Long May She Reign(80)

“Fitzroy,” I said again, softer this time. “Don’t—I don’t want you to get hurt because of me. All right?”

“And you think I want you to be hurt because of me?”

“I might be,” I said quickly. Anything to convince him. “I might be, if you stay.”

“Because I’m going to betray you and take the crown for myself?”

Why couldn’t he take this seriously? “Because people are suspicious of our friendship. People are gossiping—”

“People always gossip. They’ll be happy to have something to talk about other than impending death, and even happier to move on to a better subject when one appears.”

“But you’ve heard them. They’re saying we schemed together to kill your father. They think we’re murderers, plotting to get us both on the throne.”

“I know,” he said, his voice slightly quieter. “But most of them won’t believe it. Not if you give them a better story.” I opened my mouth to argue again, desperation surging through me, but he shook his head. “Freya. I won’t leave now. No matter what you say.”

“But that makes no sense! You have to protect yourself. Why would you stay if it could kill you?”

He looked at me, steady, unblinking.

“Okay, I know I’ve stayed. But I have to stay. I’m the queen, Fitzroy!”

He frowned. “And I’m what? No one?”

“No. But you’re someone who can leave. You can go, and come back later, and survive this whole mess. Why wouldn’t you do that?”

“Freya.”

The words were rushing out of me now, getting faster and faster. “We don’t need you. We can stop Sten without you. And we’ll be able to solve this more quickly if we don’t have to worry about your death. It’s better if you leave. You have to go.”

“You really haven’t been paying attention, have you? You really think I’m going to leave?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“You know why, Freya.”

My heart was still pounding, and now the air in the lab felt too thin. I’d never been good at reading people, at understanding them, and I didn’t want—I couldn’t let my imagination get carried away. “What do you mean?”

He kissed me.

It couldn’t have lasted more than a second. Just his lips pressed against mine, soft and warm. My stomach flipped, but before I could react, before I could think, he was moving back, hands resting on my shoulders.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

He laughed softly. “You know what I’m doing.”

“But—”

He glanced at my lips again. I couldn’t breathe.

But then he turned away, stepping back to the table. “We have to find out where my father learned about that pigment.”

My skin prickled. I still—I needed him to leave, to be safe, but . . .

I couldn’t force him to leave. I didn’t want him to go, even though I did, even though it was the only sensible thing to do. “All right,” I said eventually. “Let’s—let’s keep looking.”

But it was hard to fight the urge to grab him and kiss him again.





TWENTY-SIX


I SET OUT FOR THE MINSTER THAT AFTERNOON. IT WAS supposed to be a show of piety, a desperate attempt to help my cause. But as I walked through the city, I could not stop thinking about Fitzroy.

He had kissed me. William Fitzroy had kissed me.

And I wanted to kiss him again.

What was wrong with me? My life was in danger, and I’d been told, again and again, that Fitzroy made the situation worse. Fitzroy’s life was in danger just by being here. I shouldn’t even have been speaking to him, and even if I did speak to him, even if I did have feelings for him . . . now wasn’t the time. I had a throne to keep, a city to protect.

I did not have time to think about this.

So I very decidedly did not think about Fitzroy. I didn’t think about him when I walked down Main Street, my feet splashing in the puddles. I didn’t think of him when a gentleman bowed and asked how my day had been. I didn’t remember the warmth of his lips, or the way his eyes lit up when he was amused, or the thrill of him being so close. I definitely did not think about what would happen when I saw him again.

But I couldn’t help wondering why he had done it. I knew why he’d implied he’d done it, but that didn’t mean much. Words could be misconstrued. It could have been the adrenaline of our life-or-death situation. He could have just been trying to distract me, so I wouldn’t force him to leave. Had he been using my feelings against me?

Not that I had feelings for him. But the feelings he assumed I had—I definitely did not have, because now was definitely not the time for any sort of ill-directed attachments.

And he’d kissed me, but he hadn’t kissed me kissed me. Surely, people normally kissed you kissed you, when you seemed happy to be kissed? Surely he shouldn’t just sort-of kiss me and then go straight back to research, not when he had never kissed me before.

It was supposed to be more. Did it count if it wasn’t more?

Then again, it was probably a good thing it hadn’t been more. I could barely think as it was.

The Minster loomed ahead of me, its tower swept up in the fog. The bells tolled as I approached, marking the hour. People crowded its courtyard, calling out my name as I passed. I smiled at them, nodded my head, but walked through the front doors without further incident.