Page 14 of Prince of the Northwest Forest
What is happening?
Chapter Four
JUSTICE
In the back room of the café, after I just shook hands with the knight of my dreams, I have a hasty debrief with Daryl. He whistles under his breath. “Damn, that man in the cloak looks like a king from some fantasy movie. One who’s going to rally the troops before they go storm a palace and throw a ring into a volcano.”
I roll my eyes. But Daryl’s exactly right. Kalle, whoever he is … besides being the dude I passed yesterday on the trail … is my fantasy wet dream man come true.
Because he’s fucking hot. He’s tall, with a muscular frame. His dark brown hair is long, down to his shoulders, and it tumbles around his head like he’s in a shampoo commercial. His chin is a little pointed, his forehead broad, his skin a light tan. He has high cheekbones and a square jaw. He’s got an aristocratic nose, a little bit big on his face. His deep brown eyes are large, too.
Kalle’s height makes him imposing, and the hood that he wears makes him mysterious. He is certainly dignified.
But the most compelling thing about Kalle is the big scar on his face. The skin puckers and is raised. That must be why hewears that hood—to hide the scar. But he shouldn’t. Scars are awesome. It makes him look sexy beyond belief.
How did he get it? I bet it was something super heroic.
As he was yesterday, he’s dressed in a rustic and kind of eccentric style, with a loose off-white shirt that has wooden buttons and rough olive green moleskin trousers. His boots go up to his knees. They’re well used but polished and have buckles. His long, dark brown cloak completes the ensemble. In addition to his unusual clothes, there’s a sword strapped to his side.
Kalle looks nothing like the groups of students wearing jeans, T-shirts, and fleece, the book club of grandmas meeting in the corner, or the tech workers typing away on their laptops.
I renew my question from yesterday: “Do you think he’s a prince or a cosplayer?” I ask Daryl. “I’m tending to think prince.” The hotel’s a magnet for royalty. Some want to hide from something going on in their kingdom. Some can’t take the pressure. Some … I don’t know. Maybe some are international art thieves pretending that they’re princes. Or whatever. But it does make for rather interesting scenery. I’d love to cross swords with this particular maybe-prince.
Bad Justice. No fairy-tale princes.
Of course, he might be fae, for all I know, and I hate them. They can all rot in the Underworld with Hades.
“Well, true, there are a lot of princes running around this place. But if I had to vote, I think he’s a cosplayer.”
That earns him a glare from me. I’m not convinced, especially given Kalle’s regal posture. “So he just does cosplay wherever, whenever? He’s cosplaying his life?”
“Like you aren’t.”
I pause and look down at what I’m wearing: a plain white V-neck T-shirt and dark wash jeans with boots and braces. One hipster, ready to go. “Fine,” I huff. “Fair.”
But I don’t dress like that hunk in the other room. I touch my lips with the tips of my fingers.
Daryl gives me a knowing look. “Who’s the one with a crush now?”
My instinct is to deny it, but what good does it do to deny the truth? I shrug instead. “To the extent I can have a crush on someone I’ve barely spoken to and don’t know. I’m not so sure about the cosplay. I’m voting that he’s another one of Layla’s runaway royals, just passing through. I wonder where he’s from. Some forest realm?”
Why does he seem so familiar?
“You could just, you know, ask him. Maybe he wants to play Jails and Jackals with you.”
I shove Daryl. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to play any role-playing games with me. Not when he’s the real thing.”
I haven’t been able to take my eyes off the dark-haired beauty in the front. He seems so mysterious, even in the bright lights of the café. He’s got his cloak flung out over the back of his chair, and he looks like he’s going to go out and storm some far-off realm very soon. He could stormmycastle.
Daryl gives me an amused look and pushes my shoulder. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing, nothing,” I say. Nothing that I want to share with him, because he’ll tease me forever.
“Suuuure.” We grab the supplies we supposedly went looking for and head back to the main part of the café. I go to the cash register while Daryl wrangles Gandalf, making pistachio and matcha lattes for our customers.
Kalle stays a long time, eventually pulling his hood over his head again. I keep sneaking peeks at him as he sits by the front window, slowly sipping his coffee. He holds it from the top rather than using the handle or cupping the sides. I don’t knowwhy that detail is doing something for me, but it’sreallydoing something for me. That, and his tall, dark, and handsome self.
I go by twice to refill his coffee. “Do you need to account for this?” he asks.
