Page 7 of Crown of Hearts
“And say what?” I asked him. “‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth about your family but please don’t marry another guy even though it would benefit you and your kingdom’?” My tone was more sarcastic than I would have liked.
“Maybe something a little less dramatic?” Thatcher suggested.
“There’s nothing I could say without sounding like an utter fool.”
“You really do like her, don’t you?”
“Just wait, it won’t be long before you’re in love and miserable.” I tried to turn the attention on him and his bachelor lifestyle.
“Aha,” he said, walking backwards to face me, pointing with his finger in the air. “So, you do admit that you’re in love with her.”
“You have a death wish today, don’t you?” I followed him through the immaculate gardens. The leaves were turning colour and I would miss the greenery of summer.
“Just calling it like I see it. Though I seriously doubt you’ll see me in love with anybody any time soon.”
“Still heartbroken over Lady Celia?” I asked with earnest curiosity, but I already had some thoughts as to what the answer would be.
“Celia wasn’t like any woman I’d ever met before.” He fell into step beside me again. I was thankful to find the garden empty of courtiers, not being in the mood for small talk or to be bombarded with questions. As prince of Norrandale, I used to take for granted all the time I had to myself. Now there was hardly a moment when I was alone.
I refrained from rolling my eyes at Thatcher. “You shared a cup of tea with this woman and a single midday stroll.”
“Oh, but, Cai, she was the only one for me,” he said dramatically, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“The only reason you won’t be in love with anyone soon is because you have romantic relations with every woman in Norrandale, Thatcher.”
“Well, at least then I’m still better off than you, all grumpy and alone.”
I shoved him and he swayed slightly. We’d almost reached the doors to the palace when Gwen, Thatch’s younger sister, came into view. Gwen, surprisingly, didn’t share many of his features. While he, two years her senior, looked like their father, she was the spitting image of their mother. She drew a bowstring, an arrow aimed at a target in the distance.
The intense concentration was visible in Gwen’s expression. A light breeze tugged at a lock of hair, blowing it across her face. Despite the obvious irritation, her focus didn’t waver for a moment.
“Watch this,” Thatcher whispered, picking up a small pebble and pulling back his arm. Yes, I definitely was the mature one, when it came to the two of us. But I knew just as well that there was no point in trying to stop him. One of the very few areas of common ground between Thatcher and his sister washow much they loved to pester each other. He threw it at Gwen and the pebble hit her thigh just as she released the bowstring. The impact of the stone made her jump in surprise and sent the arrow flying in the wrong direction.
Her head swivelled towards us, and I was quick to point a finger in Thatcher’s direction, who was bent over with laughter.
“You scoundrel!” Her cheeks reddened.
She might have possessed a sweet and innocent face, but Thatcher and I had attempted too many pranks on her when we were children and I’d suffered enough pain and embarrassing experiences in return to avoid angering her since we’d become young adults. She was certainly the clever one in the family. If Gwen wasn’t a lady, she might have even been a valuable royal advisor. But her family had other plans.
“I was this close to improving my tally.” She barged over and we instinctively took half a step back.
“You shouldn’t take life so seriously, sis. You’ll make yourself insane, although it appears you’re already halfway there.” He turned to throw his arm around her shoulders, but she ducked away and pushed him off.
I quickly stepped between the two of them. “Remember what your mother said,” I reprimanded. “No fighting before noon.” Which seemed like a silly thing to say, but considering how often they got on each other’s nerves, not that surprising. “Shall we call for some dessert when we get back inside?” This seemed to ease Gwen’s fury enough that she momentarily calmed down.
“So, you lost against Cai again, huh?” she asked, referring to his bleeding nose, and I’m sure I spotted a hint of pleasure on her face.
“Actually, Cai gave up after a few minutes. These are the battle wounds of my victory.”
“Humph.” She joined us in our walk back inside, the bow still clutched in her hand.
“And what is it that you have supposedly won?”
“Well, epic bragging rights, of course.”
“Yes, having bested His Majesty in hand-to-hand combat really is a victory to brag about.” She pushed open the doors to one of the palace’s many parlours. We stepped inside the comfortably sized room, decorated with patterned wallpaper and velvet pillows. A few paintings of the palace and surrounding grounds accompanied the chairs and settee.
“You should have seen me, Gwennie.” Thatcher started recounting the fight blow by blow, but I could tell Gwen was no longer paying him any attention. She put the bow down and called for a servant. I realised the only reason we still shared her presence was because she’d been promised some dessert. “And then Cai, having realised he could not beat me, finally ceased,” Thatcher went on.
