The Lightning-Struck Heart

by T. J. Klune

  “Sam.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not. And it’s okay not to be.”

  “Thanks. I wouldn’t have known that otherwise.” I winced. “Sorry. That came out wrong.”

  His lips twitched. “You could be pooping in buckets for taking that tone with me.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re the mighty King and all that.”

  “I could even have your head.”

  “Sure. Because that’s a thing you do.”

  “Could see a return of it. A good old-fashioned beheading in the courtyard.”

  “My blood would cause a revolution.”

  He smiled, looking far less regal and all the more awesome. “Of that I have no doubt.”

  He watched me and waited. He knew me very well.

  I sighed. “I’m fine. Or, I will be.”

  “Will you?”

  I put down the paintbrush. “I will. Because there’s no other alternative.”

  “There is,” he said. “You can be not fine. That is something you’re allowed to do.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes.”

  I took a step around the easel so he wouldn’t come toward me and be able to see the work in progress that would be hailed for centuries as a modern marvel. He watched me approach with curious eyes. He was smart, my King. “I have to be.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I’m not, I’m of no use to anyone. And if I’m of no use to anyone, then I might as well be back in the slums.”

  He shook his head. “Sam, how can you possibly think it’s not okay for you to not be okay?”

  “Because I’m Sam of Wilds,” I said, though it was beginning to sound like an excuse. “I’m always okay.”

  He stepped down from the platform where he’d been posing for me. His hands came down onto my shoulders and gripped me tight. He said, “You’re Sam of Wilds. But you’re also human.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t have to have the answers to everything.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I worry about you, sometimes,” he admitted.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ve built up this shell around yourself. This exterior made up of sass and wordplay. You wear your heart on your sleeve, but you’ve disguised it so that only those that are close to you can ever hope of seeing it. You show so much without actually showing anything at all.”

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “That your expert opinion, doctor?” I asked, cringing as soon as the words left my lips.

  “Sam,” he admonished lightly.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, looking away.

  “I would fix this for you if I could.”

  “Would you? Because that would be at the expense of your son.”

  He looked troubled at this. He appeared to choose his next words carefully. “I don’t know that Justin is in this for the same reason you are.”

  “I’m not in anything. That much has been made clear.” I almost told him about what Justin had said at the dragon’s keep, about feeling he was trapped in the shadow of his father and myself, that he’d felt forced to make a decision. But it wasn’t my place. I could not speak for the Prince. Whatever issues there were between them were just that: between them. Not me. The King had already told me he could do nothing to break the oath Ryan had sworn to Justin, much like no one else could break the oath that Ryan had to the King.

  I really fucking hated oaths.

  The King said, “I don’t—”

  “Did you paint this?” an incredulous voice asked from behind us.

  I turned and looked over my shoulder.

  Ryan stood in front of the easel, looking horrifyingly amused as he studied my painting. I hadn’t seen him since the night of his bachelor party a few days before. His hair had been cut in advance of the wedding, looking more regal and coifed versus his usual floppy mane. He still appeared exhausted, but he was biting his bottom lip and I realized he was trying not to laugh.

  I narrowed my eyes at him because the last time I checked, he was not an art critic.

  “Yes,” I said. “It is a work in progress. You can’t judge it until it’s completed.”

  “Oh,” he said. “I’m not judging.”

  “Uh. Hello. I have eyes and I can see your face. You are so judging.”

  “No, no,” he said innocently, eyes wide. “I would never think to judge something of this… caliber. There’s a lot of… red.”

  “It’s called puce,” I said.

  “Ah. Because that makes it better.”

  “Don’t be jealous of my talent. It’s unbecoming of you.”

  He looked up at me, unable to hold back the smile any longer. “I don’t know that jealous is the right word. Horrified, maybe.”

  “Horrified?” I said with a scowl. “There’s nothing horrifying about it!”

  “You gave the King breasts,” he said. “Three of them.”

  “Yes, well. It’s commentary on the state of postmodern feminism.”

  “Uh-huh. And the chest hair he still seems to have?”

  “He’s very manly.” I looked back at the King who was gazing back and forth between Ryan and me with a thoughtful look on his face. “You’re very manly,” I told him.

  “Thank you,” the King said. “I don’t know if I want to see the painting.”

  “Traitorous lies,” I said.

  “So he’s a manly feminist?” Ryan asked.

  “That’s a thing,” I insisted. “Everyone knows that’s a thing.”

  “I don’t think that’s a thing,” the King said.

  “You don’t get to have an opinion,” I told him. “You’re just a king of an entire country who has an infinite amount of responsibility and a wealth of knowledge far beyond my own and are pretty awesome. You wouldn’t know anything about it.”

  “How I treasure you,” the King said, smiling quietly at me.

  “The feeling is mostly mutual,” I said. “Art appreciation notwithstanding.”

  “Is he toppling Meridian City?” Ryan asked, still studying the painting. “While shooting fire from his mouth?”

  “It’s me taking a strong standpoint against consumerism,” I said.

  “You’re profeminist and antiestablishment.”

  “Exactly.”

