Royally Matched (Royally #2)(24)

“You want to sleep in here? With me?”

I scoff. “No, not with you—just in your room, love.”

I don’t think about how callous the words sound—insulting—until they’re out of my mouth. Could I be any more of a dick?

Thankfully, Sarah doesn’t look offended.

“Why here?” she asks.

“Back in the day, the religious orders used to give sanctuary to anyone who asked. And since you dress like a nun, it seemed like the logical choice.”

I don’t know why I said that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Somebody just fucking shoot me and be done with it.

Sarah’s lips tighten, her head tilts, and her eyes take on a dangerous glint.

I think Scooby-Doo put it best when he said, Ruh-roh.

“Let me make sure I’ve got this right—you need my help?”

“Correct.”

“You need shelter, protection, sanctuary that only I can give?”

“Yes.”

“And you think teasing me about my clothes is a wise strategy?”

I hold up my palms. “I never said I was wise. Exhausted, defenseless, and desperate.”

I pout . . . but in a manly kind of way.

“Pity me.”

A smile tugs at her lips. And that’s when I know she’s done for. With a sigh, she opens the door wide. “Well, it is your castle. Come in.”

Huh. She’s right—it is my castle. I really need to start remembering that.

I stand a bit taller as I walk in and look around. It’s one of the smaller rooms, not as ornate as the ones on the second floor—it’s used for servants when the castle is fully staffed. But the bed is large—a king—and takes up much of the room, with a small sofa and side table near the fireplace.

“How did you get stuck in here?” I ask. “Weren’t any other rooms available?”

“They were, but I picked this one.”

“Why?”

Her eyes go wide and light. “Because it has the best feature ever.” She extends her right arm, presenting the cushioned window seat like a game-show hostess presenting a brand-new automobile.

“A window seat is the best feature ever?”

She shakes her head at me in a pitying way and I remember it—last year when we first met in that little pub, she did the exact same thing.

“It’s not just a window seat—it’s a nook!”

My eyebrows rise. “A nook?”

“A reading nook!”

It’s only then that I notice the curved arch above the window, creating a little alcove, the worn leather satchel in the corner and a carefully stacked pile of old books at one end of the cushioned seat, that must belong to Sarah.

“A reading nook is a magical thing,” Sarah explains, color rising in her pale cheeks from excitement. It’s a nice look on her. “Every true reader appreciates a comfy, quiet space built just for reading.”

I nod. “A nook. Got it.”

I prop my guitar up against the nightstand. Then I turn toward the bed and fall into it face first. The mattress is soft but firm, like a sheet of steel wrapped in a cloud. I roll around, moaning loud and long.

“Oh, that’s good. Really, really good. What a grand bed!”

Sarah clears her throat. “Well. We should probably get to sleep, then. Big day tomorrow.”

The pillow smells sweet, like candy. I can only imagine it’s from her. I wonder if I pressed my nose to the crook of her neck, would her skin smell as delicious?

I brush away the thought as I watch her stiffly gather a pillow and blanket from the other side of the bed, dragging them to . . . the nook.

“What are you doing?”

She looks up, her doe eyes widening. “Getting ready for bed.”

“You’re going to sleep there?”

“Of course. The sofa’s very uncomfortable.”

“Why can’t we share the bed?”

She chokes . . . stutters. “I . . . I can’t sleep with you. I don’t even know you.”

I throw my arms out wide. “What do you want to know? Ask me anything—I’m an open book.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“You’re being ridiculous! It’s a huge bed. You could let one rip and I wouldn’t hear it.”

And the blush is back. With a vengeance.

“I’m not . . . I don’t . . .”

“You don’t fart?” I scoff. “Really? Are you not human?”

She curses under her breath, but I’d love to hear it out loud. I bet uninhibited Sarah Von Titebottum would be a stunning sight. And very entertaining.

She shakes her head, pinning me with her eyes.

“There’s something wrong with you.”

“No.” I explain calmly, “I’m just free. Honest with myself and others. You should try it sometime.”

She folds her arms, all tight, trembling indignation. It’s adorable.

“I’m sleeping in the nook, Your Highness. And that’s that.”

I sit up, pinning her gaze right back at her.

“Henry.”

“What?”

“My name is not Highness, it’s fucking Henry, and I’d prefer you use it.”