The Hunchback's Reluctant Bride ✔

14 | Present

Wyrn was late for dinner, he knew, but he couldn't face the princess, not after what he'd promised but failed to deliver three weeks now. Prince Orm.

That louse hadn't shown.

Standing by the wooden fence of their home, Wyrn leaned against it on his left side, eyes steadily fixed on Bluebell. The princess's sheep, now strong and well, mingled with the flock without trouble. At least that much Wyrn got right.

Prince Orm hadn't come. It had taken everything—absolutely everything in him to send for that bastard. Everything.

A familiar presence approached and Wyrn didn't have to turn to look; he knew the flowers the princess liked to pick the most and wear in her hair. The aroma lingered on her all day.

It was one of his favorite things about her.

When she came into his line of vision, he focused on the red rose but hated seeing it. He didn't know what compelled him to snatch it from her right ear and toss it back.

She opened her mouth to argue but surprised him by simply turning to brace forward against the fence, eyes fixed on the donkey in the distance as well.

"I suppose you're still angry. And that you blame me," she teased.

Today, he wasn't interested in playing along but when he met her radiant gaze, he hardly stood a chance.

"You deserve that and more for what your dirty mule did to my Bluebell."

Firing back with a witty comment was normal for her but today she only watched the animal, thoughtful.

"Is it so awful? Really?"

Rather than look back at the donkey, Wyrn turned to rest his backside against the fence instead.

"To be sure, at least you'll get a new donkey. And for free. Isn't that a good thing?" she mused.

But that wasn't the problem. The problem was that everything and everyone in this blasted place had companionship of some kind. Even his damn donkey.

And what was left for Wyrn? That had been why he'd decided to let the princess go. He hadn't thought it mattered, not until the morning he didn't see her come visit the animals and he could do nothing but look for her rather than focus on his chores. And the following day, even though she'd come after lunch, his gut ached for her until he saw that adorable, stupid grin headed his way.

Because that was when he'd known, he'd realized, that this was no longer safe. And he'd told her, boasted about letting her go, but that bastard Orm hadn't shown.

Since telling the princess of that rescue, something strange had happened to her behavior.

For one, she started standing too close. Even now, she eased near, almost hip to hip with him when she turned to ask, "Are you hungry?"

He simply stared her down. He would have taken it for his imagination if she didn't do this awful thing she'd made into a habit—she brushed the hair from his eyes.

When her hand lingered there too long, in danger of holding his face, he looked away. "I'll be there late."

He waited, and sure enough, tonight, too, she held his shoulder then began rubbing it after a time. Times like these, he hated her. He hated himself more, but her as well. She was trying to touch him—touch his back—and watching her work up the nerve only to pull away was slowly making him sick.

So now, instead of soothing him, he found her touches annoying.

He decided it wasn't his imagination. When she brushed his hair, and moved so close their bodies touched, that wasn't his imagination. Or when she raised her arms above her head and stretched.