Page 74 of The Stolen Princess
“I would tell you, but you can’t handle vulgarity, remember?” There was a playful quality in his tone that made Myka smile.
“Very funny.” She kicked her leg out, hitting him in the calf.
The joking feeling lingered between them, and the entire conversation made Drake seem more like a friend than an enemy. A good friend. Someone she could joke around with and tell all of her crazy thoughts and ideas to.
But Drake wasn’t in the friend zone.
Drake Vestry was supposed to be in the I-hate-you-with-every-fiber-of-my-being zone, at least that’s where Myka had put him the second he had kidnapped her, but every day her relationship with Drake got a little more confusing.
The wind howled outside. The powerful gusts whistled through the cracks in the boards and beat against the roof of the shack.
“What are you thinking about now?” Drake asked.
That was another friend-type thing to say.
Myka could ignore his question, pretend like she was asleep, but there was a strong urge inside of her to let her guard down, to tell Drake herstuff.
“I hate strong winds at night,” she blurted out. “It makes me feel like the roof is going to be ripped off, but it also reminds me of the night my mother left.” She swallowed, keeping her gaze up and away from him. “A storm had moved in, and the wind was really strong. At least, to an eight-year-old. I sat on my mom’s bed, watching her pack, begging her not to leave. She kept saying that she had to go and that I would understand when I was older. I still don’t understand.” She sucked in another breath, needing it to help her continue. “I followed my mom down the grand staircase of Tolsten House and to the front doors. She kissed me on top of my head and told me that she would come back for me. She walked to the waiting carriage. Her long black hair lifted in the wind, moving wildly in the air. The gusts took the purple skirt of her dress and blew it to the side, so I could see the outline of her body below her hip. I reached for her, but my maid held me back. I don’t remember asking to go with her, just asking her to stay. She climbed in the carriage, and the horses pushed through the wind, taking her away from Tolsten House.” Myka fidgeted with her fingers. “After a few days when she didn’t come back, I convinced myself that her carriage had been taken by the wind or blown over into a ditch. It had to be the wind’s fault that she hadn’t come back for me.”
Her story filled the space between them, and Myka wondered if Drake would comment or let her words hang in the air above them.
“Jarvis was there, too,” she said. “He got in the carriage with my mother.”
Drake turned his head to her. “Who?”
“The man who killed Princess Seran. He worked for my father. When I was a little girl, I gave him the nickname of Skunkman because of his white and black hair.”
She could feel Drake’s eyes on her but she didn’t move to look at him, just kept her head pointed to the ceiling.
“I haven’t seen him at Tolsten House in over a year.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know he was a bad man.”
“And now?” He asked softly as if words could tiptoe.
“Now I don’t know what to think.”
19
Myka
Birds chirped outside the window, singing their morning songs into the woods. A smile tugged on Myka’s lips as she listened to their melodic trills. It was a great way to wake up. Slowly she opened her eyes, and her smile faded. Drake Vestry slept inches from her. That’s what happens when two people sleep beside each other. At the beginning of the night, each person scoots as far over as possible, telling themselves to stay on the edge of their own cot, but by dawn, faces are inches apart, like see-every-smooth-curve-and-ridge-of-his-flawless-face inches apart.
Drake didn’t look like a kidnapper when he slept. Actually, he didn’t look like a kidnapper when he was awake either. He always looked handsome, fearless, and determined. Myka could easily picture him commanding an army, demanding respect despite his young age.
A few strands of his brown hair fell forward, hovering just above his eyelids. It would be so easy to brush the pieces of hair back from his forehead, but it would also be extremely inappropriate and intimate. The strands looked so light and tempting. She puffed a burst of air toward the wayward hair just to see if she could get it to float back to place, but that had been a terrible idea.
Drake stirred, and Myka immediately closed her eyes, pretending like she was asleep. That seemed like a better plan than being caught blowing on his face. If she could summon some drool right now, she would, but at the same time, she didn’t want to look ugly with her mouth wide open like she was dead to the world. That wasn’t attractive. Not that she wanted Drake to think that she was attractive. There was no logical reason why that would be important, but still,Myka wanted to look cute sleeping.Sleeping Beautysleeping, that was the look she was going for. She tried to slow her breath even while her heart raced.
He shifted like he had turned his head to study her more fully. What did Drake see when he looked at her? Did he see Sleeping Beauty, or did he see her light freckles from too much time in the sun and the small blemish (okay, not so small) that had taken residence on her chin this week? His silence made her uncomfortable, and suddenly Myka didn’t like the idea of Drake Vestry staring at her. She let out an overdramatic yawn, and his head was already turned away from her when she opened her eyes. He sat up, then he untied the rope at his waist and stood, walking to the bucket of water they used for washing.
Myka stretched.
“After breakfast, I’m going to leave you in the shack for a little bit,” Drake said as he dried his face with a towel. Myka stared at him. He left her in the shack every day. Why had he announced it now like it was something new?
“I could come wherever you’re going,” she said, raising her shoulder. The last couple of days, Myka had watched from the crack in the boards as Drake walked deeper into the woods, and she wondered what was out there that was so important that it took him away from his prisoner.
He bent down, grabbing his shoes that were tucked beneath his cot. “No, you can’t.”
“Why not?”
