Page 111 of The Midnight Princess
I brush his hair off his forehead. “You’re going to grow it again.”
“Alma,” he says, his voice gruff as he pulls me into his arms. I slip the rocking horse onto the mantel and fit myself against him, reaching up on my tiptoes to kiss his mouth—a warm, clear declaration that I am his. It’s not enough. He lifts me until my feet leave the ground, and I hear a roll of laughter before his lips settle on mine, dark-tinged and sweet, leading me off carefully marked paths and into the forest.
Together, we lose our way and forget ourselves, lingering in the magical woods.
“Tell me why you released a statement,” he asks when he lifts his head, breath shaking from his lungs.
“You can’t turn the people you love into pawns,” I say, repeating the words of my aunt. “Not if it’s really love.” I try to pull away slightly, needing him to understand, but he gathers me into his arms again. “I’m sorry that I treated you like a secondary concern. I’m sorry that I wanted you only at the right time and under the right circumstances. I’m sorry for being so worried about inconveniencing my country or looking bad in the press. I’m sorry that I didn’t want to make any sacrifices.” I tug at my lip.
He pushes a gentle thumb across my mouth, releasing it.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell everyone that I wanted to date you—” I whisper.
“Date,” he grunts, dipping his head, pressing a fierce kiss on my lips. “We’re not going to date.”
I breathe a laugh. The ancient Vors had a tradition called handfasting. It tied a couple together with promises before a priest cinched them up at an altar—not yet married, but almost as good as. I lace our fingers together until my soft palm is kissing his calloused one. I imagine a cord twining around our wrists, weaving an unbreakable knot to bind us together.
“I don’t need you to tell the press about us,” he answers. “Not yet. It’s enough that you don’t have a public fiancé. I don’t mind keeping it quiet.”
“I’m not keeping you a secret,” I counter, ready to dictate a press release.
He smiles. “Then keep us private. There’s a difference.”
My breath catches. I didn’t understand Freja until this moment, how she could know Oskar was for her—enough to stake her life on it. I didn’t understand how she could get carried away and forget herself.
I understand now.
Jacob traces rough fingertips along my neck and follows them with kisses. “I don’t want to go back to Vorburg.”
I know what the rest of the state visit looks like—events planned for every minute of the stay, no chance to run away, no accidental brush of hands that won’t be caught by a photographer. Vorburg is going to demand his time and energy, and I see the difficulties ahead as clearly as ever. We belong to hostile countries, our reputations have taken a hit in the press, and I don’t know how anyone will accept us. But I remember something I told him when he grumped about losing his right to vote in American elections. Loyalties can’t be divided.
Mine aren’t.
I rub the short bristles at the back of his neck and guide his lips where I can reach them, loving the way his powerful body surrenders at my lightest touch. “I don’t want to stay in Sondmark,” I say. I might die if I can’t kiss him again.
He pulls me to him, solid muscle banding my waist. “So we’re doing this. I’m going to need an itinerary and a timetable of how often we see each other, boss. Locations and logistics.”
“I’ll have it to Karl by noon,” I promise.
I cut off his laugh with a kiss, breathing him in, and with each touch, he tells me that his heart is in my keeping. I finally understand what I have, I think, cupping his face with my unsteady hand. It’s far too precious to place in a box and surrender it to the care of anyone else.
Silently, I make a vow. No matter what pressures are brought to bear upon us, I will fight every dragon of Sondmark to safeguard the heart of my prince.
I lead him to the sofa, and we weave more knots between us. The coming days will be difficult. We need to store up reserves against the frustration of being in different countries and the rational arguments to choose anything but this.
His thumb traces along my bare ring finger, up and back, imprinting his touch.
The mantel clock chimes twice.
“It’s late,” he says, lifting his head. “I should let you sleep.”
I groan in protest, slipping into his arms again when he pulls me to my feet. “You don’t have to sound like you’re doing me a favor.”
The fire has turned into glowing coals, and blue moonlight touches the planes of his face. I trace a finger along his lips and he kisses it. “I know I’m not what you planned for,” he says, eyes searching my face. “Are you happy?”
I pull his head down for one more kiss, unable to resist smiling against his mouth.
I’m happy.
