Crown of Feathers (Book 2 of the Crown Trilogy)

Twenty-One

Our display of power worked. Many are eager to try their hand at sparring, and both armies need a chance to burn off their aggression toward the other. So, the day trudges on with cracking wooden swords and an audience to supply encouragement. This isn't a long-term answer to training, but it is a productive start.

I, on the other hand, can't say I'm as helpful for the rest of the day. I don't want to return to the field or watch the sword play. It was asinine for me to believe I could ever harm Kyron. Just the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. My anger had driven me for so long that I gave little thought to what would happen if I impaled him on my blade. I wanted him to hurt as much as I did and stabbing him in the heart felt like the most comparable pain. When I finally drew my fake blade down his chest, I had to force my head high and walk away from him like it was nothing. But it gutted me.

I spend the day with Leif talking strategy and reviewing ways we could fortify Basecamp from an Allaji attack. We are in the middle of nowhere, centrally located to reach any corner of Lucent in optimal time. The camp is a sitting target with a wall no better than a picket fence compared to Stigian's. If the Allaji infiltrated their defenses with no problems, we will need to double our efforts if everyone here is to remain safe.

When my brain feels like mush and I can't stand to comprehend one more idea, the sun has set for the evening. I leave Leif and the strategy team to carry on with their planning and return to my room. This time when I enter, it's empty. No boots resting next to the fire, no leather jacket draped over a chair, no Kyron.

I bide my time alone, eating dinner at the small table and soaking in the tub until my fingers and toes wrinkle. Unpacking the trunks of clothes keeps me busy until my eyelids are too heavy to keep open. I slide on a simple linen nightgown and crawl into the cold, soft bed. And my eyes remain wide open, staring at the ceiling while my brain asks a slew of questions about Kyron.

Is he really sleeping in the stables?

Did he take some blankets with him?

Is he thinking about me?

I turn to my side, pound my pillow with my fist, and force my eyes shut.

Is he sleeping shirtless and is the hay irritating his soft, golden skin?

"Statera help me!"

I throw off the blankets, cram my feet in my slippers, and tie my robe into place. Grabbing the quilt from the bed, I head for the door and step into the quiet hallway. I ease my door shut as not to wake those around me and turn on my toes.

"And where are you off to in the middle of the night?"

"Sweet Statera, Zek!" I clap my hand over my chest and a treasure trove of unforgettable memories come flooding back to me. The embarrassing things I said and the kiss...I kissed my guard. I fight the urge to throw the blanket over my head and slip back into my room and plaster a smile on my face. "Kyron and I made a bet, and he is sleeping in the stables, and I thought it's a cold night. Did he take a blanket with him? I warned him to, but I noticed all the blankets in the room were still on the bed. So, I should—"

"You ramble when you're nervous. It's really cute."

"Oh, I didn't...I'm not nervous. I was just taking him a blanket." I hold up the quilt like it's not obvious what my intentions are.

He leans his shoulder against the wall and crosses his arms. "I don't think you are nervous about the prince. It's the little episode we had last night which has you tied up in knots. You did a fantastic job of avoiding me today, by the way."

"Why do you have to put it like that?"

"Because it's true. The question is, are you embarrassed it happened, or that you liked it?" His blue eyes glint with mischief and he does nothing to hide his smirk.