  “By having the King being a three-breasted monster shooting fire.”

  “See, when you say it like that, it makes me start to regret my life choices.”

  He didn’t stop the laughter that time, the smile now as wide as I’d ever seen it. “That’s the thing that causes you to regret your life choices. Nothing else. That.”

  And it hit me then. How close this was to being like things once were. When I could harbor my secret love in my secret heart and banter back and forth for hours on end. My magic was an underlying current that was saying yesyesyesyes and moremoremoremore. It felt good. It felt right. I felt whole.

  And I couldn’t have it.

  It’s why the avoidance had been key. But somehow, Ryan had wormed his way back in.

  And gods, how I loved him for it.

  How I hated him for it.

  I said, “Opinions aside, you’ve encroached upon a private discussion. Perhaps you should find someone else to bide your time with until your nuptials instead of wasting mine.”

  It was as if I’d slapped him. There was shock on his face. Then pain. Then anger, whether at me or himself or the situation, I didn’t know. I told myself it didn’t matter. I had to do what I had to do to protect my head and heart, and if it meant being crueler than I ever thought I could be to Ryan Foxheart, then so be it.

  He took a step back.

  I turned away from him in what was obviously a dismissal.

  He said, “Sam.”

  I said nothing.

  I heard his footsteps echo in the throne room as he fled.

  The King watched me for a moment. The
n, “I told you something once. On the night of his promotion ceremony.”

  “You told me many things,” I muttered, ashamed of the way I’d just acted. Ryan deserved it. Maybe. But that didn’t mean I needed to act like he did.

  “I told you he doesn’t smile. Not a real one, anyway. Not one that’s not forced or for show.”

  I remembered that. I remembered because I’d thought how odd that was as I’d seen him smiling several times that day alone.

  “Until you,” the King said, sounding as sad as I’d ever heard him. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Especially since it was right in front of me. But anytime he smiles, anytime it’s real, it’s because of you. He lights up brighter than anything I’ve ever seen.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of my words.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t suppose it is.”

  “Fix this.”

  He looked stricken. “I can’t. He made the oath of his own volition. He’s a knight. It’s what’s expected of him.”

  I nodded once and turned to walk away.

  Before I got two steps, he said, “I tried.”

  I stopped but didn’t turn around.

  “I tried, Sam.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I asked Justin to release Ryan from his oath.”

  “Why?” I managed to choke out.

  “Because I wasn’t lying the day I told you that I thought of you as a son. And my heart breaks for you. Your pain will always be my pain, and it is sharp within me. I wanted something better for you, but I’ve failed. I’m so sorry, Sam.”

  I spun back around and threw myself at him. His arms came up and he held me close.

  I couldn’t find the words to say how I didn’t blame him. I couldn’t find the words to say how much I loved him. I couldn’t really find any words at all, so I just held him for a very long time and hoped he understood all the things that were not said.

  CHAPTER 28

  A Brief Interlude

  I GLARED up at the stars while I lay on the grass in the secret garden.

  “You’re fucking jerks,” I told them all. “Seriously. What the hell.”

  The stars didn’t reply. But then, they were stars, so. Pretty much expected.

  They still twinkled like assholes, though.

  “I hope you all blow up. You know what? You probably are already blown up and it’s just taken your light thousands and thousands of years to reach here. So ha fucking ha. You’re dead now and all I’m seeing are your last gasps.” I sighed. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

  Because it was. It wasn’t their fault Ryan was getting married tomorrow.

  It was Ryan’s fault. And Justin’s. I mean, who makes an oath to a prince to honor a dead and cherished mother?

  Rude.

  And very sweet. And beautiful. And lovely. And just like the selfless bastard.

  But also rude.

  I scowled at the sky.

  “It’s cool,” I told the stars. “I’ll find someone else. And it’ll be awesome and I’ll be all, like, Ryan who? I’ve got a new cornerstone. His name is Juan Carlos and he’s an exotic accountant. Or something. Mental note. Think of better exotic jobs in the future. Like… actuaries. Dammit. Why can’t I think of something exotic off the top of my head? Exotic. Exotic. Go! Juan Carlos is going to be an exotic mortician!” I groaned. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “Who’re you talking to?”

  I squawked like an indifferently tall man.

  Ryan laughed quietly to himself.

  “Dude,” I sighed. “Seriously. The stalking.”

  He stopped laughing. “I wasn’t. Not this time.”

  I looked back up toward the stars and cursed them in my head. “So you admit to the other times.”

  “Mostly.”

  “You can’t mostly stalk someone. You’re either all in or not.”

  “Ah. Well.”

  “Stalker,” I muttered.

  “Not this time,” he said. “I didn’t know you were out here.”

  I snorted. “Yeah. Okay.”

  “I didn’t. I just needed….”

  “Needed….”

  He sighed. “I needed to get away. For a little bit.”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t want to hear this.”

  “You’re right. I don’t.”

  The silence that followed was awkward. Him standing above me while I refused to look at him was awkward. Everything about this was awkward.

