by Ember Casey
“We’ll worry about what the world thinks of me when we get to Montovia,” I tell her. “Tonight, there are more important concerns.” I drink from my shoe, and then pass it back to her. “As stimulating as your opinions are, Ms. Simpson, I’d suggest we conserve our energy and save our arguments for later. In fact, I think we should probably try and get some rest. We have a long walk ahead of us in the morning.”
She takes a drink from my shoe and hands it back to me. “We will have this conversation again in Montovia.”
“If you insist.” I set my shoe back out in the rain. We’ll need more water in the morning. “I’m going to sleep now, Ms. Simpson, and I’d recommend that you do the same.”
I shift, trying to find a more comfortable position against the stone behind me. Unfortunately, our little shelter isn’t long enough for me to stretch out fully, but I’ll have to manage. I survived a plane crash. I can survive a night sleeping on the ground.
Beside me, Victoria seems to be trying to make herself comfortable as well. She’s still right against my side, and I move my arm, trying to give her a bit more room. As much as I’m sure she’d prefer otherwise, it’s impossible for us to sleep without being pressed right up against each other.
I close my eyes, imagining myself in my bed back in Montovia. Tomorrow night, with some luck, I’ll be sleeping there again. In dry clothes, preferably.
The storm still rages overhead, and the wind howls through the trees outside. My damp clothes certainly aren’t helping my comfort levels—I tuck my arms against my chest, trying to preserve what body heat I can. If Victoria weren’t so uptight, I probably would have stripped everything off—even on a night like this, sleeping naked would probably be much more comfortable than sleeping in wet things.
Victoria is probably thinking something similar by now. I feel a shiver pass through her body where we’re pressed together, and she lets out a soft, shaky breath.
This is ridiculous, I think. There’s no reason we should both be suffering.
I roll over so I’m facing her.
“Ms. Simpson,” I say into the darkness. “We’re both wet and freezing. I know you’d rather be somewhere far, far away from me, but dare I suggest we might both be more comfortable if we conserve what body heat we can?”
I feel another shiver move down her body. “Are you suggesting—?”
“That we huddle together for warmth, yes. We’re already practically on top of each other. We’d be fools to spend the entire night trying not to touch each other, especially in conditions like this. I promise, Ms. Simpson—I have no intention of trying anything barbaric.”
“You’ve made that perfectly clear,” she mutters. But she rolls over to face me. “But you have a point. Fine—let’s do it.”
I reach out, pulling her closer to me, and she huddles against my chest. Another tremor moves through her body, and beneath my hand, her skin is clammy and cool.
In spite of everything, I find myself wanting to rub my hand up and down her arm, to attempt to warm her as best I can. But I’m certain my actions will be misinterpreted, so instead I pull her closer and try to trap more heat between us. My face is against her damp hair, and I feel her shirt-wrapped foot press between my ankles, seeking heat. Her face is against my chest, and her warm breath rushes over the bare skin revealed at the collar of my undershirt.
If I were my brother Leopold—or at least, if I were Leopold before he met Elle—I would probably try to take advantage of this situation. But though the woman in my arms is quite attractive, I spoke the truth when I told her I had no intentions on her body.
My body, on the other hand, seems to have other ideas. In this position, it’s impossible not to be aware of her—of her lips, practically against my bare skin. Of her heart, beating against my chest. Of her hands, clinging to my shirt at my sides. Through my damp clothes I can feel every bit of her.
Just go to sleep, I tell myself. She’s a reporter. You have bigger concerns than the needs of your cock. And besides, you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.
But as Victoria shifts against me, snuggling closer, I realize the night ahead of me is probably going to be just as long—if not longer.
Victoria
I’m not sure how His Highness can stand being this close to me. He’s made it pretty clear how he finds me completely disgusting. But I’m about as cold as I’ve ever been, and I’ll never admit it to him, but I appreciate that he suggested we huddle together to stay warm. Of course, it would be a hell of a lot warmer if we could get out of these soaking wet clothes, but he’s made it pretty clear he has zero interest in being that close to me—whether we’re freezing or not.
And he was at least decent in giving me his shirt to wrap my foot with. I hadn’t wanted to tell him, but I think the cut is pretty bad. I couldn’t really see it, but the way it’s throbbing right now tells me it might be fairly difficult for me to walk on it by tomorrow.
Hopefully, it isn’t going to matter. Our rescuers have to be on their way—it’s not like someone isn’t going to notice the Crown Prince of Montovia has suddenly going missing. And maybe whoever lives in that cabin saw the plane go down—someone might be out there searching for us right now.
Thunder cracks loudly outside, and at the same time, the inside of our little cave is brilliantly illuminated for a moment. A tree must have been hit by a lightning strike just outside.
I stiffen in Andrew’s arms at the sound and his embrace around me tightens.
He doesn’t say anything, but he seems to notice he’s almost comforting me. God forbid. He clears his throat and forces himself to relax his grip on my back.
