Page 55 of The Prince and His Stolen Groom
“Do you need assistance?”
I pursed my lips and said, “No, I’ve got this.” Mentally apologizing to Brendon, I yanked my arm out of his grip. Of course, the movement woke him up, and he slid off the chair in his surprise. We ended up on the floor together, staring at each other with wide eyes. I remembered the much better events from yesterday—his hands caressing me, his lips on mine. I wanted to pull Brendon back into my arms and continue from where we left off. The only thing holding me back was the damn wizard still hovering nearby.
Brendon gazed at me with the same aching desire. In a blink, his expression shuttered. He pushed himself to his feet and walked away without a word, leaving me baffled, sprawled on the floor, wondering what the hell I’d done wrong.
Aside from kidnapping him.
And locking him in a tower.
Where he almost got eaten by that thing outside …
Maybe I should be wondering if I’d ever done anything right.
Breakfast was the first time I ever saw Kit outside of the armor. Technically, they didn’t have the helmet on last night, but I’d been too distracted to really look at their face. As they stood beside Brendon, I tried to subtly compare them.
Brendon was slightly taller—not by much, only an inch or so—but Kit was more muscular. They looked like they could bench press an overstuffed bookshelf. No wonder they’d gone for full armor instead of simply a mask. Binding their chest would help them pass as a man, but the rest of their physique screamed ‘guard’ instead of ‘prince.’
I’d already noticed the differences in the shade of their dyed red hair and their brown eyes, but now I could also see their slanted dark eyebrows, fuller lips, and crooked nose. Brendon was definitely the prettier of the two, with cleaner lines and softer cheeks, though he had dark circles under his eyes and a light dusting of morning stubble.
“How you feeling, Rick?” they asked, clapping me on the shoulder in a friendly gesture I didn’t really deserve.
That was the oddest thing about them—they showed no surprise at finding Brendon here, and no animosity toward me for keeping him locked up. Unless Brendon hadn’t explained the whole story? From the letters and the way Brendon talked about them, they seemed close. Maybe Kit had known about his escape fantasies and had come to their own conclusions.
“Fine,” I said, rubbing the tender spot where she’d hit me. “The wizard patched me up.”
“Knew he could,” they replied cheerfully. Oh god, were they a morning person? They certainly looked more energetic than anyone else in the room as they overloaded a bowl of oatmeal with apple slices, blueberries, cinnamon, and cloves.
“I wanted to ask you something,” I said to them as I prepared my own breakfast.
“What about?”
“How should I refer to you?”
“Hmm, let’s see.” Kit straightened to their full height and planted their hands on their hips in a power pose. “How about Sir Kit the Brave? No, no, wait! Sir Kit the Magnificent!”
That didn’t really answer my question, so I decided to be more direct. “Okay, you like ‘sir,’ so do you prefer masculine pronouns and address?”
Kit’s posturing deflated slightly. “Oh, was that all you meant? If I’m posing as Brendon, you should use ‘he’ or you’ll give the game away. Other times, I usually default to ‘she,’ but ‘they’ is fine too, whatever’s easiest.”
The Good Wizard perked up and suggested, “What about xe?”
Kit shrugged. “Sure, if you like.”
The Good Wizard nodded, seeming pleased with her answer. “I always love a good X.”
Brendon settled at the table next to me and suggested, “If that’s all sorted, why don’t you explain what happened last night.”
Kit’s face broke out in a wide smile as she launched into a grand retelling of her adventure through the deadly forest and her defeat of the shadow dragon. She waved her arms around, slashing her spoon through the air like a sword—which the wizard had taken back, since apparently, it’d only been on loan—and recited the dragon’s wicked speech with a low, growling voice.
But the dragon was—obviously—no match for Kit, and her recitation took a dramatic turn as she cowered near the table, hands raised in surrender. “No, no, please, spare me!”
She quickly switched positions, wielding her spoon again, and exclaimed, “Back to the shadows with you, foul beast!” Then slew the air with a powerful thrust.
Flipping herself over, she clutched her chest and wheezed, “You have … defeated me … great and powerful knight.” Then she collapsed onto the table, eyes closed and tongue lolling out the side of her mouth.
She stayed that way until Brendon said, “Your oatmeal is getting gloopy.”
Something about her recitation niggled at the back of my brain. Frowning, I asked, “Isn’t ‘back to the shadows’ a line from—”
