"Do you remember, Vi, when I took up Lacrosse as a teenager?" I asked, our footsteps on the stone path in the garden seemed to slow as we spoke. As a result, I attempted to fill most silences, to do what I could to extend what little time we had remaining.
"Barely," she replied. "All I remember is that you got bigger and louder… and I stayed indoors longer because of it." She laughed melodiously, beaming brightly as she remembered. "I wasn't much for sports… Still am not, if I'm being honest." She glanced up at me, her gaze full of trepidation. As if that one small detail could ever make me dislike her.
"I don't play as much nowadays," I said. "Not since I was injured in college. My father put a stop to it," I chuckled. "I do enjoy catching a game now and then. "
"Watching is another matter," she agreed. "I don't claim to know all the rules, but perhaps if I had someone to explain it to me…"
"I would gladly spend as much time as was necessary to explain the intricacies of any manner of team sports to you," I said.
Her smile was wide, and her cheeks reddened. "You are too nice to me, Gideon. "
"I apparently have to make up for lost time. If I was so deplorable when we were younger…" I teased.
"Not deplorable. Just… impossible to be around," she said with a short laugh. "You yelled a lot. It was very confusing."
"I was only trying to be manly, you see."
"Yes, well, it worked swimmingly, because I believe that was the only time I ever actively sought out Tristan's company. Much to his disappointment, as I recall."
"Tristan's changed since then," I said quietly.
Her acceptance of Tristan was as important to me as anything else. My brother was quiet and kept to himself. Those traits were often misread as rude and conceited. It was a problem we'd run into before.
"I'll take your word for it. I suppose you have even changed as well. You're the same, just… smoothed out a bit. You're still loud, though."
"He's smoothed out a lot. Not nearly as sharp on the corners," I said. "And I apologize, but my volume is something that isn't going to change, I'm afraid."
She chuckled. "I'm getting used to it. And you never mumble, I'll give you that. I never have to ask you to repeat yourself." Violet's hand tightened on mine, sending shockwaves of sensation all throughout my body. "So," she continued. "You're bringing Tristan with you when you come back?"
She knew I was, but I also could sense some trepidation on her part. There was some on mine as well. I wanted Violet to choose both of us. However, as much as I wanted that, I knew that in Justana, the traditions were very different than in Etria.
In Justana, the monarch traditionally chose one partner, and one only. Their line of rulers had never included any partnership like my father, my uncle, and my mother.
Of course, there weren't many relationships like theirs, even in Etria. It generally wasn't heard of for a woman to take two husbands. It was usually the other way around As much as I wished for it, wishing n wasn't of any use to anyone involved.
"I am. He's very sorry he couldn't come this time."
"Is he really? Because the Tristan I remember couldn't be bothered with any of us, let alone to be… inspected for husband material."
I smiled. "Is that what you're doing? Inspecting me?" I struck a pose, channeling Hercules. "What do you think? Do I pass inspection, Princess?"
Giggling, she reached for my hand, yanking it back down with hers and swinging it slightly between us as we walked through the spacious gardens. We rounded a corner, still smiling and laughing, and nearly running headlong into the very people my thoughts had been occupied with before: my parents and my uncle.
Mamma was practically beaming at us. "Look at the two of you, having so much fun on a walk!"
I could almost feel the heat coming from Vi's blushing cheeks, so I sought to quickly remove us from their company. I might have succeeded, too, except my father stopped us.
"Have you seen your sister, Gideon?"
"I haven't. She's probably in the library, though. Perhaps you want to check there?" I replied hurriedly, hoping he would pick up on the unspoken vibe I was sending him.
He did not.
Uncle Robert, thankfully, seemed to pick up on the tone more readily than Father, though that wasn't surprising.
"Come along, you two," he said loudly, tugging my mother along after him. "We're leaving this evening. Let them be alone. We'll go find Gwen in the library."
