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She extricated herself as gently as she could to keep from hurting him, then tried to help him with his covers.

He stopped her. “I’ve got it.”

Unable to string a coherent phrase together, she nodded and turned to leave, then turned back. “Do you need anything else?”

“A bath? Something to clean my teeth?”

She couldn’t speak, annoyed at how flustered she felt.

Ollie smirked again. She wanted to hit him.

Instead, she left the tent, lamenting that he’d won that round. Rather than get him something to eat—like she should—she went straight for the river. She needed to cool off.

6

Lachlan flopped back into the blankets—as much as he could flop considering the circumstances—and draped an arm over his eyes with a groan. Since when had he become an adolescent boy with no control over his body? Was he going on thirteen again, panting after Lord Anderon’s sixteen-year-old daughter rather than a nearly twenty-six-year-old man? Ridiculous.

Only he couldn’t get the images out of his head of Tarley asleep, draped over him, of her hand reaching out and squeezing his hip, then patting around trying to figure things out, of her one hard-earned laugh—because stars forbid she smile—when he brought up a hypothetical husband. His chest constricted recalling her body pressed against his only moments ago. He decided the accidental collapse and his accidental hard-on had just been the coalescence of all the right conditions.

He grunted at himself at his ridiculousness. Sure, Tarley was attractive—even under all the grime. She did have lovely gray eyes that reminded him of clouds on a rainy day in Opalant City before lightning struck. Her lovely lips were kissable. She probably wasn’t spectacular, however, considering he’d cavorted with courtesans. She may have saved his life—and he was very appreciative because he knew she didn’t have to—and for that he was grateful, but it didn’t mean he needed to go getting an erection, for star’s sake. He could control his urges.

He was losing his mind.

He wasn’t attracted to Tarley. Couldn’t be. His erection was probably what she said—the tonic— even if he’d played it off as something else. Right? Because she was a peasant, and princes didn’t cavort with peasants on principle except for carnal whims—and he’d never crossed that line. It wasn’t right.

Her rather decided opinions about royals were clear. She’d called him a vampire.

Tongue in cheek,he reminded himself, and smiled recalling her absurd explanation for his vampirism. Then he chuckled and shook his head. But her words about the royal visit hit him like one of those arrows, and his amusement waned.

I’d rather not be reminded how far beneath them I am.

She’d said it laced with that sarcasm, but it made him pause now. Made him think about Beaknose and Ollie’s reprimand. Lachlan rolled his eyes at the thought, recalling the arranged marriage he’d writhed out of with his court machinations.

Did he think he was better?

No. No. He shook his head. That was outrageous. He’d done what he did to Beak… Princess Truisante because he didn’t want his father controlling his life. He wanted a say in things. Maybe Tarley didn’t understand how royals were bartered for status, treaties, and trades in the name of the kingdom. Despite what Ollie had told him, Lachlan did want the best for Jast, but not at the cost of being a puppet. He wanted his father to have faith in him, trust him, believe in him to make the right decision for the kingdom.

Lachlan rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger, working out the pain that had started behind his eyes and spread, realizing Ollie had been right. Lachlan had been underhanded about how he’d refused the betrothal. A boy’s move as opposed to a man’s. He was regretting it, but regret was a wasted emotion. What was done was done.

Lachlan rolled onto his side, and his gaze fell on the place where Tarley had spent the last several days taking care of him. Sleepy once more, he closed his eyes and imagined introducing Tarley to his mother and father, then snickered, imagining the shock on his father’s face. Tarley traipsed on her own about the woods dressed in homespun boy’s clothing covered in muck. He shouldn’t judge her—she had saved his life. And he was sure that any lady of status—not that he believed Sevens had any—wouldn’t be cavalierly wandering the woods by herself.

Knowing what he knew about Kaloma Law, her female independence would be abhorrent even if he found it enjoyable. Surely, she had a male relative—not a husband, since she found the idea repugnant—otherwise she would have been cloistered for her willful disregard of the law. A barbaric practice in a barbaric land. Kaloma existed as if it were still in the dark ages. His current circumstances—attacked and nearly drowned—were his first experience in Kaloma. Jast had its issues, but at least barbarity wasn’t one of them.

This was one of the reasons he thought his father’s desire for a truce was questionable. What exactly did Jast have to gain by aligning with Kaloma, other than access through the country to the sea? The technology was shoddy, the laws archaic, and their coffers—if one believed the intel—were stripped by the theocratic influence. It was the whole of The Law of Means stripping women in the name of “protection.” Kaloma was as much in need of Jast’s funds as Jast was of trade access to the sea.

Though Lachlan knew trade was an important and cost-effective reason for a treaty, he was pretty sure this trip had more to do with reconciliation for his father more than anything else. Queen Keyanna was Lachlan’s first cousin—not that they’d ever met—and a direct descendent of the Nikolas line through Lachlan’s estranged aunt, the very reason the countries had gone to war in the first place.

He wondered what his father was doing. His mother. Did they know he’d fallen to his death? Were they grieving even now? Had anyone made it back to Jast to tell the tale? The fact was, he didn’t know, and he needed a plan, because if the wrong person discovered who he was…

He sighed.

He might be feeling stronger, but he certainly wasn’t strong enough to get home. He’d barely been able to walk between the tent and a tree to take a piss. Embarrassing, but neither here nor there. And while he had some survival skills from his time serving in the royal army, he didn’t think he knew enough to make it back to Jast. The Fates, however, had intervened to get him exactly where he needed to be: saved by Tarley—who did know how to survive—and within a day of Sevens where, Tarley confirmed, the Queen was expected.

Lachlan couldn’t afford to make a boy’s decisions anymore. He needed to channel Ollie’s advice and do what needed to be done for Jast. And he needed to prove to his father that he was worthy of his trust, worthy to one day be the king. While Lachlan couldn’t change the fact he’d ruined the proposed marriage to Beak—Princess Truisante—he could move forward with meeting with the Kaloma queen to secure the treaty. For the time being, that meant pretending to be Ollie. And he needed Tarley to survive. He could squash his ridiculous physical response to her.

Easily.

And once he made it to Sevens and the treaty was secured, he’d figure out a way to return home. Until then, figuring out that portion of the plan would have to wait.