Page 28 of Roma Queen
“No, baby. That’s not how it works with kings. Some kings are born. Others are chosen. We like to choose our kings.”
“And…so…are we going to choosehimnow?” Evelyn points to Pasha with another quick look. Up until now, Pasha’s been pretending not to hear the exchange taking place next to him. His eyes remain fixed on me, but now they crinkle slightly at the corners, the left side of his mouth—the side Evelyn can’t see from her vantage point on her mother’s hip—and half of him smiles.
“We’ve actually already picked him twice,” Shireen informs the child. “Once when he was little, and once again when he was older. Now the fool is making us choose him all over again.”
Evelyn laughs. “That’s silly. You only need to be chosen once.”
“You’re telling me kiddo. Your uncle’s big and strong, but really he’s just a big baby. He needs to be reassured that people like him.”
Evelyn’s sweet, high-pitched giggle attracts adoring smiles from a number of the other clan members, who seem to forget for a second that they’re supposed to be glaring suspiciously at me out of the corner of their eyes. “He’smyuncle?” I hear the wonder in her voice. The pure delight. It’s clear that the prospect of Pasha being her uncle is far more important to Evelyn than the prospect of him being her king. Shireen strokes a rogue, black curl back behind the little girl’s ear.
“Oh, he’s your uncle alright. If Pasha and Patrin Rivin aren’t related by blood, then they’re definitely related by their own stupidity.” Her teasing increases in volume, meant to be heard by Pasha, who bounces on the balls of his feet, smirking at the fire.
He looks back over his shoulder and says, “Careful,Stafie. If I’m voted in again, I’ll make sure you get water duty for the rest of the winter.”
“Oh, did you hear that?” Shireen wriggles her fingers into her daughter’s side, tickling her. “He’s somean. Maybe we don’t want him as king after all. What do you think, Evie? Should we kick him out?”
The little girl shrieks with glee, squirming, trying to get away from the merciless tickling. Pasha squeezes my hand quickly, releasing me, and then he’s swooping in, taking the little girl under the arms, rescuing her from her mother and sitting her onhiship.
“Come here. Let me tell you something,” he says to her. She tentatively leans in, placing her ear close to Pasha’s mouth. He grins wickedly at Shireen as he speaks to the girl. “When I’m king, I’ll outlaw tickling forever. We’ll make it a crime punishable by pancake,” he says conspiratorially.
Her eyes have doubled in size. “Pancake?”
Pasha nods solemnly. “If I’m made king and your mother ever tickles you again, she’ll have to make you pancakes for breakfast, every day for a whole month.”
Evelyn’s mouth drops open to form a cute-as-a-button ‘O.’ She tries to squirm out of Pasha’s arms and back into her mother’s. “Tickle me, Mama! Tickle me.”
“Hold on, hold on.” Pasha doesn’t return Evelyn right away. He bounces her on his hip until she stops laughing and tilts her little face upward so that she’s looking at him. Suddenly the little girl looks overcome with awe, as if she’s seeing Pasha for the very first time, and she’s mesmerized by him. I can sympathize with her; I’m sure I adopt the same stricken, dumbfounded, smitten expression whenever I look up into those jade eyes of his, too.
“You just asked your mom what a king was, and she told you he’s the man who gets to tell everyone what to do. She was right, kind of, but being a king is more than that. The king is responsible for a lot of different things. He has to make very difficult decisions. He has to try and make everybody happy, and keep them warm, and fed. He has to solve arguments and make sure everyone gets along. He has to fix things when they’re broken. Most importantly, the king protects the clan. If anyone tries to cause trouble, or wants to hurt one of us, then it’s the king’s job to defend the clan and keep them safe.”
Evelyn ponders this, by the looks of things turning Pasha’s words over inside her head, considering them very deeply. Eventually, she says, “You’re going to do all of that? You’re going to defend us?”
Slowly, very seriously, Pasha nods. Every part of his face bears the weight of his responsibility. “If your mom and the rest of the clan choose me again tonight, then yes. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I swear it.”