I mouthed 'Thank you' to my uncle and quickened my own pace so Vi and I could put some distance between them and us.
She glanced back over her shoulder only once as we started to slow down again.
"So… I've always wondered… How does that work?"
Smiling, I tried to choose my words carefully. "My mother is married to both of them."
"And they're brothers."
"Yes."
"That's customary in Etria, then?" she asked.
"Not entirely. Usually it's the King who chooses two or more brides. My mother couldn't choose between my father and my uncle, and so they both decided to marry her. My father almost had two wives as well, but the other woman backed out. "
"Why?" she blurted, covering her mouth immediately. "Oh gods, that was rude, I'm sorry!"
"Don't worry about it," I said, laughing. "But to answer your question, I don't know why. She just backed out."
"Hmmm. And your father is…" She trailed off, trying to be delicate, I could tell, but I honestly didn't mind.
"My father is the king, and Tristan's father is my uncle."
"So you are the heir, then?"
"As first born of the King's children, yes. Then Gwen, then my uncle, then Tristan. I would, of course, remove myself from the line in the event that--"
"That I chose to marry you."
I nodded. "Because you are an only child, so your abdication would leave Justana without a ruler. "
"That's a lot to take in."
"Not really," I replied, squeezing her hand.
"It's just a kingdom," she jibed.
"It's just happily ever after," I retorted.
"You think we'd be 'happily ever after' material?"
"Definitely," I replied.
"Hmm. Happily ever after…" She mused. "Wonder what that's like."
"I dunno. We'll have to see," I said, looking down towards her. I was thinking about possibly stealing a kiss before I left, but something in her eyes made me stop. "What's wrong?"
She gulped, shaking her head. "I don't know, honestly. I… I feel as if I'm always dumping my problems on you left and right."
"Don't worry about it. I'll need to get better at this, won't I?"
She shrugged, laughing softly. "I suppose?"
"What's on your mind? Notes for your thoughts?"
"How many notes?" she asked, obviously stalling, but her smile was so cute, I almost wanted to let her.
"Any amount," I replied, halting my steps and reaching for her other hand. I pulled lightly, turning her to face me. "I'll have to owe you though, I don't have my wallet with me."
"Fine," she sighed in faux exasperation. "I just… remember how I told you about that courier?"
"Yes?"
The courier kept coming up. He must be weighing heavy on her mind. I couldn't blame her; he'd be weighing heavy on mine if it had been my limo. To be honest, I was a bit upset with George Smithe for bringing her to the dedication after such a calamity, especially since either of her parents could have taken on her duties with ease. That man needed to be set straight on his feet.
"Well," she continued. "I took your words to heart, and decided that I needed to try a bit harder to be a good person."
"Vi… You are a good person."
"Well, I could be better. So, I decided to take the donation check to the shelter myself. Just as a tiny first step… which went well. I did everything on my terms."
"Good for you!" I said, proud of her for putting her foot down when it came to George.
"But
then, everything kind of derailed?"
"How?" I asked, frowning.
"Well, I did everything the way I wanted at the time, but now I'm also going to have to take a tour of the facility with a bunch of reporters and photographers and…" she trailed off, pulling a face. "I didn't mean for it to be this big tacky thing and now it is. And I don't know how to counterbalance this."
"How do you think you should?" I asked, gazing deeply into her blue eyes.
"What do you mean? Like by doing something else to offset this media spectacle?"
"Like… have you considered volunteering or -"
"I was thinking of that, actually. Maybe? What do you think?"
"I think if it makes you happy, you should do it," I replied. "And if your approval rating goes up a little bit, so be it."
The grin she gave me made everything I said completely worth it.
"Thank you, Gideon," she said, wrapping her arms around my neck. She was so slight, I had to bend forward when she pulled on the back of my head.
Her lips met mine this time and I froze, not wanting to scare her away.
She tilted her head and softly plucked at my lips, setting a shiver running up and down my spine in the most pleasing manner.
