Page 65 of The Prince of New York

His Royal Majesty of Maine sighed. “She’s really not in any trouble, May. She’s just scared. While it won’t be the same, Ian is going to be your daddy and your mommy now. You’re going to be dealing with a lot of things changing, but it will be okay. You’ll see. Once your sister stops crying, you’ll have breakfast, and then you can go back to bed. You’re still tired, right?”

May nodded. “But the couch isn’t here.”

I twitched.

My parents were many things, but from the day I’d been born, I’d been guaranteed a few things, and a warm bed had been one of them. Every rare now and again, when they thought I’d done something worthy of reward, I’d been invited to nap on my favorite couch in the royal wing, something they typically banned.

Unbeknownst to my sister, I had that old couch in my apartment.

I’d asked one of the staff to let me have it if it was removed. A few years after I had made the request, it had shown up, and I often sought comfort in its soft embrace.

“You have rooms here now. They’re next to each other and close to mine, so you can come visit me if you have need. You each have a bed.” They also had couches, and if I couldn’t get them to sleep on their beds, I’d have to put the couches in a nearby suite until they had become accustomed to societal norms.

May blinked, and confusion replaced her apprehension. “But we’ll fall off the bed.”

“Did you fall off the couch?” I replied, continuing to rub Danielle’s back. “If you do, we’ll put pillows and blankets on the floor so you aren’t hurt. If the height is a problem, we’ll remove the frame until you’re more comfortable with it. Danielle’s bed is already on the floor because of its height.”

Every problem had a solution, even if the solution wasn’t perfect—and I would teach the girls early on that some was better than none, especially when it came to making improvements. However, the fact the girls hadn’t had something as simple as abedwould keep my fury alive and well for a long time.

I would need to work on my talent exercises with more care than normal. Heightened emotions caused flares—and my talent flaring might become lethal to somebody. Worse, I wasn’t convinced the somebody would be me.

From the day my magic had sparked to life, I’d viewed it as a rambunctious cat, content to laze around but ready to sharpen its claws on anyone foolish enough to provoke it. The first time my flames had purred for me, I’d experienced what it meant to be warmed and cherished.

I still took care. My brother’s demise had served as the sole reminder I’d needed.

After his death, my talent had changed, often gentler unless something endangered me or someone I cherished.

The incident in North Dakota had been one of those times, reminding me that the cat still sharpened its claws and was willing to take swipes at anyone and anything. Sometimes, I worried my talent cooperated a little too well, easing back whenever it might otherwise grow stronger than I could handle.

There’d been more than a few cases my junkyard work had gone a little too well.

Dr. Stanton treating empathy as though it were a living, breathing thing made me wonder if my flames might also have some form of sentience. If the family talent did, I also questioned my brother’s death—and if our talent had done the one thing it could to end his suffering.

Dennis had suffered, of that I had no doubt.

May and Danielle would have ups and downs in life, but today would be the day everything changed for them.

Sleeping on the couch would be an issue, and I would work hard to keep my patience until they learned beds were real things they could enjoy.

And, if they proved to be a little like me, when they grew up and moved on with the rest of their lives, their couches would go with them, a happy memory among many.

It took May a rather long time to puzzle her way through my question, and when she realized I’d wait as long as she needed without pressuring her to reply, she said, “Danielle falls off sometimes, but I don’t.”

“Then we’ll put plenty of pillows and blankets around Danielle’s bed, and we’ll work with her so she masters the art of staying where she belongs.”

I would never know if the lack of punishment or exhaustion brought Danielle’s tears to a halt, but the little girl transitioned from sobbing to sniffling, and His Royal Majesty of Maine passed me a box of tissues so I could help her blow her nose and wipe her cheeks. “Are you hungry?” I asked, hoping my question would distract the girls from their uncertainty to my main goal, which involved getting them fed so I could take them to their new rooms and settle them in for more rest.

Both nodded.

“Do you like chicken noodle soup?”

Judging from the way their eyes widened, I’d offered them a favorite.

“Really?” May blurted.

What the hell had those assholes been feeding them? Rather than spew curses like I wanted, I nodded. “Really. It’ll be gentle on your stomach and help you feel better.”

May stared at her sister and blurted, “We’re havingsoup, Baby!”

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