Page 50 of Bewitched By the Djinn
He shrugs. “It depends. My parents’ marriage was arranged, but they loved each other deeply.” His lips quirk slightly. “Eventually. At first it was a diplomatic nightmare.”
I inch closer to him. “What happened?”
Bennet leans back against the couch, rubbing his jaw. “My father was arrogant and stuffy and my mother was a bit of a hellion.”
I raise a brow. “Hellion?”
“Wild,” he corrects. “She did what she wanted, when she wanted, and had absolutely no patience for politics or propriety. Helen is much the same. My father, on the other hand, was the definition of responsible. He thought rules were sacred, duty was everything, and that a queen should be graceful and composed at all times.”
A draft hits the back of my neck and I shiver. I should have grabbed a sweater. “Sounds like a recipe for disaster.”
He gathers my legs into his lap before covering them, tucking a blanket around me. “Oh, it was,” he continues. It’s almost like he isn’t even aware of his own movements, pampering me without thought. “They were a disaster wrapped in calamity and then set on fire. Their first official event as a married couple, she got into an argument with a visiting ambassador over dinner, flipped the entire table, and challenged him to a duel.”
I bark out a laugh. “What?”
“And she won.”
“Oh my God. I love her.”
He grins. “My father was mortified. He called her reckless, undignified, a menace to the throne. She called him a prissy little windbag with a stick up his arse.”
I’m grinning with him now. “So how did they go from that to being in love?”
His thumb rubs my knee absently, heat from his palm sinking into me even through the blanket. “Their caravan was attacked by mercenaries on the way to visit Mother’s parents. The guards were overwhelmed, and my father, in all his royal wisdom, started shouting about strategy. My mother,meanwhile, jumped off her horse and punched one of the robbers in the face.”
My mouth pops open.
“And my father saw her fighting—truly fighting with skill—and he stopped barking orders, stopped trying to control the situation, and for the first time in his life, he followed someone else’s lead. He fought with her, side by side, and together they took down half the bandits before the rest fled.”
“And that’s when they knew they were in love?”
“That’s when my father realized,” Bennet corrects. “My mother had figured it out weeks before but was waiting for him to catch up.” A soft smiles lights his face. “According to her, the moment he jumped into battle, she thought, ‘Oh, finally, he’s stopped talking.’”
I chuckle. “I think I would have liked them.”
Bennet’s smile drops. “They bickered until the day they died. But they were inseparable. Fiercely loyal. A force to be reckoned with.” He looks down, expression blank. “And they loved each other. Even if it took a war for them to admit it.”
I lean further into the couch, resting my head against the back, suddenly exhausted, but I don’t want to stop this conversation. Not only is it fascinating, his voice is so soothing. My thoughts and worries are a distant drum, barely audible. The rest of the world may as well no longer exist outside the glow of this small room.
“What about Helen’s fiancé? Do they know each other? Any sparks either way?”
“They’ve met, but she never told me she was so opposed to the marriage she would rather flee to another realm. If she had, I—” He cuts himself off. “I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Why do you think she never said anything to you? About the marriage?”
For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. Then, finally, he says, “It was my fault. After my parents died, I shut down. Helen tried to reach out, to talk to me about their death, but I didn’t even want to think about it. I was angry at everyone. And then Uncle sent me on my first fostering before I could fix it.”
“How did you get past the grief?” It’s an honest question. My parents have been missing for three years, and still I find myself mired in dark thoughts, anger, denial, confusion. It’s a long dark tunnel with no end in sight.
“Fighting. Sparring with the guards at the keep.”
“Ah. You chose violence. The guards didn’t have an issue throwing punches at their boss?”
Bennet huffs. “The head guardsman didn’t give them a choice, though if Uncle Hugh had gotten wind of what we were up to, it would have ended in disaster for all of us.”
I tilt my head. “Your uncle didn’t want you to learn to fight? Even though your parents were clearly skilled at it?”
“Uncle Hugh has some old-fashioned ideals. Plus, losing his sister and brother-in-law in such a violent manner made him extra paranoid. He wanted me to be a good statesman, and to stay safe. But I needed an outlet. And I found one, or I should say it found me.” His lips quirk.
