She felt the flinch beneath her palm, saw out of the corner of her eye as it ricocheted through him. It—did it hurt, for him to have done that at her touch? She thought it did. She couldn’t remember a man flinching at her touch before, like he was repulsed by it. She felt upset stir in her heart, her body quickly transforming it to anger to save face…but then, with a great and fearsome effort, she swallowed it right down.
It wasn’t repulsion, surely. If he was disgusted by her, he would never have allowed her to persuade him up here. He would have rebuffed her politely and firmly early on, not offered his strong soldier hands for her to put her aching bare feet all over and lifted her up onto this roof to sit and watch the carnival die. He was not the sort of man to let himself get trapped like that, not if he didn’t want to. She must have just taken him by surprise. After all, how many times had their arms brushed together casually already? And they’d danced at the masquerade. No, it was shock. That was all.
She had not made it this far by being bad at lying to herself. It was the one thing she was mistress of, utterly and completely.
So she pared the anger down until it was warped into sympathy and a slight annoyance at herself for having startled him, nothing more. If her younger self could see her now, she’d be flabbergasted by her ability to turn that switch off inside her. She’d been such a slave to it once.
When he spoke again, his tone was as light as hers had been—conversational, easy. She settled down inside it, relieved to be back in a position she knew well. This was what she did best. Polite conversation, courtly teasing. This was what she’d trained herself for, hammered into herself as much as her ability.
“I’m quite sure she is,” she replied with a grin, more than willing to be magnanimous when it came to the only Macanthos daughter. After all, Genevieve had made no secret of the fact she didn’t want the crown at all, and Prosperina was keen to maintain that state of affairs. “In truth, I don’t think there’s another girl so determined in all of Norta.” And just so long as that determination remained fixed on not marrying Domitius instead of the opposite, Prosperina would value it deeply.
His question took her aback slightly. She grasped desperately for some clever and kind answer, something that would shore up her suitability to be queen. But she just—she couldn’t. She couldn’t see past the lingering behemoth of Queenstrial, the fire and the nerves and the stakes. It was like a great hulking animal looming over her, so big she couldn’t see around it.
So she blew out a shaky laugh, honest and helpless, and shot Graham a self-conscious smile. “You know, I haven’t? I haven’t at all. All I can think about—the arena, the trial. That’s all I can focus on no matter how much I try. Is that terrible?”
It was true. His sister was certainly determined—at least when it came to disliking him. But he’d only been back a short while, and it wasn’t difficult to see that she spent no time near the prince during his return. Yet if she was no longer interested in the military, he didn’t rightly know what her plan was.
Graham hadn’t expected Prosperina’s answer, even when he should have. Most people didn’t see past the dazzling jewels and unfathomable riches. Having power did not make one a leader, after all. But she seemed the type to have a plan in motion. Apparently, that only went as far as getting a throne. How many contestants were forced into this without realizing there would be a duty to uphold? How many wanted the crown while ignoring the fact that there would be responsibilities along with it?
Despite it all, he found her reasoning understandable. Queenstrial in itself was a brutal display meant to entertain. Behind closed doors, he was sure arrangements were being made and favorites were being chosen. The whole ordeal was pointless to him when they would likely have a winner before the competition was over.
“No,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “Queenstrial is an ugly beast to conquer. I don’t envy you.”
Graham didn’t think there was much he could say that would make the upcoming challenge for her any easier. It was what it was, and there was no backing out. He knew that all too well.
Leaning back against his palms, this time he was incapable of holding back a yawn. Maybe tonight he would actually sleep, get the rest he so desperately needed. Perhaps readjusting wouldn’t be so difficult if he had a proper night’s rest. “Are you prepared? For the trial?”
