Page 25 of Reluctantly Rogue

She grimaces. “Not sure how I feel about that.”

“You should feel safe.”

“I also feel a little surveyed.”

I incline my head. I won’t argue. She’s being watched. That’s just a fact. How she feels about it is how she feels about it.

“Are you all right?” I ask. I take her lack of clothing and shoes to mean she’s not going to be leaving the palace and that she just needed fresh air. Still, she looks vulnerable, and something inside me won’t let me leave her.

She gives a short laugh. “Well, no. Not exactly. But I’m not in danger, or sick, or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking if there’s anything I can do to make you feel better. More secure. Happier.”

She studies me. “Do you want to talk for a minute?”

“Do you want me to talk for a minute?”

The corner of her mouth curls. “So deferential.”

If she ends up Torin’s princess, she’ll find out that is, in fact, not the case. At least, not all the time. I’m in charge. But I’m respectful and give in where I can so that Torin—and she—will not feel like I’m a demanding asshole all the time.

I can be laid back. I can have a good time. I know when to let Torin go and make a stupid decision or do something he’ll definitely regret later. I resign myself to doing clean-up instead of prevention sometimes. I can’t keep him under my thumb at all times or none of this will work long term.

But because I give him leeway, he knows when I say no, I mean no.

She’ll learn too.

“I just want to make things as good for you as possible,” I tell her honestly. “If you need someone to listen, I can do that.”

She studies me. Then nods. “I do.”

I move forward and sit next to her on the stone ledge surrounding the fountain. I leave more than a foot between us. I’m in joggers now and a Henley. It’s almost July, and in Louisiana, I’d be in shorts and a tee. Or maybe shirtless. Louisiana is a fucking swamp. Literally. It’s in the nineties right now during the day and humid as hell. But in Cara, the high tomorrow will be fifty-four degrees and right now it’s about forty-six.

“Are you cold?” I ask her.

She shrugs. “I’m okay.”

I don’t believe that she’s not feeling the chill, but she’s from here, so maybe this doesn’t feel cold to her. I turn toward her slightly and say, “What’s on your mind?”

“You’re Torin’s best friend.”

I nod.

“Maybe you can convince him to leave and let me lead Cara.”

Ah. She doesn’t want to share deep secrets. She wants an ally.

“I’m not going to do that,” I tell her.

“Why not?”

“Because Torin wants to be king. And because I believe he should be.”

“You think Torin should be king?” Linnea repeats.

“I do.”

“Just because he wants to be?”

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