Peasants and Kings

by Emma Slate

  He rolled over onto his back and lifted his arm to prop it behind his head. I made no move to scoot closer.

  “I pride myself on being a man who can read a person within the first few seconds of meeting him. You are a constant surprise and that’s…unnerving. I don’t ever feel like I have a grasp on who you are.”

  “It’s more than that, though. Isn’t it?”

  “What you said in the pool, about the void—I didn’t like it. It struck a nerve because it was true.”

  “So you left.”

  “Aye.”

  With a sigh, I admitted, “It did sting that you left without a word and didn’t contact me. But it reminded me of what we are. I’m a Rex girl and you’re the man who bought me for six months.”

  He was silent for a moment as his gaze searched my face. “You won’t even concede that you were aloof?”

  “What we did against the terrace wall…that was me aloof?” I asked with a roguish smile. When he didn’t grin at my teasing tone, I sobered. “While we’re attempting to hold each other accountable, will you concede that you fucked me against that wall as a form of punishment?”

  “Punishment,” he said in surprise. “For what?”

  “For me not sitting and pining for you while you were gone. For me not sending you text after text begging you to come back. For not acting like you expected me to.”

  “Only if you concede that you were acting cool and flirtatious because you were trying to prove that you could play the true part of a Rex girl.”

  “I concede,” I said easily. “What about you? Do you concede?”

  He lifted his arm and I snuggled into him to rest my cheek against his chest. I waited for him to tell me he yielded, but I was waiting in vain.

  He quelled the long silence when he said, “My mother died during childbirth.”

  His hand drifted up and down my arm in a dreamy caress, and I cuddled deeper into his embrace.

  “She was a teen runaway. Nothing out of the ordinary. I don’t know who my father is. When they filled out the birth certificate, she was already dead… Anyway, I was taken to St. Michael’s, an orphanage in Lerwick. The nuns there named all the male babies that came to them after Roman emperors. I don’t know why. Maybe they wanted to give us strong names since we’d come to them with nothing. Maybe they thought we’d have a chance at feeling powerful during the course of our lives.”

  I lifted my face so I could rest my chin on his chest and stare at him. “And Rhys? Was that your mother’s last name?”

  He nodded, his eyes meeting mine.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked him.

  “Because you were honest with me this morning,” he said softly, his brogue rumbly and thick. “You didn’t have to be. You could’ve kept your guard up. Lord knows I would’ve understood why. I brought you here and then left you immediately.”

  Something finally clicked into place, an understanding of the enigmatic man whose bed I was in and whose arms I found pleasure in.

  Everything in Hadrian’s life, from his business dealings, to conversations with people…it was all transactional. Hadrian didn’t know how to trust someone unless they offered him something he perceived as valuable in return.

  My honesty, as he called it, was worth something to him. And so he’d shared a part of himself with me.

  I stroked my fingers up his chest to cup his raspy cheek and then sank into his strawberry blond hair.

  In that moment, I realized who Hadrian truly was: an orphan who’d never had unconditional love. How could he have? He hadn’t known his own mother. She’d never gotten to watch him grow from boy to man. Whatever his course in life, he had done it without family.

  “Eden?”

  I met his bold stare and said simply, “Kiss me.”

  There was nothing boyish about the way he made me quiver. There was nothing boyish about the way he rolled me over, using his brute strength to pleasure me. There was nothing boyish about the way he slid inside me, so deep I wondered if he was settling himself in my heart.

  I wanted to unravel every part of his past, each new secret a treasure revealed. I wanted to keep him safe and give myself to the raw beauty that we created when we were together.

  And when I tightened around him, climaxing, I let him see the tears that seeped from the corners of my eyes.

