Page 9 of The Prince and His Stolen Throne
Dad stopped in his tracks and stared at me in bewilderment. I couldn’t blame his confusion. It’d been so long since I’d tried to tell anyone about the old man, I’d forgotten about the geas. “Oh, uhh, that must have been an experience?”
My face heated as I blushed as red as my hair. “Sorry, that wasn’t …” I stopped myself, afraid of blurting out more embarrassing confessions. “Sorry.” I ducked my head and hastened my steps, hurrying toward the castle entrance.
He laughed away the awkwardness. It was a warm, comforting sound, nothing like my old man’s menacing cackle. “I understand, Trey. You’re an adult.”
I really don’t think you do.
“If you’re worried about past dalliances, or even current ones, you should just be honest with the others.”
Honesty is the one thing I can’t give anyone.
“Trust me, it’s a lot worse trying to solve your problems alone. And if you don’t want to participate in the spell at all—”
“No, I want to do this.”Just not for the right reasons.
“Alright, I’ll stop fussing,” he promised. “No matter what you decide at the meeting, nothing has to happen immediately. Don’t worry about whether you’re getting married or fighting dragons or anything else yet.”
I snorted. “Since dragons aren’t real, we won’t be fighting any—” at his cagey expression, I demanded, “Dragons aren’t real, right?”
With a cheeky grin, he said, “You can fight that beast when the time comes.”
I scowled. “You chose that wording on purpose.” Sometimes, I wondered which of my fathers was truly the evil one.
As we approached my bedroom, he asked, “Have you packed yet?”
We were supposed to leave in an hour, but I’d put off packing, partially to get in another training session with Hector, but mostly because I wanted to delay our departure for as long as possible. “How am I supposed to pack when I don’t know what I’m getting myself into? Should I pack a suit of silk or armor?”
“If you want armor, Kit might have some stashed somewhere.”
“Why would Kit have armor?”
“It’s a long story.”
“We have a long carriage ride ahead.”
Pretending not to hear me, he unsubtly changed the subject. “By the way.” His nonchalant tone immediately put my guard up. He opened my wardrobe door as an excuse to keep his back to me. “We’re picking up your cousin Delilah on the way.”
“Dad, no,” I groaned. “Can’t she get her own ride?”
“Your aunt’s coronation was less than a year ago. Franny’s still settling into her role as queen, and Kit’s not going to leave her side anytime soon. It’s better for everyone if Delilah travels with us rather than relying on a hired guard.”
“Do you mean it’s better for her safety, or because she’s less likely to turn feral and run off into the woods on our watch?”
“Both.”
No amount of arguing would get me out of quality time with my dear cousin. “Fine, but if she starts yowling, I’m riding with the coachman.”
Dad chuckled and conceded, “Fair enough.”
I pulled out my trunk from under my bed—the one not holding the magic mirror—and laid it open to start packing.
Dad shooed me away from the trunk and said, “I’ll pack, you go wash up.”
I glanced nervously at my wardrobe. My fathers and I did not share a sense of style. Dad wore lots of reds and blacks with fine embroidery, where Father preferred neutral colors and earth tones.Someonein our family needed a touch of color, so I’d filled my wardrobe with everything from sunshine yellows to deep, luscious purples. “Are you sure—”
“I refuse to be stuck in a carriage with you smelling like dirt and sweat.”
Since it might be my last chance for a proper shower, I gave in and left the packing to him. Hopefully, he would choose complementary colors, or I would look ridiculous.
