Page 68 of Falling Princess

“I don’t feel that sorry for him. He has a reputation for putting his hands where they’re not wanted,” Scarlett whispered. “Won’t be doing that again for a while.”

I cast Lorcan a questioning glance. He just shrugged slightly, with his eyes crinkling at the corners.

No.

He wouldn’t have.

Couldn’thave. He was at home with us on Sunday morning.

Wasn’t he? He made pancakes for the whole suite…

I slid into my seat with a smile I couldn’t quite restrain. It is truly unbecoming of a princess to take so much satisfaction in her knight’s capacity to commit violence. Yet here I am, deeply flattered.

* * *

Lorcan remained unfailingly reserved and polite through exams, packing, and the ordeal of returning to Auralia. We never discussed the dance.

When we came home that night, I examined the bruise blossoming on my inner thigh in the mirror. My panties were soaked. I could never breathe a word of what happened to anyone, but lay in my bed and slide my fingers through my wet folds, imagining what it would feel like to be touched by him. I came so quickly I was almost disappointed that I didn’t get to enjoy it longer; I came so hard I nearly blacked out.

After that, I resolved never to think about it again. This summer is for forgetting.

We left most of our belongings at Cata’s, since my father agreed, reluctantly, to let me return for one more year. Conditional to my improved attitude and religious devotion over the summer, of course. There are always conditions.

I pulled back the curtain to watch Lorcan ride off in the direction of Marsh Hollow, on the other side of which are the cliffs leading into the foothills of Mount Astra. He didn’t look back. He was humoring me, that night at the dance.I feel it too.

How could he know what I felt? I misinterpreted, of course. I’m so foolishly desperate for any sort of romantic attention that I heard what I wanted to hear.

I needed a distraction.

A couple of days after my return home, I steeled myself to make a request of my father, who had decided that I should sit with him in the formal throne room every morning to observe him in carrying out the daily duties of managing our country. If anyone were to ask my opinion—not that anyone would care enough to inquire, nor am I stupid enough to offer it unsolicited—his approach to ruling makes it look as bad as any boring office job.

I wonder if he’s been influenced by those stuffed shirts we met with at the economic forum, or if he’s always been like this.

Back when my mother was alive, she often went out to meet with people in their villages. When I become queen, I intend to be a ruler who walks amongst my people, too. I won’t stay holed up within the castle walls like my father does. My preference is, of course, theoretical until I decide I want to claim my throne.

The gossips are already whispering about how I shirk my duties. They say I’m too enamored of the outside world. That my father needs to press me into marriage to secure the matrilineal succession—which brings Lorcan immediately to mind, the reason I needed a distraction in the first place.

It’s disheartening to know the public thinks my father is toolenientwith me. It certainly doesn’t feel that way to me. I wish he’d act like more of a father and less of a king.

“I would like to make a gift to the Royals University Library,” I began. My father was absorbed in studying the ledger before him.

“The Treasury can ill afford to make a donation at this moment, Zosia. We would have to give a substantial amount to make an impression,” Rohan replied absently as he scanned through the tally of tax receipts. One process that really needs to be computerized is our accounting system. Ridiculous that we’re still doing it manually on paper instead of using software. My father is only theoretically enthusiastic about adopting new technology.

I shouldn’t complain. It’s a credit to his rule that there is so little discontent in Auralia. By our standards, people are prosperous. There is peace, and has been for the duration of my lifetime.

“Not money, Father. Books.”

“Books?” He glanced up.

“Yes. I want to donate a collection of our history, language and culture. It would be helpful for us to have access to it. For our studies.”

I managed to say all of this without sounding rushed or uncertain—it is a thoroughly dignified request, befitting a princess. My father looked on impassively, so I went and spoiled it.

“It’s not as though we can obtain appropriate study materials from outside Auralia. Anything we need to bring would have to come from home, unless you wish to let us upload some of the histories to the internet. We’d need a scanner to do that.”

Which we don’t have—scanners are a technology we’d have to import, find a way to power considering the different amperages of our system and the rest of the world’s, and then find a way to upload the files. Our creaky satellite data connection won’t suffice. As heavy as books are, it would be simpler to take a small collection of them to Edinburgh than to try and import modern technology to Auralia.

“Why are you studying Auralia, from Scotland?” he asked, perplexed.

---