  I let him see the part of me that really mattered.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The next few days were spent in a blissful, dreamy state of pleasure and companionship. We didn’t venture far from Hadrian’s bed. We were cocooned in safety, and in the privacy of his bedroom, we could express ourselves the best way we knew how—by using our bodies. Neither of us were yet comfortable expressing deeper feelings and secrets, and usually we were able to skirt around them. But after Hadrian told me about his mother, there was a tender peace between us, an understanding that we didn’t have to share everything all at once. That would come naturally with time, and we would hoard our pasts like dragons guarding gold, with each story told, each secret unveiled like a prize to be won.

  Hadrian never slept the entire night next to me. His energy was dynamic and limitless. Was his drive something he’d been born with? Or was it something that had been chiseled into his psyche over time as he attempted to compensate for all the things he’d never had? I wondered if his inability to rest stemmed from his desire to prove his worth. Not to the world, but to himself.

  He was his own master. He did not hold council with confidants. The few phone calls he’d taken while we were hidden away had shown me that.

  There was nothing soft about him. He was demanding in his existence. In bed, and out of it.

  One clear morning a week later, Hadrian introduced me to one of his horses, a black stallion named Midas. It was a temperamental beast, and Midas tossed his glossy head and kicked the barn door with impatience as we stood at his stall.

  “I’m pretty sure Midas is your spirit animal,” I teased. “You guys have a lot of the same characteristics.”

  “Such as?” he asked.

  “Tempers, for one,” I said. “You’re both very vocal and demanding about your wants and needs.”

  “Speaking of needs… Midas has been lonely,” he explained, and then placed his hand at my waist to guide me to the next stall over that held a chestnut beauty with a white speckled flank. The horse looked at Hadrian with her lovely dark brown eyes and came to him when we arrived at the stall.

  “I let him choose his companion. I had dozens of fillies brought here for Midas. He ignored every single one of them—except for her. He pranced around in front of her, and she couldn’t have been less interested. He liked her immediately, and there was no hiding it.”

  I grinned.

  He arched a brow. “I know what you’re thinking, and you couldn’t be more wrong.”

  “Maybe this horse is my spirit animal,” I joked.

  Hadrian offered me a carrot and gestured with his chin to the mare. “What did you name her?” I asked. “She’s so regal.”

  “She doesn’t have a name yet. Would you like to do the honors?” he asked with a wry grin.

  I tried to stem the rapid beat of my heart. “You want me to name her? Are you sure?”

  He nodded.

  I reached my hand out, palm flat, and the mare devoured the carrot and then nudged my shoulder in an obvious demand for another. When I didn’t oblige fast enough, she bumped her nose against me again.

  “She’s pure trouble,” I said with a laugh as I gave her another carrot.

  “Definitely,” Hadrian agreed, coming to stand closer to me, so his side was pressed to mine. He stroked his hand down the mare’s neck.

  Midas didn’t like losing Hadrian’s attention and gave a loud whicker.

  “She’s definitely gonna cause an uproar.” I stroked my hand down her silky nose. “You’re such an Eris.”

  The mare tossed her head again.

  “Do you like that name?” I asked. “
Eris?”

  She repeated the action.

  “All right then. Eris it is.”

  “Eris?” Hadrian asked.

  “The Greek Goddess of Discord,” I said.

  “I don’t know why, but it feels like a bad omen,” Hadrian said.

  “You’re being superstitious,” I said as I patted Eris’s neck.

  “Are you ready for your first riding lesson?” he asked.

  With the help of the stable master and Hadrian, I was able to mount Eris with very little trouble or embarrassment.

  “She’s a natural,” Airik said.

  Hadrian nodded, a slight smile on his face.

  Airik handed me the reigns, but he remained close in case Eris decided to pitch a fit. It turned out to be completely unnecessary. From the moment I settled on her back, it was as though we’d become one entity. She was naturally in tune with me, and I felt the same with her.

  “For someone who’s never ridden a horse, you look like you were born to it,” Hadrian said, mounting a newly saddled Midas.

