Secret Heir (Dynasty #1)(49)

The book must be outdated though, because the image at the head of the diagram is the face of the man who was meant to be my father, Arwen Evenstar. The image is small compared to the wall to ceiling portrait that hangs in the Evenstar palace. But those eyes, so like mine, are just as piercing.

I can feel Raph’s eyes on me, trying to read me. But I don’t want him to. I divert his attention to the space where the heir to the throne should be instead. It’s blank, Raph’s destiny yet to be written, although there’s no doubt as to what that is.

“I guess you’re not so important after all, if they neglected to include your picture here,” I say mockingly.

Raph just flashes me that infuriatingly cocky grin.

“Hardly. It’s just because it’s near impossible to capture this image of perfection.”

The gagging gesture that I make is only half pretend. His expression is as arrogant as ever, but I think I glimpse something beneath that is at odds with everything he seems to be trying to portray.

I don’t know what makes me ask him the next question.

“Do you want the throne?”

My question catches him off guard, and for a moment I feel stupid for even asking it. Raph is regal in every sense of the word. He was made for that throne, he exudes it, emanates it. He carries himself with the air of a throne that is his by blood and a crown that is his by birthright. To question whether he wants it is, absurd, yet I can’t help but think otherwise, when I catch a glimpse of something unreadable in those endlessly blue eyes.

“I’m sorry, it’s a stupid question,” I say when he doesn’t respond.

He shakes his head then.

“No … it’s just that I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that before.”

That doesn’t surprise me, as just seconds ago I’d felt stupid for even asking, when the answer is so obvious. But his next words aren’t what I expect to hear.

“I’ve been raised to want the throne, taught since birth to want it above all else. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

There is so much left unspoken in those words, and I have no idea how to respond. But I try anyway.

“I guess you’re lucky then,” I say, although the words don’t feel true.

His eyes darken as he looks away into the fire that he’d started in the fireplace earlier. He looks different just then. It’s not just the glow of the fire warming his already golden features, but something tinges those devastating features—sadness?

“Things aren’t always what they seem,” he says quietly, almost as if he doesn’t want me to hear it.

“Everyone always assumes that my life is perfect—but they have no idea.”

I stare at him in confusion, and I want to ask what he means. But something inside me holds me back. Believing that this impossibly beautiful guy is shallow, conceited and couldn’t possibly understand all the loss and loneliness in my life is easy. It’s safe. I don’t want to believe that there’s anything more to it, that there’s some deeper side of him that maybe understands those painful parts of me only too well. So, I keep my mouth shut as I shift to lie on my side.

Raph seems to sense the unspoken decision, too.

When he turns back to me, that easy charm is back and I’m glad, because that glimpse of what lies beneath it is downright dangerous.

He flops onto his back beside me and we talk about classes and other things which don’t really matter. As much as I hate to admit it, I like having him here. With me. I’m so used to being alone, that the feeling should be alien. But it’s not, it feels strangely right, like some part of me has known him my entire life. It’s difficult to remember that only a few weeks ago, I hated this guy.

My eyes are starting to drift shut when I feel Raph shifting beside me. The fire in the fireplace goes out. Before I can register what he’s doing, I feel his arms around me, lifting me up and carrying me across the room to my bed.

“I can walk, you know,” I protest, but it’s a weak one. I’m half asleep and I find my arms looping themselves around his neck, as if they have a mind of their own.

“I know. But where’s the fun in that.”

He carries me like I weigh nothing. A reminder of the strength contained in that powerfully muscled body. His arms are oddly gentle around me. I must really must be half asleep and I think I might be imagining it, but as he lowers me onto the bed, he lays me down almost tenderly, as if I’m made of glass.

I expect him to leave then, but he flops down next to me on the bed instead, and he looks like he’s settling in for the night.

“What are you doing?” I ask after a moment. I’m now fully awake and painfully aware that Raph is lying next to me. On my bed. The bed is huge, so there’s plenty of space between us, but his presence is still overpowering.

I turn to look at him. The room is dark, the only light coming from the silvery moonlight streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows. Of course, Raph always glows with his own light. God, he’s beautiful, I find myself thinking, and at the same time, trying to stamp the thought out because no good can come of it.

“What does it look like—I’m sleeping in your bed. Duh,” he replies, flashing me that insufferably charming smile.

“No, you’re not,” I reply. “You have your own bed across the hall in your room.”