And I have to ignore the lightning strike I feel in my body as his hands move over my wet blouse—the same way I’m trying to ignore how I can feel the hard outline of the well-defined muscles of his back, where my hands just happen to be resting as I’m lying in his arms.
Damn it.
This is not happening. I am not going to allow myself to feel the slightest bit attracted to this man—a man who has done nothing but show me over and over again how vile he finds me. Why would I do this to myself? It was one thing to have had a secret celebrity crush on him before I met him two weeks ago. But now, it’s something else. Now he knows me. Okay, he doesn’t really know me at all, but he knows who I am. And he thinks I’m disgusting—he’s said so on several occasions now. What the hell am I doing to myself? I hate that this is so typical of me—being attracted to guys who treat me like shit.
I’m not doing this to myself anymore. It’s a promise I made myself after the last time, and it’s one I’m damned well going to keep.
I move my hands away from his back, deciding instead to hold onto the thin fabric of his t-shirt. I ball my hands into fists to at least keep myself from touching him in any meaningful way.
And I close my eyes and almost will myself to fall sleep.
Daylight streams through the narrow entrance of our tiny cave when I finally wake up. It takes me a second to remember where I am—and to whom the hand belongs that is firmly gripping my ass.
It might be fun to pretend I’m offended—to wake him up and embarrass the hell out of him. Watch him squirm. But I decide against it—he did keep me warm last night after all, and I’m grateful for that. Not that I’m going to let him know about my gratitude.
I place my hand over his, only meaning to move it up to my back before he wakes up and finds out where he’s inadvertently touched me in his sleep, but he jolts awake, knocking my head into the side of the rock I’m nearly pinned against.
He pulls his arms away from me, shrinking himself against his side of the tiny cavern. “What are you doing?”
I glare at him for a moment, wriggling myself into a more upright position. “Nothing. Just trying to get your hand off my ass.”
He sits up, holding his hand out in front of him like he’s been burned or something. “I would never—”
“I know. You’d never willingly touch me. I got th
e gist of that last night. I’m sure it was accidental. I’m sorry your royal hand had to come anywhere near my filthy body.”
“That isn’t…” He shakes his hand, probably trying to make sure I haven’t infected him with some incurable disease. “Never mind,” he mutters under his breath.
He edges himself to the entrance of the rock formation and pulls his shoe inside—it’s overflowing with rainwater. He takes a sip before holding it out to me.
I take a long drink from his shoe before handing it back to him. The shoe thing was pretty brilliant—I suppose I can add that to the list of things I’m grateful for that I’ll never admit to him. He probably thinks I’m taking notes about this whole thing anyway—he seems to think my job is the only thing I’m capable of doing, as disgusting as it might be to him.
He takes another sip and sets the shoe down next to him before he motions toward me. “How is your foot?”
I’m hesitant to look at it—the thing is throbbing like a motherfucker, and I know I’m going to have to force myself to walk on it at all. But I force a smile and meet his gaze. “It’s fine. Thanks for the shirt.”
“You’re welcome.” His gaze narrows a little and he searches my face, almost as though he can tell I’m lying. But if he can tell, he doesn’t say anything.
“We should see if the rescue crew is out there.” I’m forcing my voice to be cheerful—I mean, I’m praying they are out there. I have about a hundred reasons why I don’t want to spend another night in the woods, not the least of which is the man sitting across from me.
He nods. “You’re right. They’re probably working to extract the plane from the lake now. We should get out there, lest the news of my untimely death should leak to the public.”
I can only nod in return, keeping the same dumb smile on my face as I motion him out.
Andrew grabs his shoe, taking another long drink before he holds it out to me. “Have the rest.”
I take it and drink what’s left inside as he climbs out of the cave. I crawl over after I’m done drinking and hand his shoe to him as I scoot myself to the edge of the entrance.
The shirt I tied around my foot last night has come a little loose and I rewrap it as best as I can, tying it around my foot as tightly as I’m able. I ignore the spot on the bottom where the blood has soaked through several layers, and I stand.
I have to literally bite my tongue to keep from crying out too loudly from the shock of pain radiating up my leg when I put weight on my foot.
But Andrew is already several feet away, having already started on his way back to the lake after putting his shoe back on his foot. I don’t think he heard anything—I’m pretty sure I did cry out, at least a little when I first stepped on my injured foot—but he doesn’t turn back to check on me. I know I’m not going to be able to run this time. I gingerly try to walk as best I can, and the more steps I take, the easier it is to ignore the pain. I’m finally almost able to catch up to him by the time we reach the edge of the forest, though I can see he’s walking a lot slower than he probably wants to.
His shoulders drop a little when he reaches the clearing, but he doesn’t turn around. I have to take another ten steps or so to catch up to him before I can finally see what he does.
Nothing.
Nothing but the same lake we crashed into yesterday. There are definitely no rescuers here—no one trying to salvage the plane from the water. No one looking for a missing prince.
There are, however, some things floating on the lake that weren’t there yesterday. The storm must have stirred up the water enough to shake some things loose from the wreckage. There’s nothing I recognize, but the way Andrew almost runs to the edge of the lake, there’s obviously something he’s excited about.