A low sound rumbled in my chest, and she pressed herself closer to my front, breaking off the kiss only to say one thing," You are a much better kisser than I expected you to be."
"I'm glad you approve, otherwise we wouldn't keep kissing."
CHAPTER SIX
Violet
I arrived at the soup kitchen for my volunteer shift a few minutes early, with what felt like a flock of bats flapping around in my stomach. Apparently butterflies were too gentle for my anxiety.
The group that ran this soup kitchen ran it like a restaurant, even though they gave the food to the homeless and didn't serve for profit. They didn't just serve soup, but cooked a range of dishes with the ingredients their donations could afford. There was even a daily menu, complete with servers and greeters. Apparently, the guy who volunteered here on Mondays was an actual, honest-to-gods chef. They made homeless people feel like regular people. Dignified people, and that was important.
I, myself, was given the very important job of 'veggie prep', which was exciting if only because I would be working with knives.
Amanda was across the room, leaning against a wall, and George, who had insisted upon tagging along, was nervously shaking his head at every hiss from a stove pot and not even lifting a finger to help.
I wasn't surprised, it was typical behavior.
He had been, unsurprisingly, against our coming down to volunteer. "A check from your father's account would be sufficient, Your Highness! You simply cannot serve the lower class, it's not proper!" He'd pulled the same spiel every day that week when we'd gone around to volunteer at different places. He'd have rather sent a check, or organized a meet and greet.
But I'd insisted. I'd put my foot down. Multiple times, and as a result, here we were. Volunteering.
I was becoming rather adept at putting my foot down.
The other shelter volunteers had been ecstatic to see me, but the lead coordinator had stuck me in the back on prep work due to George's grousing. But, it wasn't a big deal. I was happy to be here, doing something useful for once.
The man running the kitchen -- Lawrence, his name badge informed me -- was making his rounds. He stopped by my station, smiling widely. "Princess, your onion dicing skills are extraordinary!"
"Thank you, sir!" I replied, grinning and continuing to carefully cut up the onions. A quick glance across the kitchen showed me that other volunteers were busy as well. A man across from me at the stove was stirring a pot of what looked to be soup of some sort, while another was wiping out a tray full of bowls.
Lawrence remained at my station, drumming his fingers on the countertop and checking his watch. He was apparently waiting for something. Something I didn't feel comfortable asking about, but I was curious all the same.
The door to the kitchen swung open and someone entered. Given Lawrence's face, apparently the someone he was waiting for.
I ceased my chopping to look up, surprised and flabbergasted to see bicycle courier whose face I couldn't forget entering the kitchen.
"Kostas!" Lawrence hurried over to towards him.
The man in question hadn't seen me yet. Perhaps if I played it really cool, he wouldn't. I ducked my head to partially obscure my face and waited for Kostas to pass by.
Kostas turned and went to the row of sinks, pumping some liquid hand soap out over his hands before sudsing them up for a wash.
"You're late." Lawrence gestured to the box of disposable hairnets and Kostas grumbled quietly about having to put one on. He didn't argue about it, though. He had long hair that probably could find its way off his head in some way. It wasn't really something anyone wanted to find in their food, I was sure.
"Come on, Lawrence. You know you'd miss me if I ever stopped coming out." Kostas smirked, pulling the hair net over his head with a flourish and a pop of the elastic. "Where do you want me?"
"Prep station four. Veggie chopping." Lawrence pointed a knife to the back of the kitchen.
To my station.
Of course.
"With the pr—with Ms. Mortcombe." He cleared his throat, glancing back towards where I had currently frozen in mid chop.
Kostas frowned, stopped in his tracks when he made his way to the back and saw me, his prep partner. Disbelief was plastered on his face. Like he hadn't expected the universe to be this cruel.
My heart was pounding as he made his way towards the station, towards the Crown Princess of Justana who was chopping onions in a pair of blue jeans.
