Page 34 of Fearless

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “soyoucan’t murderher.”

My eyes find his. “Well, she’s alone right now.”

“But you’re not.”

I turn down another long hall. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

He presses a palm to his chest, putting on a show of offense. “Am I not allowed to visit you, Princess? I missed you dearly.” I give him a look that forces the truth from his mouth. “All right, so I had to takea piss. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have come and found you.”

I halfheartedly fight my smile. “Well, I’m on my way to dine with the king, so no need to worry about any murders from me tonight.”

“How reassuring,” he says dryly. “And don’t you mean dinner with yourbetrothed?”

“Right,” I mumble. “I forget what a happy couple we are.”

“Play nice, Princess,” he warns, leading me toward the towering doors of the throne room. “You’re not his queen yet.”

I smooth the skirt of my dress with hands that refuse to still. “And I may never be.” We slow beside the doors, and before he can convince me all will be fine, I pull him into a hug. He only hesitates for a moment, then folds his arms tightly around me. “I’ll see you after the Trial,” I whisper, if only to convince myself of that fact.

After several long seconds, I step out of his embrace. And at my nod to the awaiting guards, the doors swing open.

The throne rooms stretches out before me, outlined with the same white pillars I’ve been paraded between more than once. I lift my chin, walking alone toward the large table at the center of the room.

For once, I am here of my own free will, and there is power in choice.

The king takes a seat at the end of the sprawling table, blond hair tousled and green eyes smudged with fatigue. He offers a small smile as I approach. “Good evening, Paedyn.”

“Good evening,” I return, eyes drifting to the spread of parchment he shuffles into a pile beside his plate. “Am I pulling you away from your work?”

“No, it’s nothing pressing,” he answers dismissively. I watch him hand the stack of paper to a nearby servant who scurries away. “I came from a meeting with the Scholars.”

“Scholars?” I stop before the yawning table. “I’m sure they are aching to advise you on how this kingdom should be run.”

“They certainly are,” the king scoffs.

I can’t help but take a moment to admire his resilience in the face of those who mock it. Kitt has changed since I tore his life at the seams. Now, selfishly, I’m hoping he will allow me back into this carefully mended one.

My gaze falls to the food laid before us. The plate awaiting me sits at the opposite end of the table, shoving several feet of distance between us.

I must have let the confusion spill into my expression because Kitt sighs, “This is how royal meals are typically conducted.”

Nothing about his tone implies he wishes things to be any different. And that realization has my chest tightening. I don’t want our lives to be distant conversations and avoidant glances. If we are meant to rebuild the kingdom a tyrant king destroyed, I want us to do so together, not begrudgingly.

“This is ridiculous,” I say simply before picking up my chair and carrying it over to him. His expression shifts slightly, enough to portray a shade of unsurety.

I made us this way. I marred the relationship he meticulously cultivated. So it is I who will meekly extend an olive branch, raise a white flag between us.

When I’ve reached the space beside him, I let the wooden legs of my chair hit the marble floor with an echoing thump.

Kitt raises a brow. “What are you doing?”

“That”—I gesture to the opposite end of the table—“was how things used to be done. But we are changing things, yes?”

“We are.” Impressively, Kitt changes the subject with a gesture toward the piles of food before us. “Please, help me eat some of this.”

I blow out a breath.

He is not going to make this easy for me.

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