Page 76 of Falling Princess

She secured the bushes in front of the cavern’s entrance. A shaggy, smelly shepherd came trotting up to us on the short walk back. Lorcan scratched its head. Fireflies danced low to the ground. Crickets sang.

Back at Saskaya and Raghnall’s house, I sank into a bath, then into my bed, and fell asleep within minutes. Lorcan let himself into Cata’s house, closer to the center of the village, and stayed there alone for the evening. Presumably alone, anyway.

Stop. Just, stop it.

There isn’t any point in feeling jealous over someone I’m not with in any romantic sense, and never will be. Sometimes I wonder whether there’s any point in feeling anything at all. My life would be so much easier if I could shut off emotions. Barricade my heart against the need for affection and the desire to belong. I can’t. I want that more than anything, a need so deep and so profoundly unmet I can’t imagine ever feeling wanted for myself.

I hate being a princess, but without the title, I’m worthless.

My ownfatherwouldn’t care if I lived or died.

Lorcan would’ve let those three men slit my throat in a public park if I were only Zosia, not Princess Zosia.

He wouldn’t have been in Scotland in the first place. Or, perhaps he would’ve been—with a different princess.

When I awoke and came down for breakfast the next morning, Lorcan was already awake and ready to depart. Mornings. Not my forte.

“At this rate, we won’t make it back to the castle in time to leave for school,” he reminded me. I bade goodbye to my hosts and hauled my aching butt into the saddle. Lorcan led, trotting out of the village and then kicking into a canter once we were on the path. I kept up with him for a few miles before slowing my horse to a walk.

“We won’t make much progress at this pace, Princess.” Lorcan wheeled his mount, anxious to keep moving.

In English, I said, “Got somewhere to be?”

He laughed, low and throaty, the sound warm honey in my ears. It dripped down my back and pooled in my stomach.

“As long as we make it back to the castle within the week, Highness.”

After that, he let me take all the time I wanted. Lorcan patiently indulged my frequent stops to study wildflowers or investigate wildlife.

I even spotted dragons, which don’t usually migrate this far north. I paused to snap pictures of Auralian hummingbirds, pinkie-sized, brightly-colored, and toothed. My knight was excellent at spotting long-tailed ruby-throated goldenwings, a native bird as beautiful as it sounds. They’re said to be the messengers of the goddess.

In the afternoon, on a side trail detour where Lorcan promised to show me a lovely needle-thin waterfall, we found a wolf-bear den. He pulled me back before I could get a good look, and made me use my phone’s camera for a closer inspection, pointing out the signs of recent activity.

“See the claw markings and broken twigs there? You don’t want to run afoul of one. They’re vicious when provoked.” Lorcan, crouching in the forest beside me, sunlight dappling his face. In his element. A swooping sensation in my midsection. We have this in common—a love of nature.

Another thing we have in common: lives that don’t conform to normal boundaries.

“May I ask you a favor?” I asked as afternoon edged toward evening. Lorcan shot me an unreadable look.

“Depends upon what it is.”

“I need to learn to use a weapon. I can shoot a bow if the target is within twenty paces, but that’s only because my mother thought it was cute to teach me archery when I was young.” I dusted my hands on my thighs. We’d stopped to water the horses. Lorcan picked wild apples from a tree and fed them to our mounts. He offered me a fruit, too, and when I declined, bit into it himself.

I was reminded of that day almost exactly a year ago. How far apart we started. How close to friends we’ve become. How I wish we could be more.

This summer is for forgetting.

“I could show you a few tricks,” he hedged. I clapped my hands.

“Would you? No one else lets me get near a blade. They’re too afraid I might slice my royal pinkie.”

Lorcan offered me the handle of a knife about as long as my forearm. When I took it, I was surprised by how light it was. Solid, but not as heavy as I expected.

“It’s a short sword. You’re holding it wrong.”

He demonstrated. I still didn’t quite get it. Or, maybe I was shamelessly taking advantage of the pretext to get him to touch me. Lorcan adjusted my grip so my thumb was over my fingers and my hand was closer to the hilt. The physical contact left my cheeks warm and launched a swarm of butterflies in my abdomen.

“Don’t bend your wrist. If you block someone’s attack and they hit you hard enough, the blow could break a bone if you don’t keep it straight. When you strike, use your entire torso. Twist at the waist.”

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