Did he care about things like that? What I was wearing? Probably not. He probably didn't care what I was wearing, only that it was designer and possibly really, really inappropriate for a soup kitchen because of that fact.
He tripped a little on the way. He definitely looked surprised to see me. No. Surprised wasn't really the word. Terrified was a better choice.
Should I leave? Let him have his wheelhouse and write a check like George had suggested?
Perhaps I was the one who was terrified.
Terrified of a manbun-sporting bicycle courier. He was wearing casual clothing that showed off the muscles his courier's uniform had only hinted at. He had a body no doubt shaped by constantly riding a bike. The thought didn't stop me from staring. Didn't stop my traitorous brain from picturing him wearing less. Didn't stop my blood from pumping so damned fast and loud that I was certain it was audible from where he stood.
He smirked suddenly, the fear dropping from his face, immediately replaced by smugness. "Princess Violet Morcombe, in a hairnet like mine," he mused. "There's a sight I never thought I'd see. Let me guess, you hit some other hapless working-class chump and now you're doing community service?"
"Do you like it?" I asked, reaching up to pat at the side of my head. I wasn't going to rise to his bait. "The hairnet, I mean. I do wear it well, don't I? Maybe, if I play it right, I could have every fashion boutique in Tinerly selling them by noon. What do you think?"
An unreadable look passed over his face as he stopped walking, turning to select a knife from the block.
The tension was thick in the air.
I pressed my lips together and went back to what I was previously doing: skillfully dicing onions. The knife milled quickly back and forth across the Spanish Yellow on my cutting board. I was happy that I had secretly binged that cooking show and was finally able to use the skills I'd gleaned. A princess who could wield a chef's knife. That had to be surprising, to say the least.
"Mr. Esker," I addressed him coolly. "Are you volunteering?"
He narrowed his eyes infinitesimally. I might not have noticed if I hadn't been glancing over every few seconds. But I was, and so I did.
"I'm not here to have lunch, if that's what you're implying," he snapped. There was a bit more bite in his retort, not the light
-natured mocking that had been present in his first jab. He sounded really annoyed.
In short, his tone hurt, but I wasn't about to let him know that. "I was merely wondering if you were here to volunteer or to make a delivery."
His face reddened following my explanation. Good. Shame on him for thinking I'm that crass. That I would stoop below his level even.
I took the tiniest of steps to the left to make room for him to slide behind the prep station with me.
He took a carrot from one of the bowls in front of him and began to peel it. "My apologies. I wasn't…" He paused, likely running over his words carefully, so as not to stick his foot in his mouth again. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."
Of course he wasn't. I certainly hadn't given him the impression that I was a princess of the people or anything like that. Apparently I wasn't making a good second impression either.
I don't know exactly why a second impression was so important to me. He'd told me the truth on our first meeting: he couldn't stand the aristocracy. It was apparent in his very demeanor. I wasn't going to win him over.
And yet, here I was. Worrying over what he thought about me and sneaking glances at those rough and calloused hands. At his face. I wished that I could catch his gaze just once.
"Likewise," was my terse reply to his half-assed apology.
"I always volunteer here on Saturdays," he explained, even though I hadn't asked.
"Cool story, Bro. I've been making my rounds all week. Different place every day." He hadn't asked either, but I just wanted to brag about something too.
He blinked, turning completely to stare at me. He obviously hadn't been expecting that response. I smirked as I took apart another onion, tossing the skin into the big bowl into which he was peeling the carrot.
Well, I smirked as much as I could with the onion fumes. I kept blinking and leaning back, probably making for a funny picture.
Yet he kept looking at me. Staring at me. I probably look ridiculous, with my nose literally in the air due to the onion fumes.
My knife milled through the onion, back and forth for a few passes, coming precariously close to my manicured fingertips. But I was on a mission: I was going to show him up in the veggie chopping department.
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