Page 70 of Shameless Royalty

Connor exhales through his nose. “You just gonna ignore me, Babyface?”

I close my eyes, swallowing hard. I should snap at him, tell him to fuck off, but the words won’t come.

“Malachi,” he says, softer this time. “What’s wrong?”

I inhale slowly, then exhale just as slowly, debating whether I want to answer at all. But for once, I don’t have the energy to be difficult. I pull the blanket higher over my shoulder, my voice quiet. “I’m in a slump.”

Connor doesn’t move, but I feel his attention sharpen.

“It’s been a week since I started my meds again,” I continue, my voice flat. “After almost three months without them.”

His fingers brush my arm, tentative at first. Then they tighten, tugging at the blanket until he slips his arm around my waist, pulling me into him fully.

I tense for a second before sighing and relaxing against him. Because he’s warm. Because his body fits against mine like he fucking belongs there. Because it’s easier to let him than to push him away.

Connor buries his face in my neck, his breath warm. “How long do these slumps last?”

I shrug, my fingers idly twisting the edge of the blanket. “A few days, sometimes longer. I think it’s because my brain’s adjusting to the meds again.”

His arms tighten around me. Not enough to be suffocating. Just enough.

We stay like that for a while, his hand rubbing slow circles on my stomach, his breathing steady. I let my eyes flutter shut, focusing on the warmth of his body, the way his hold is firm but not constricting.

Then I make the mistake of thinking.

I open my eyes again, staring into the dark, my fingers curling slightly against his forearm. “What are we doing, Connor?” My voice comes out low, almost hoarse. I don’t know why I ask it. Maybe I need to hear it from him. Maybe I need to be reminded that none of this—none of us—is real.

He doesn’t answer right away. I feel his breath falter against my skin, but his grip stays firm, like he already knows where this is going and doesn’t want to let it happen.

“What do you mean?” he asks eventually, his voice careful, like he’s trying to tiptoe around something sharp.

I swallow, sorting through the chaos in my head. “This,” I say, my voice tight. “Us. What the hell is this?”

Another pause.

Then he exhales, the sound tired, like this is something he’s been trying not to think about. “It’s whatever we want it to be.”

I scoff, turning my face slightly toward the ceiling. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got right now,” he mutters, but there’s a tremor underneath his words.

I turn a little, just enough that I’m not looking at the wall anymore, just enough to let the hurt bleed out. “What about your father? What would he think? I’m the enemy’s son, Connor. A bargainin’ chip. A fuckin’ pawn in whatever game your father is playin’ with mine.”

His fingers dig into my hip, his entire body going rigid. “You’re not a pawn to me.”

I let out a sharp laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to just decide that.”

His grip tightens, fingers digging into my hip like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he loosens up. “The fuck I don’t,” he growls. “You think I care what he thinks? He doesn’t get to tell me who I want.”

I twist in his hold, turning until I can see his face. “You think he’s just gonna let you keep me? Like I’m some pet you stole from the other side?”

Connor’s expression shifts—less anger, more hurt. “You think I’d let him take you from me?”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Because he’s looking at me like I’m already his, like he’s carved it into stone and won’t let anyone fucking touch it.

And that’s what terrifies me.

I swallow hard, my fingers still curled into the blanket. “You can’t protect me from everything, Connor.” I let out a slow breath. “And even if your father doesn’t kill you, he’s sure as fuck gonna kill me.”

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