The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(81)

She paused. “Dinah?”

“Nope.”

Turning, she gave him a slow once-over as Pepperell wound himself around the prince’s legs.

“Obviously, I am here to see your adorable monstrosity of a cat and eat some fried apple cakes.” He winked, and she felt a strange heat in her cheeks.

He leaned closer and said softly, “In case it isn’t already apparent, I’m here for you, Blue.”

The fizzy feeling gushed through her veins, and she winced inwardly. How was she supposed to keep walking away from him when he’d bared his soul to her the day before at the sea and then showed up on her doorstep just to eat breakfast with her? Turning quickly toward the kitchen before he could see her expression, she cast around for something to say. Something normal and non-fizzy-feeling.

“Do you think this is a good idea?”

Ugh. Look who she was asking. The boy who got in street fights and jumped off a cliff into a stormy sea just to feel alive. The gap between his definition of a good idea and hers was an entire canyon.

She stopped at the counter, where her batter bowl rested, and then he was there beside her, leaning on one elbow, his dark eyes boring into hers.

“I’m here because you jumped into the sea to rescue me yesterday, and because I was able to tell you things I’ve never told anyone else.” He stuck a finger in the bowl, dabbed a bit of the batter onto his fingertip, and licked it clean. “And I’m here because I’ve decided you and I should go west to check on the wraith like the bounty hunter suggested yesterday. Things are hectic right now between the ball in three days and hunting for whoever murdered Marisol and Gen, but knowing if the wraith is still imprisoned, or if we have a much bigger problem on our hands than a rogue witch, is a priority, and we should go there together.”

“We should?” she asked in a soft, breathy voice that sounded nothing like her.

Hang it all, she wasn’t the type of girl to swoon over a boy. Especially a prince who in three short days would be betrothed to someone else.

But if she was swooning over him, it was his own fault. Defending her from Dinah. Helping her grieve. Caring deeply about her, about his family, and then trusting her with his darkest secret. She’d been so sure she knew him nearly as well as she knew herself, but she’d been wrong, and now she didn’t know what to do with him. She couldn’t have him. Not the way she wanted. And she also couldn’t seem to figure out how to walk away.

“We should,” he said. “It will take hours. Hours where there will be no one with us but the pair of trusted guards I brought with me. We’ll have a picnic on the way.”

Her brows rose. “You want to spend hours with me and go on a picnic three days before your grand ball? Your mother would kill you.”

“My mother will get what she wants. I’ll do what I have to for the good of the kingdom.” He leaned closer to her. “But what I said yesterday at the docks about seizing the moment? I meant it. And I haven’t been doing it. Neither have you. I want one day with you, Blue. Just one. Besides, we have to know if the wraith is still locked away before we know how to continue to search for the missing children.”

West. To look for Ana and the other children, and to pray they found the wraith locked away where it should be. And to spend hours alone with Kellan. To have a picnic and seize the moment.

Her pulse raced at the thought, and she turned to pour four even circles of batter on her hot skillet. The homey scent of frying apples and vanilla cake surrounded her, reminding her of waking on weekend mornings to Papa making an extravagant breakfast for just the two of them, and sudden tears stung her eyes.

“Are you all right?” Kellan asked quietly.

She sniffed. “I’m fine.”

He took the spatula off the counter, edged it under the cakes as bubbles formed and popped along the top, and flipped them as if he spent every morning cooking himself breakfast in the castle.

Maybe he did. She wouldn’t wish his appetite on any cook in the kingdom.

“Are you crying because I want to take you on a picnic or because you’re cooking apple cakes?”

She dashed an errant tear off her cheek. “Papa made these on weekends.”

He rested his hand on the small of her back and rubbed it in gentle circles for a moment before stepping back. “Remember that time he left extra cakes under a towel on the counter?”

“And you and your friend Michel crept in through the open kitchen window and stole the lot.” She smiled.

“We crept back out the window, thinking we’d scored the best meal of our lives, preparing to take it to the makeshift tree fort we were building at the back of your orchard, and there was Pierre, standing right behind us, a bucket of water in his hands.”

Her smile stretched wider. “I’d never heard you scream like that.”

He assumed a regal expression. “I’m a prince. I never scream. Even when a bucket of cold water is thrown over my head, ruining my stash of stolen apple cakes.”

She laughed and bumped him out of the way so she could slide the cakes onto a plate. “And then Papa took you both inside, made you clean the kitchen, and then promptly cooked you lunch.”

He accepted the plate from her and began hunting for butter and honey.

“It’s already on the table.” She waved him toward the table and then sat beside him to the plate of cakes she’d been about to eat when he’d knocked.