Chapter 65 Shut up
SOMA
“It’s me.”
Brynne.
Everything inside me reacts to his voice. I push up on my hands, digging my palms into his chest in a bid to escape. He loops an arm around my waist and yanks me back.
Oh, Goddess. Not again.
“It was an accident,” I beg. “I’m sorry. Let me go.”
“Stop struggling,” he whispers.
My body goes slack, and I try to think up other means to avoid him. I can’t fight him. What I have are my words. Diplomacy. I need to be diplomatic.
“Your Highness—”
“Stay.”
“What?”
Brynne loosens his hold on my waist, and his fingers reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. A shiver runs through me at his unusual gentleness, and my heart beats out of rhythm. This was the same guy with Helga. The one who has harassed me twice.
Is this a trap? Are they trying to set me up again?
“Stay,” he whispers.
That doesn’t dissolve the tension in my joints. I don’t relax, but I don’t run either. My head slowly sinks back to his chest, and I say, “This is inappropriate.”
“You owe me a favor,” he mutters.
Of course. I should have known he would never forget. I stay still, waiting for his hands to slide under my robe and do what he does best, but he only tugs something thick and warm over us.
Minutes pass, but I’m unable to sleep. I don’t trust him. As seconds go by without any antics from him, I spy at his face. Strands of his hair spill onto his face and caress his chin. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath mine.
With his hair down like this, something I’m not used to seeing, and his eyes shut, he looks younger and peaceful. Kind too, like he has never hurt anyone in his life. But I know better.
Does he expect me to act like this is okay? That we’re okay? I’m not thinking straight as my hand slides up his face. My fingers tremble when they find his nose, my thumb and forefinger pinching it shut to seal his breath.
I hate him. I hate how much he has taken from me.
The warmth of his skin pulses under my touch, and I freeze. What am I doing? I can’t kill the crown prince.
A sharp exhale cuts through my thoughts, and his eyes fly open.
“Are you trying to kill me?” he asks.
My breath stumbles. “What? No,” I blurt out and yank my hand back. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Panic floods in as Brynne continues staring up at me. I scramble to get off him, but the blanket tangles around my legs. My knee slips. The edge of the cushion gives way, and I’m falling.
As I brace for impact, his arm hooks around my waist. The world tilts. Air rushes out of my lungs, and he hisses as we hit the floor together.
The thud echoes, muffled by the rug, and my palms press against his chest. It takes me a second to realize I’m safe. That I’m still on top of him, with his arms encircling my middle, and his breath warm against the side of my neck.
He… protected me?
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The air hums with the stupidity of my action, and I refuse to meet his gaze. His grip loosens, but he doesn’t push me off or call me out. I swallow, the taste of fear sharp on my tongue.
“I—”
“Shut up,” he says.
Silence takes over. I’m not sure what he’s thinking, and I don’t want to know. His breath finally evens out. When I summon the courage to check on him, his eyes are closed.
Seriously? He’s asleep? Does he think I can’t hurt him?
It’s easier to stay here than to move. So, I stay still until the sound of the wind pressing against the windows lures me to sleep.
A sound pulls me awake, but I take my time to open my eyes. I blink sleepily, the sound growing faint but urgent. Darkness still swallows the living room, but I can make out a few things. One, I’m not in my room.
“Mother.”
The voice sounds close, hoarse, and familiar, but it doesn’t fully register because I don’t have a mother.
“Mother, please. Don’t die.”
Sleep clears from my eyes as the words penetrate my skull. It’s Brynne. Everything registers at once. Our intimate position. His discomfort. My racing heart. He’s trembling, with sweat dampening his hairline.
“Your highness,” I whisper, shaking him lightly. He’s stiff. My heart jumps to my throat. “Wake up.”
But he doesn’t. His breath comes faster and erratically. I grip his shoulders and shake harder, but he’s lost in the throes of the bad dream. Terror seizes me by the throat, and I smack his chest. I should have gone straight to my room. What if something happens to him?
“Brynne, wake up.” I hit the prince again, my voice catching as I imagine the worst. “Please wake up.”
His eyes snap open, but they are unfocused, like he’s still stuck in his nightmare. I wave a hand in his face, but he doesn’t seem to see me. My heart pounds in my chest. I pat his cheek, trying to bring him back to the moment.
“Brynne?”
Confusion swirls in his eyes as they focus on me.
“Somi?” he whispers.
No one has ever called me that, but the situation doesn’t allow for correction. His hand closes over mine, and his finger grazes my knuckles. I hold my breath as he lifts our interlaced hands and chuckles. I’m no healer, but could it be that my actions from earlier have affected his brain? The king will kill me.
“It was you,” he breathes.
What’s he talking about? What if he’s sleep-talking? But his eyes are open, gazing up at me with affection? The Brynne I know loathes my existence.
This… this is not good. I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the best of me. Am I going to die here?
His hand slips behind my head, and he pulls me close enough for our foreheads to almost touch. I feel his breath against my mouth before his closes over mine with a softness I didn’t think him capable of.
Alarm bells ring in my head. This is not what death feels like. Brynne waits, almost as if he’s giving me the option to pull away. I should do that. I should escape before this morphs into something dangerous, but my mind quietens. Maybe it’s the vulnerability in his touch, or maybe it’s the exhaustion from the past few weeks, but I don’t fight him or fight this.
Brynne’s lips move over mine, too gentle at first, like he’s afraid I’ll run if he presses harder. There’s a hesitancy in the way he kisses me, a careful testing of boundaries in the way he parts my lips, that makes my chest ache.
When I respond, a small sound shooting from the back of my throat, his restraint falters. His fingers tighten at the nape of my neck, drawing me closer until the space between us disappears. The other hand lowers to my butt, and in that moment, I know I won’t mind if he does more.
But he doesn’t.
The kiss deepens, searching and almost pleading, like he’s trying to fix our present while making me forget what’s broken between us. As our tongues tease and dance together, his uneven breath mingles with mine. I taste something raw that feels like sorrow and want tangled together.
Our noses bump. It’s not perfect or aggressive like our first kiss, but it’s not forced, either. I want it, so I give in.
When the kiss breaks, we stay quiet except for the sound of us trying to catch our breath. His thumb traces my lower lip, and his eyes soften as they drink me in. For the first time, I see him, not as the prince who torments me, but as someone lost in his own darkness.
Emotions war inside me. The good versus the bad. I don’t know what to say or how to react, so I rest my head against his chest. The rhythm of his heart beneath my ear calms me considerably, and my fingers drag across his shirt.
This time, when he pulls the blanket over us, and his arms curl around me again, I welcome it, sinking deeper into him. The silence feels different now, no longer daunting.
Somewhere between his heartbeat and my conflicting thoughts, I fall asleep. When I wake up, I’m in my bed.