  His words dug deep into my soul, and I thought instantly of my mother. I remembered the bedtime stories she’d told me about a young woman riding bareback across the hills of the Italian countryside by the light of the full moon. They hadn’t been fabricated stories after all, but memories from her youth. Perhaps riding horses was in my blood.

  I caught Hadrian watching me, his expression carefully blank. “What are you thinking about?”

  Stroking Eris’s neck with one hand and holding the reigns with the other, I said, “I was thinking about my mother. She loved horses. Come on.” I flashed an overly bright smile. “An island like this must have a pirate cave somewhere.”

  “A pirate cave? Really?”

  “I’m imaginative. Humor me,” I teased, gently prodding Eris with my heels. I had to get away from Hadrian’s prying gaze.

  Memories of my mother assailed me. Not even the crisp sea air that teased the hair at my temples or the lush beauty surrounding me could divert my thoughts.

  Her smile, somehow open yet mysterious. Her golden-brown eyes that flashed like lightning when she was angry. The way she’d start yelling at me in Italian and then switch to English mid-sentence. The way men had always stared at her wherever we’d gone. Not even the lines of exhaustion and years of arguing with me had marred her natural beauty. It had only enhanced it, lending a certain fragility to her. It tacitly called out to men to protect her, but she’d never let them. She was stronger than any of them anyway, they just didn’t know it.

  I heard the faintest sounds of Midas’s trotting hoofbeats, and Hadrian appeared next to me. A sigh of appreciation escaped my lips before I could stop it. His stern expression and the way he handled his mount had me shivering in appreciation.

  When he looked at me, his eyes were fierce and brooding.

  “You’ve been having nightmares.”

  His words jarred me out of my fanciful mood. “What? No. I don’t have nightmares.”

  “Aye, you do.”

  “I think I’d remember having nightmares,” I countered. “I don’t even remember dreaming, Hadrian.”

  He raised his brows. “Do you think I’m lying to you?”

  “No, but—”

  “You thrash and mutter in Italian. The moment I pull you into my arms, you go limp and you whimper. Do you know what you whisper against me?”

  I shook my head, suddenly so afraid that my throat began to tighten.

  “Mama.”

  “You think I’m crying out in my sleep for my mother?” I asked bluntly.

  “I don’t think. I know.”

  I looked away from him to stare at the waves lapping at the sand.

  “I told you about my mother,” he reminded me.

  “You did,” I agreed.

  “Very few people know about her. I don’t ever speak about her.”

  “We have that in common, then,” I said.

  “You could tell me. About yours.”

  “No.”

  “What do you think I’m going to do with the knowledge, Eden? Use it against you?”

  The only thing he’d used against me was my own desire, and I couldn’t really be mad at him for that.

  Had I used Hadrian’s past against him? No. It had only made me understand him better. It had made me yearn to know him even more. It had split something open inside of me, a canyon of need and want, but the legacy that was in my blood and the ripple effect that my mother’s actions had caused had to remain a secret.

  “Eden?”

  His voice was soothing, like the gentle purls of ocean waves. I let it swell over me.

  “She committed suicide,” I said softly, forcing myself to say it out loud.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “Did you—were you the one who—”

  “No,” I interrupted. “I wasn’t the one who found her. I got a phone call.”

  Hadrian looked like he was about to pull me off my horse and onto his lap. I was afraid that if he did that, I’d give in and tell him everything. I could not fall apart, no matter how comforting he had been, no matter how instinctively I felt protected by his breadth and strength.

  If I did that, I would lose my ability to remain safe in anonymity.

  No. I would be safer alone, even though I didn’t want to be. I reinforced my emotional walls that were in danger of tumbling down.

  I maneuvered Eris away from Midas which gave me a moment to compose myself for the inevitable questions Hadrian would ask.

  He did not disappoint. “Did she tell you why? Was there a note?”

  I nodded, knowing I needed to skirt the truth, or bend it. I grasped at the only straw I had. “She never got over my father’s death. She went on as long as she could, I guess. But in the end the pain of it was too much.”

