’t get worse, I have to guard Charlotte while trying to act unaffected after a kiss that should have been simple but instead just crashed through my life like a wrecking ball. All I want to do is sweep her up in my arms without a single care for who sees us. But I can’t. Not if I want to keep my work reputation and hers impeccable. Not if I want her to be free to take the throne that’s rightfully hers instead of letting it go to that jackal Magnus.
It took all my willpower not to look at her while she talked with her mother and then especially to tell her we’d never work out. The words felt like they were ripped from my chest with the pain they caused spoken out loud. Telling her the opposite of what my heart felt while she stared at me with those blue eyes I lose myself in every time I glance at her was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
She’s angry with me. And she has every right to be. I never should have kissed her. Never should have let myself fall for her steady kindness and her ability to tease a smile out of even the grumpiest of bodyguards.
And now alone in my room, with all my turbulent thoughts bumping around inside my skull, my mom texts me. Another layer of guilt.
Mom:What is this? You’re in Regora? Where even is that? And why do you tell your mother these things over a text message? Pick. Up. The. Phone.
I sit on my bed and hang my head. What are the chances she’ll let me off the hook for ignoring her text? My phone rings immediately and I see my chances are less than zero.
“Hello, Mom.”
I can’t even muster up fake enthusiasm tonight.
“Let me give you a piece of advice.” No hello, just straight into the lecture. “Never have sons. You give them your life, and once they’ve sucked you dry, they move away and never call you back.”
I grimace. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’ve just been busy.”
“Invalid excuse. You’re never too busy to talk to your mother. Why are you in Regora?”
“On a job—”
“Of course you are. You’re never not on a job.”
“Which is why I’m busy and can’t call you back.”
She tsks in my ear. I hear a screen door slam shut and I’d bet a hundred dollars she’s out on her front porch, the flowers in her yard nice enough to have a full-page spread in a landscaping magazine. Based on the flowers, you’d think she’s a sweet old lady, but you’d be wrong. She’s tougher than my brother and me put together.
“Honey, cut the crap. What’s going on? Why do you sound like someone killed your puppy?” Her voice softens and that’s even worse. Sympathetic-mom is my kryptonite.
I sigh and flop backwards onto the soft bed. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Mom.”
She laughs, mocking me even though I know she means well. “None of us know what we’re doing. You just make it up as you go along, Ry. Do the right thing and everything will work out right.”
I rub the tension headache brewing between my eyebrows. “And what do you do when you don’t know what the right thing is?”
“Oh, that’s easy, honey. Always follow your heart.”