He wades in about knee-deep and grabs what looks like a tiny toolbox before he comes back out of the water.
We meet about halfway between the woods and the lake, and he’s smiling—more than I’ve ever seen. More than I thought he was capable of, honestly.
He kneels down in the grass, setting the box in front of him. “It’s the first aid kit. It’s small, but there are some medical supplies.”
I sit down across from him as he opens it up, pulling out the supplies. There’s nothing that’s going to do a thing for what’s going on with my foot—particularly since it’s obvious we’re going to have to hike quite a long way to get to the cabin he saw as we were crashing. But there is one thing in there that will help.
I grab the roll of white medical tape without a word and start peel back the edge.
“Your foot, Victoria. I should dress it—”
I shake my head, interrupting him. I look up into his eyes with a frown. “Believe me. It’s beyond a Band-Aid at this point, Andrew.” I lift the tape up for a second before I start to wind it around the shirt covering my foot. “This is the only thing that’s going to help right now. And we need to get started toward that cabin while we’re still hydrated a little. While it’s still cool outside from the rain last night. If it gets hot today…” I don’t want to finish the sentence. I don’t want to let myself think about what’s going to happen if we’re out in the middle of what might as well be the desert since we have no water.
“We’ll bring the kit with us, then. As soon as we get to the cabin, you’ll let me at least clean the wound. I would hate for it to become infected—”
“It’s the least of our problems right now. Really. And I’m doing okay as long as I keep moving. If you start messing with it, I can’t promise you’re not going to have to carry me.” I finish winding the tape around my foot, making myself something of a padded shoe. The pressure from the tape is helping with the pain, too.
I look up at him and smile, climbing to my feet. “Shall we?”
He looks up at me and nods. I can’t read exactly what it is in his eyes, but it’s not the same disgust he’s had for me before. It’s almost respect, I think. Almost.
He takes what’s left of the tape from me and gathers the other things he’s pulled from the little box and puts it all back inside, closing it up before he stands up next to me. He points in the distance. “The cabin is that way.” He turns to me with a frown. “I can’t say for certain how far it might be. It may have been two kilometers or it may have been ten.”
I glance down at my foot before I look up into his eyes. “Well, I guess we’d better get going, then.”
Andrew
She’s scrappy, I’ll give her that.
It worries me that she refuses to show me her foot, but I have no intention of wasting the morning arguing with her. We need to find help—and food and water—as soon as possible. We should have been arriving in Montovia right about now, and if I don’t make contact with my family soon, this might become a national crisis. Our country is already in a tenuous position politically. The loss of the heir—or the temporary perceived loss—could complicate things even more. And that’s not even considering the emotional stress to my family or even the citizens I’ll one day rule. For a moment, I consider suggesting that Victoria stay behind at the lake while I set off in search of the cabin. This would accomplish two things—first, keep her off her injured foot, and secondly, mean there will be someone there in case a rescue team should finally appear at the lake. But since we don’t know how far it is to the cabin, that plan is too risky—it might take me all day to find the cabin and return, and in that time she’d have no water or food or shelter. Not to mention that in survival situations, it’s usually much safer when the entire party stays together.
She never would have agreed to it, anyway, I tell myself as we set off in what I hope is the correct direction. And I suppose right now I’d prefer a companion who’s stubborn and determined to one who’s helpless and panicky.
Still, it takes some effort not to show any annoyance as we trek through the woods. Though she’s assured me she’s fine, it’s clear her foot is causing her some pain, and our pace is much slower than I’d like. At this rate, it might take us
days to find the cabin.
At least it isn’t raining anymore, I tell myself. On the other hand, the rain did at least give us a source of fresh water. As we march through the trees and the sun gets higher and higher overhead, my thirst grows more and more unbearable. My tongue feels thick in my mouth, and there’s a sharp, pounding ache in my skull, but there’s nothing to do but press on.
After a couple of hours, I call for a break. I’d much prefer to keep going, but Victoria needs it. The stubborn girl refuses to say anything, but I’ve been watching her closely, and her limp has gotten slowly worse over the last kilometer or so.
“You should sit down on that log,” I tell her. “I’m going to climb that rise over there and see if I can spot anything.”
I don’t wait to see if she follows my suggestion. I stride over to where the ground rises and hike up the hill, muttering a prayer under my breath that we’re close to help.
When I get to the top, I have a decent view of the surrounding land. Back in the direction from whence we came, I can see the field and the shimmer of the lake. We’ve come farther than I thought.
In the other direction, though, I see nothing but trees. The entire landscape appears to be nothing but forest for as far as I can see.
“Did we go the wrong way?”
Victoria’s voice makes me jump. I spin around.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” I tell her.
She gives a small shrug and a shake of her head. “If I sit down, I’m going to have a hell of a time convincing myself to get back up again. Better not to risk it.”
I frown, thinking now might be a good time to suggest I should go on by myself to find help, but she pushes around me and places her hand at her brow, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looks out into the distance.