Page 14 of We Three Kings

I started vigorously washing my face, wiping my mouth, wiping Frederick’s mouth from it, wishing I could wipe my words too. I’d been wrong, and I’d been proven wrong in less than a few hours of alone time with my fiancé.

When I was done, I brushed my teeth, swiped the hairbrush from the counter, and marched out. He was done and was taking off his sweater, it was halfway off the finest abs I’d ever seen in existence.

The brush dropped to the ground with a clash, just as all the power in the cabin went out.

Chapter Six

Zautland

I rushed over to her. “Are you okay?”

She wrapped her arms around me, brush forgotten. “I hate the dark, but we have the fire, we won’t freeze, right?”

We had enough firewood for at least two nights, but other than that, it wasn’t looking so great. I could chop some down, but we needed it to be dry. I had to believe they’d come searching for us immediately or I would have to go out and find some wood; we had enough kindling, and the wind hadn’t seemed too bad when we got there.

Of course, the minute I had her in my arms and that stupid thought, the wind started howling around the cabin.

She clung to me harder, her face pressed against my chest. “Don’t suppose you can braid in the dark?”

I chuckled and held her tighter. “I could try, but you might look funny unless we sit in front of the fire. Let me grab some candles to light, I can use the flashlight on my cell.”

“Still no service?”

“Nope.” I gently release her. “Are you going to be okay if I put you back on the couch?”

“No,” she grumbled. “Can I just walk with you? By your side?”

I almost dropped my phone and said that’s all I’d ever wanted, to have someone to stand next to me in a world that felt so foreign and alone. “Sure.”

We quickly found the candles and started setting them up around the fireplace mantle and on the table away from the bed, and a few in the kitchen.

Not what I expected my night to go like after seeing her with my friend, after going into my room and feeling desolation, along with this strong need to connect with my father the only way I knew how.

Journaling where he used to, in his cabin.

Telling him I was struggling, I was under pressure, and imagining him setting next to me in a cable-knit sweater and patting me on the knee. Apparently, that’s what he did when people were upset, he would reach across with a smile and pat them on the knee as if to say, it’s going to be okay, chin up.

He’d had thick wavy gray hair all his life and even before death carried a comb with him everywhere he went because he didn’t want his servants fussing over it.

I was told I had the same wavy dark hair he’d had at my age. I was also told I was a spitting image of him.

I hoped I could be that on the inside and out.

“I think that’s it.” My voice rasped. I couldn’t keep the emotion out of it, I felt like I knew him through his journals, and it was hard knowing he died around this time and left me his light so I could shine too. And what a reminder, as I looked around, all of the candles lit, even in the darkness—you can still shine. “Let’s go ahead and get some sleep.” I was about to plug in my phone when I realized duh no electricity, so I turned on the flashlight again, ready to tuck her in, when Samira pulled my hand. “My hair?”

“Oh, right. Sorry, lost in thought.” I walked her back over to the couch. “Can you sit on the ground and I’ll sit behind you?”

She nodded and promptly sat on the ground with the blanket covering her feet, I reached over the couch for the fallen brush, then sat down behind her.

Her dark hair was stunning like silk as it ran through my fingertips. I couldn’t stop brushing, at one point her head lolled forward.

I cleared my throat.

“Sorry, it just feels really nice to have your hair brushed.”

The brush stopped. “Nobody’s ever brushed your hair?”

“My maids, but they tug, you’re softer, despite your huge hands.”

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