Page 72 of Slippers and Thorns
He loosened up a little when they finally reached her door. She turned to him with that vivacious smile he remembered.
“Thank you again for waking me up, Michael.” She reached up and pecked him on the cheek. “I hope it won’t be the last time.”
As forward (and inappropriate) as the action and the comment were, he still lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Good night, Helena. I’ll see you in the morning. I won’t tell you to sleep well, though.” He winked.
Laughing, she opened the door and slipped behind it. “Good night, Michael. Meet you for archery before breakfast?”
“It’s still snowing,” Michael said disbelievingly.
She shrugged flippantly. “Doesn’t mean it will be in the morning. Besides, it never stopped you before.”
“Maybe,” he reluctantly allowed.
“So, will you be there?” she pressed.
“I—” He looked into Helena’s bright green eyes and thought about Ella’s wounded blue ones. “Maybe.”
She looked disappointed, but she didn’t push further.
Instead of returning straight to his and Ella’s quarters, Michael wandered the halls. His mind kept going around in circles; he didn’t think he could have lain still in bed if he had tried, so instead, he sought to relieve the swirling in his head by walking.
What he wouldn’t give for daylight, clear weather, and a worthy opponent for his sword!
Ugh. And a clear head, he thought as he blew his nose once more.
When he finally directed his steps to his own quarters, he was surprised to see a light under the door. He hadn’t expected Ella to sit up so late waiting for him, but it wasn’t like her to leave lights lit after going to bed.
But it wasn’t Ella waiting for him when he closed the door behind himself.
Oliver stood in front of the bedroom door, as straight, stiff, and stern as if on duty.
Raising an eyebrow, Michael said, “Good evening, Oliver. Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”
“Shouldn’t you?” his loyal guardian riposted.
“Seems it’s been a few years since I had a curfew,” Michael returned mildly. “Why the sudden concern for my bedtime?”
The evil eye Oliver gave him was one he hadn’t seen for a few years, too. “I suspect if you spend a few minutes thinking about it, you’ll be able to answer that question yourself, Your Highness.”
Crossing his arms, Michael scowled. “I don’t see how my actions today lead to you guarding my bedroom against me and lecturing me about my choices.”
“I’m not lecturing. But when your wife comes running into the barracks sobbing because she feels she has no one else to turn to, it becomes my problem. Simply because you are an adult does not mean that my job has been reduced to only preventing other people from causing you bodily injury.”
“You’re not my father, Oliver,” Michael complained.
“No,” Oliver snapped. “Your father is not here. But do you wish to claim that he would have a different opinion on the matter?”
No. While he might not say it plainly – might not even say anything at all – the king would be in full support of Oliver’s actions. If Michael were to do as Helena wished, the king might actually disown him.
No, he wouldn’t. Father would be greatly disappointed, but it would take a much greater offense to make him disown one of his children.
Would it be worth it, though, if it meant being with his true love?
True love was an enticing concept, but Michael wasn’t sure that he believed it existed. When he was young, he had believed Helena was his true love, but then she died.
Years later, when he met Arabella at the ball, he thought she was his true love. He had never been so happy as he was from the time of the ball through the first year or so of their marriage. Then they had drifted until the past half-year was possible, which didn’t strike him as an example of “true love”.
And then Helena had come back from the dead, claiming to be his true love, after all.