  He nudged Midas closer to Eris, close enough that he could take one hand and cup my cheek. “There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

  I blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s tragic that you lost your mother. It’s tragic how you lost your mother, but I can read you, Eden. There’s more to it than that. I’m sure of it.”

  He was like a hound on a scent.

  “We were estranged,” I admitted. “I hadn’t spoken to her in years. Guilt, Hadrian. What you pick up on is guilt.”

  His eyes saddened. “I know a thing or two about guilt.”

  A serene ride on the beach lifted most of the melancholy from the atmosphere, and by the time we returned to the house for lunch, my spirits had lifted almost completely. Ingrid greeted us with a smile and hot sandwiches—her version of a Philly cheese steak, but with mutton.

  “Bran is asking when you’re coming to visit,” Ingrid said as she set down a napkin in front of Hadrian who’d taken a stool at the counter. “He wants to show you what he can do with a football.”

  “Who’s Bran?” I asked as I lifted the sandwich to my mouth.

  “My youngest grandson,” Ingrid explained. “He worships the ground Hadrian walks on.”

  The faintest trace of color appeared high on Hadrian’s cheekbones and he kept his eyes downcast. “He’s a good lad,” he muttered.

  “Where is Bran?” I asked with sudden interest.

  “On the next island over. His parents tend to the livestock,” Ingrid said. “You haven’t seen the neighboring islands yet, have you?”

  “Not yet,” I said.

  She looked at Hadrian with an accusing look. “Have you kept the poor girl chained to your bed?”

  I choked audibly on my sandwich as my cheeks flamed. I attempted to chew quickly and swallow.

  “If you were anyone else,” Hadrian said mildly, “I’d tell you to mind your own business.”

  She let out a delighted laugh and they both smiled. It was nothing short of familial, the way they spoke to one another.

  Hadrian took a sip of water from his glass and cleared his throat. “If Eden wants to spend the afternoon being subjected to your fa
mily’s scrutiny, then we’ll come and see them.”

  I shot Ingrid a look. “Oh, yeah, I definitely want to see the other islands.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Hadrian said with feigned darkness.

  After we finished lunch, we took a power boat to a neighboring island. We stepped foot onto the beach as a gaggle of children ran to greet us, the adults following at a more sedate pace.

  Hadrian wrapped his arm around me and then introduced me in Norwegian. Ingrid’s family called out greetings in English, their smiles open and welcoming. It took all of my willpower not to gawk as they treated Hadrian with casual affection.

  The few teenage girls in the mix hung back, appearing enthralled and yet nervous about Hadrian’s brutal virility. I felt their plights like they were my own. I understood their confusion. Hadrian’s presence was naturally overwhelming, even to a grown woman.

  A young boy, who had to be Bran since he had a soccer ball tucked underneath his arm, darted forward to boldly stand in front of Hadrian. He craned his neck back and said, “You owe me a rematch.”

  My gaze darted from the boy to Hadrian, who was grinning down with a smile I’d never seen across his face. I couldn’t place it, but it was genuine, open, and full of yearning.

  “You sure you’re ready for a rematch?” Hadrian asked, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt.

  “I’ve been practicing,” the boy said.

  “Good,” Hadrian said. He looked at me. “Would you like to play?”

  I shook my head and lifted my foot to show him a boot. “I’m not really dressed for it.”

  He grinned. “I guess you’ll have to cheer me on from the sidelines.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll be cheering for Bran.”

  Bran glanced up at me and grinned, revealing the gap from a missing tooth. He hastily brushed a long mop of dark hair out of his eyes. “I’m going to win for you, then.”

  I tried to hide my smile at Bran’s bold arrogance but failed and let out a laugh. When he was finished with his proclamation, he latched himself to Hadrian’s side and gazed up at him in boyish worship and imitated Hadrian’s natural swagger.