Page 172 of The Prince of Broken Crowns

I close the book and set it on the floor beside my feet. “Why?”

“Because she might know something about this, and it should be safe to talk to her about it. I don’t necessarily want to tell her why I’m looking into it,” he stresses with a side glance at me. “I can just tell her it’s for a school paper or something.”

“Are you sure it’s safe? I mean, I know we don’t know for sure if the Everfords have anything to do with me, but …” My words fade as he places a hand on my knee.

“I would never do anything to put you at risk.” The muscle in his jaw spasms. “Not intentionally, anyway. If I had known the society was going to haze me by using you, I’d have found another way for us to protect you.”

His hand on my leg is consuming most of my thoughts, but I manage to speak in an even tone. “What happened to me wasn’t your fault. The society was already planning on doing stuff to me, anyway.”

“That might be true, but if I’d been more cautious about the plan of us fake dating, maybe talk to some people in the society, I may have picked up on what they were going to do to you.” He turns into the driveway of his apartment building, stopping in front of the barricade that’s in front of the entrance to the parking garage.

A light flickers on it, and then the bar begins to lift.

“Well, if I hadn’t sent Noah to northside, you wouldn’t have been hurt.”

“Maddy, that’s not?—”

“No more blaming ourselves, okay?” I cut him off with a challenging lift of my brow.

Wetting his lips with his tongue, he nods as he shifts gears and drives forward. “All right, deal.”

My smile is genuine, and it feels nice to feel marginally upbeat. That feeling continues as River parks the car. But as we climb out, my mood plummets because we’re not heading into the building. We’re heading for the exit so we can walk to the bus stop, where we will take the bus to visit my mother. While I want the truth, I have zero desire to see her.

“Are you doing okay?” River asks as he walks beside me along the sidewalk.

The gentle, sun-kissed breeze dances across my flesh and through my hair, yet I wrap my arms around myself, as if I’m cold. “I’m fine.”

He quietly sighs then inches toward me and slides an arm around my back. “It’s okay not to be fine. Trust me; I get wanting to pretend you’re okay twenty-four seven, but I’m learning that sometimes it’s okay not to be okay.”

“I know.” I press into him as we reach the corner of the sidewalk. As he pushes the button for the crosswalk, I add, “I’m nervous about seeing my mother. She’s a lot to deal with and … I’m worried how she’ll handle you being there.”

He angles his head toward me. “You think she won’t like it?”

“No, I think she will like it. I think she’ll get excited because she’ll think I’m dating a royal, and she’ll try to use that to her advantage. And by that, I mean she’ll try to hustle you out of something.”

“I won’t let her.”

“I know that, but it’s embarrassing.” As the light changes, we walk forward, crossing the street.

“You shouldn’t be. You’re nothing like your mom.” He steers us right as we arrive on the other side of the street.

“You still think that after seeing me steal that book?” I question, leaning into him as we swing around a crowd of people.

“Yeah. I don’t mind that you took it.” He slips his arm further around me until his fingers are curling around my hip. “It needed to be done.”

The air builds with energy the farther we endeavor into the city. The stores and shops lining the street are crowded.

“Is it always this busy?” I wonder as we dodge around another crowd.

“Sometimes.” He urges me closer until my body is rotated and my chest is pressed against his side as the mob thickens. It’s a protective gesture, and I have no fucking clue how to react. Protectiveness isn’t something I understand or have ever experienced. Half of my mind shouts for me to move away while the other half begs to hold onto him—hold onto that safety.

My mental tug-o-war results in me latching onto his shirt and allowing him to get us past the mob and to the corner where the bus station is. The waiting area is inside a building with windows, and a notification sign shows the buses arrival and departure times.

River and I only have to wait a few minutes before our bus rolls up. Since this bus is from northside, it’s dingier on the exterior, the metal seats inside are worn, and the air smells salty and sweaty.

River radiates uneasiness, but he doesn’t remark about the condition of the bus as we take a seat toward the back. The engine hums as the bus drives forward. The ride will be about thirty minutes, and for about the first ten, River and I remain quiet. Some of the seats are occupied, but the closer we get to our destination, the more they fill up. A younger couple ends up in the seats in front of us, and they start making out.

I turn my head toward the window, trying to ignore them.

---