  Of course, I couldn’t keep that to myself. “You’re awkward. This is awkward.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s like you’re my ex that I’ve seen for the first time since we had our really bad breakup.”

  “Is that what it’s like?”

  “Sure,” I said. “But it sucks because it’s like we’re exes without having any of the benefits of not having been something before we were exes.”

  “Benefits?”

  “You know,” I said. “Butt sex.”

  He choked.

  “Or other things,” I said quickly. “Because it’s not all about butt sex.”

  “Thank the gods it’s just not all about butt sex,” he said faintly.

  “But you see what I mean? Awkward, but no benefits of having gotten there.”

  “I suppose that’s my fault.”

  I laughed. “Yes. I suppose it is.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “I don’t,” I said. “And I don’t care to anymore. I’m done fighting. Aren’t you done fighting?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I’m done fighting,” I said again. “Fighting you. Fighting for you. Fighting against you. I’m done. It makes things easier.”

  “What things?” he asked quietly.

  I raised my arm and waved my hand toward the stars. “This. These things. Everything.”

  “That’s… all encompassing. As usual.”

  “Like a tornado.”

  “Uh. Sure? Are you drunk?”

  “Not this time. Maybe tomorrow night. No offense, but Gary, Tiggy, and I will probably get drunk and besmirch your name a bit.”

  He took a step toward me. I refused to look at him, but I could still see him in the periphery.

  “Besmirch, huh?”

  “So much besmirching,” I said. “You don’t even know how besmirched you’ll be.”

  “I think I have an idea,” he said. “I traveled with you three for weeks. It’ll probably get a tad vicious.” He took another step. Like he was aiming for subtlety. Nonchalance. He was failing miserably.

  And it was getting dangerously close to reminiscing again. That wouldn’t bode well for my Plan of Not Caring. Nothing ruins Not Caring like Willful and Fond Reminiscing. I hoped he hadn’t capitalized the plan in his head yet. “Eh,” I said. “I won’t let it get too bad. Maybe some choice curse words here and there but nothing too bad. I won’t hex you or anything.”

  “Could you do that?”

  “Probably. I don’t really know what I’m capable of anymore.”

  “Lightning,” he said and took another step.

  I sighed. “Yeah. I’ve been through worse. Randall just likes to try and get a rise out of me.”

  “It looked like he was trying to kill you.”

  “Nah. He knows I’d come back and haunt his ass. He wouldn’t dare.”

  “What did it feel like?”

  I was starting to get irritated. “Gods, sit down if you’re going to stay here. Stop hovering. You’re making it worse.”

  “You aren’t going to run?” he asked, a light tease, and I had to remind myself that I didn’t care.

  “You’re the one that’s been running lately,” I said.

  That shut him up right quick. He sat down next to me, carefully maintaining a slight distance like I was a cornered, skittish animal. He huffed out a breath, then lay down on his back, looking up thr
ough the thin canopy of trees above.

  And because I was probably a masochist, I asked, “You ready for tomorrow?”

  I felt his eyes on me as he turned his head in my direction. “Are you serious?”

  “What? I can’t ask questions?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t seem to know a lot of things.”

  He groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “Gods, you confuse me.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “You infuriate me.”

  “My bad.”

  “Yes, Sam,” he snapped. “I’m ready for tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “You’re a dick.”

  I laughed. “Yeah. I know. If you’d like, I can go back to pretending you don’t exist.”

  “Would that be easier?”

  “For who?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Did you ever think you’d get here?”

  “Where?”

  “Here. Where you are now. I… back in the slums, I always figured I’d stay there. I’d work there. That I would die there.”

  “That’s… sad.”

  “And yet that’s how it is for most people born there.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe. I spent a lot of time thinking of ways to get us out of there. Wishing for something to happen. I never thought I’d… well. I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. But no. I never expected this. To be here. Where I am.”

  His arm brushed against mine, whether by accident or not, I couldn’t tell. But I had learned very quickly that very little happened by accident when it concerned Ryan Foxheart. “I never hoped,” he said. “I never wished. I never dreamed. Not until you.”

  “Ryan—”

  “Listen. Please, can you just listen?”

  “I already know what you’re going to do. I can recognize the tone in your voice. I don’t need you to justify anything to me. I don’t want you to.”

  “I’m not trying to justify anything.”

  “Then what are you trying to do?”

  “Have a conversation,” he said, pouting slightly. I refused to find it adorable.

  “No,” I said. “You’re trying to explain yourself. Why you pledged your oath to Justin. You did it for your mother. You did it because you got out and she didn’t. You did it for her, because you thought that’s what she wanted for you, and you could never go back on your word because of how much you loved her. I get it, Ryan. I get it, okay? I know why you’re doing what you’re doing. I hate it, and I think I sometimes hate you, but I get it. I do. Okay? I promise. I do. If you need my blessing, have at it. It’s yours. Do what you have to, because in the end, you’ll have to live with yourself. Not me. Not Justin. Just you.” By the time I finished speaking, my voice was hoarse and my hands were shaking. I didn’t even have the sense to stop him when he reached over and curled his fingers in my own. His grip was tight and warm.