He told me earlier that he planned on walking away from this once Lazlo was dealt with, and he meant it at the time. I’m totally naïve to what happened in all those conversations he had this afternoon, but it’s plain now that walking away from this is no longer an option for him. If he wins the vote, if they put a crown on his head—fuck, I don’t even know if he’d wear an actual, physical crown. I just can’t even picture it—then he won’t be able to turn his back on it. He wouldn’t turn away from it, because that would be breaking a promise. And that’s something I already know he wouldneverdo.
Pasha looks up at me, cautious and worried, and I see the apology there in his eyes. Honestly, I never really believed he wouldn’t do his duty and serve his people. He’s wanted more than anything to deny the voice of his people, but it was never really a realistic possibility. EvenIknow that. Pasha has bruised ribs and the ghost of a faded black eye. He has callouses all over his hands, and there are more scars on his body than I can count. He does not walk through this world softly or gently, and he doesnothandle it with care. But inside his chest beats a heart that cares deeply for others, no matter how hard he tries to hide it, and he hashonor. He’ll be their king. It’ll be complicated, and messy, and it might cost us more than we want to surrender, but we’ll work it out.
I smile softly, nodding my head, and somehow he understands. He knows I’ll stand by him, even though I’m mad for not running a fucking mile. The relief on his face as he returns my smile is profound.
Around us, the night has officially closed in. Standing inside a ring of orange light cast off from a roaring bonfire, a young man stands with a child on his hip. The conversation that just passed between them was simple, but it was real, and every word rang with a startling depth of truth. The young man has been so fixated on the little girl that he hasn’t noticed the numerous pairs of eyes that have all found him in the dark; he knows nothing of the ears that have been eavesdropping and have overheard his promise. He doesn’t see the tension melting from their faces, as if he’s taken his thumb and personally eased the worry lines from between their creased foreheads.
I stand at the edge of the fire, watching this all take place, and I know I’ve just witnessed something important. Shireen’s hugging herself, her fingers digging into the tops of her own arms. Her gaze meets mine, and her eyes look glassy, as if she’s on the brink of tears. She inhales, her chest rising sharply, and then steps forward, reaching out for Evelyn and collecting her from Pasha.
“You know I can’t make pancakes,” she hisses in an annoyed, tight tone. Her eyes are still shining, though; Pasha falters when he sees the emotion she’s trying to hide. “I hopeyouknow how to make them,” she continues, swatting him away as he reaches out for her hand. “You’re going to have this one on your doorstep first thing in the morning, wanting what you promised her. Just you wait.” Shireen flashes a beaming, radiant smile up at Pasha, and then immediately cuts it short, as if her whole being might fall apart if she allows the smile to take full control of her face. “I need to find my husband. He’s probably causing trouble somewhere. Plus, we’ll be starting soon.”
Pasha and I both watch Shireen leave, Evelyn’s little face staring back at us over her mom’s shoulder as she scurries off into the crowd. In mere seconds, they’re gone. “Weird. Did…she seem okay to you?” Pasha murmurs. He sounds genuinely concerned.
“She’s just emotional, that’s all. She didn’t want you to know.”
Pasha’s sharp eyes lock onto me. “Emotional? Why?”
Shireen was right; Pashaisa little stupid. He’s stupid in the same way that all men are a little bit stupid sometimes. He has no idea what the sight of a tattooed, rough-edged, dangerous man, holding a vulnerable, delicate little girl like Evelyn in his arms and faithfully promising to always protect her, will do to a woman. Especially to her mother.
“You…” I frown, trying to find the right way to tell him that his friend’s probably in love with him. Has always been in love with him. Or, if she wasn’t in love with him before, then she most certainly is now. I can’t seem to conjure the appropriate words, though. Then, I realize that Ihavefound the word, the only word that matters, and that it’s entirely enough. “You.”
A flash of concern mars Pasha’s face. “Fuck. I didn’t mean to upset her. I was just trying to be nice to the kid.” He casts quick, worried eyes toward the fire, searching for Shireen, but all he finds are other clan members, all turned to him and staring at him as if he’s an eclipsing sun.
