“I’ve done something,” she tells me, excitedly. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Anything that puts a smile like that on your pretty lips, I’m sure I’ll like very much.”
“I doubt that.”
Then she holds out a handful of papers. I look them over and my own smile drops fast and hard. She was right—I don’t like it at all.
“No.”
“Henry—”
“Absolutely fucking not.”
The Blue Coat Association is Wessco’s equivalent of the Red Cross. Volunteers travel to disaster and war-torn areas to deliver food and medical supplies, build homes—whatever the populace needs. Six months ago a BCA facility was mistakenly hit by friendly fire, killing all thirty-three people inside.
“I’m going to start a reading program; they’re very excited about it. I’ll be teaching the children in the encampments to read and organizing donations from libraries. I can start with Concordia, but they’re hopeful the program could expand to libraries all over the world.”
My jaw clenches and I shake my head. “You’re not doing this, Sarah.”
“I’ve already signed up.”
“Then we’ll unsign you.”
Her mouth goes tight and her eyes harden.
“I didn’t ask for your permission and I’m not looking for it now.”
I feel the frustration swelling inside me. And the fear.
“I’m going to be your king.”
“But you’re not yet.”
“I’m going to be your husband.”
She holds up her hand. “Huh, look at that—no ring. And it wouldn’t matter if there were, because if you think I’m going to stand in Saint George’s Cathedral and promise to obey you for the rest of our lives, you haven’t been paying attention.”
I don’t want to make her doubt herself, but I’m desperate enough to say, “There may be explosions, loud noises. You still don’t . . . you still have a hard time with those.”
Her eyes dim—and I hate myself.
“I’ve explained the situation. They’re willing to work with me on it. Make whatever accommodations are possible.”
I cup her face in my hands. And my voice turns strangled.
“It will be dangerous.”
Her hands encircle my wrists, holding on.
“But you make me want to be brave.”
Something bends inside me, on the verge of breaking. And my eyes sting and blur. Because I have lost people I love—I know that it happens, and how it feels.
And I can’t lose her.
“I don’t want you brave; I want you safe. I want to lock you in a tower, like in one of your books, so no one can hurt you. And you’ll be safe and happy and mine.”
She rubs her thumbs in calming circles on the inside of my wrist. “Only the villains lock ladies in a tower.”
“Then you make me want to be a villain.”
She bites her lip, thinking of her response. She’s come so far since the first time we met—she’s already one of the bravest people I know. And the strongest. And even though this conversation scares the shit out of me, another part is of me so damn proud of her. For standing up, for not backing down or giving an inch—even to me. Maybe especially to me.
“Ask me why, Henry.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck why.”
“Yes, you do. Ask me.”
My throat gets too tight to swallow.
“Why?”
Sarah’s dark eyes go shiny. She smiles as she replies. And it’s beautiful.
“Because if I’m going to be a queen, I need to know how to be the voice for people who can’t speak for themselves. To comfort people, be their friend and their champion. I want to change the world with you, Henry. To take what I know and what I have been given and make a difference.” She blinks, and a tear falls from her eye to her soft cheek. “And I think . . . I think I could be good at it.”
Cursing, I pull her against me, holding on too tightly.
“You’ll be amazing.”
After a time, I lean back and look into her eyes. “If anything happens to you, I’ll die. I’m not exaggerating.” My voice is strangled and wetness trickles from my eyes and I don’t give a damn. “You are woven into my soul and you are wrapped around my heart. And if anything happens to you, both will wither and die and I won’t even care.”
“It’s the same for me.” She touches my face softly. Sweetly. My beautiful, sweet girl. “I guess we’ll both have to make sure nothing happens to us, then.”
I pull her against me, still terrified, but loving her enough to let her do this.
“What a pair we make.”
Sarah tilts her face up and kisses me. “A perfect match.”
Two days later, I have an itch for a new tattoo. Castlebrook doesn’t have a tattoo shop—no shock there—so Sarah and I venture out, driving three hours north, close to the capital. I wear a cap and sunglasses to try and go undetected, but the presence of security men surrounding the shop would give us away if anyone was paying attention. Luckily, the place is empty when we arrive.
I pull up the photos on my mobile and show the artist the one I want. It’s a close-up of Sarah’s face—I took it a few days ago, on her balcony. The sun was rising and we’d been too busy fucking to even think about sleep. She’s looking away from the camera, glasses on, her hair perfectly bed-mussed. It’s the image that comes to mind whenever I’ve thought of her since, and it’s the one I want on my right forearm, so I can gaze at it when we’re apart.