Page 185 of Grim and Oro
I remember Egan, sitting on his throne, going days without eating, simply because he was too busy. Going days without resting. I used to wonder how that was possible, but I don’t wonder anymore.
By the time I knock on her door, my eyes are ready to close.
But then they meet hers, and suddenly, I’m not so tired. She looks at me, a bit suspiciously. As if wondering why I’m staring at her for so long.
Right. I forgot she doesn’t know I do that all the time. I forgot Ishouldn’tbe looking at her like I have any right to memorize her.
We walk to Sky Isle in silence. We’ve searched this same field for days. I watch her from across the rows of plants, as she peers into the center of each one, in rapid succession. She’s gotten quicker. More efficient. Built her own systems, which I’ve shamelessly adopted.
By the end of the night, we meet in the middle, both coming up empty. We’ve looked for hours. Searched every single plant here. No heart.
We’re both covered head to toe in dirt. Both tired. Frustrated. We share a look—
And for the first time, she doesn’t look at me like I’m her enemy. No. She looks at me like we have something in common. Like we are allies.
“It’s not here,” she growls, her voice a tired rasp.
“No,” I say. “It isn’t.” And what does it say about me that I feel a sense of relief, because it means I might get to spend a little more time with her?
Because it means I might have another chance for her to look at me like this again, without the glaring? Without the hatred?
No. I shouldn’t be thinking this way. I should be angry that we haven’t found the heart. I should be worried.
We’ll go to the next place, with the next plants she pointed out in the oasis. We will find it. Then I will be rid of her and these confusing thoughts.
As we walk back through Sky Isle, we pass a woman who startles when she sees us. Her nose crinkles. We both must look like shit and smell like mud.
It takes her a moment to see the gleam of my crown beneath all the dirt, but when she does, her eyes widen. She bows her head, and says, eyes to the ground, voice full of trembling reverence, “My king, may you have a restful rest of your night.” Then, she scurries away.
Beside me, Isla makes a sound almost like a laugh.
I turn to her. “What?”
I expect her to ignore me, to give me a taste of my own treatment, but she tilts her head at me instead. “It’s just amusing, is all.”
“What is?” I ask flatly, almost positive that I am not going to find what comes out of her wicked mouthamusing.
She lifts a shoulder. “That the only thing standing between disdain and respect is a rusty old crown.”
I give her a heavy look. “You like my crown,” I say, knowing very well how many times she’s stared at it. How sheflickedit.
She surprises me by taking a step forward. “If you mean I likedefacingit ... then yes. I like itvery much,” she says, rising on her toes to flick it again.
I catch her wrist before she can. She gasps. Instead of retreating, she remains there, on her toes, just inches away.
For a moment ... we just stare at each other. And I fall into the impossible and futile task of trying to find something wrong with her. Maybe a fault would loosen the hold of this obsession, would be proof that she is not as perfect as I have built her up to be in my mind.
But there’s nothing.
Gods, even covered in dirt, she is beautiful.
“Wow,” she says, studying me back. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips. Her eyes are on my mouth.
“What?” I breathe.
Her gaze slowly slides to mine. Her voice is just a breathy whisper. She leans in. I swallow.
“You look even worse up close,” she says, before falling back onto her feet, and turning around.
