Page 44 of Awestruck (Starstruck Love Stories #4)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Elliot

“If someone hadn’t already tried it, I would kill you, Elliot.”

I know Sander is serious, but I can’t help but smirk at him as he paces the length of Wulfric’s cabin.

I’ve been awake for less than ten minutes, jarred from a deep sleep by the arrival of a veritable army of palace guards and police, as well as two anxiety-ridden princes.

But my mind is still fuzzy, my body is exhausted, and I don’t have it in me to match the man’s energy.

Besides, my head is full of dreams about Freya’s lips and the way she kisses with confidence and authority, turning it into a competition in the best way.

I’m not in the mood to be threatened when I would much rather take Hex’s place on the other side of the cabin, with Freya in his arms and her head on his shoulder.

“Relax,” I mumble, wishing I could have slept for more than an hour or two. “I’m fine.”

Sander stops mid-stride and narrows his eyes at me. “You have a hole in the middle of your body. You are not fine.”

I look down at the fresh bandage placed on my torso by a Skalridge doctor who came with the entourage. He wasn’t thrilled by Wulfric’s rudimentary stitches but declared them passable enough until I can get to a hospital. “Technically, it’s on my right—”

“You should have told me, El.” Sander’s voice breaks for the first time since I met the guy, and he slowly sinks into a chair like his strength has left him. I’ve never seen him like this. “You could have died, and I would have lost one of my best friends.”

Okay, I can be serious for a second. Though I’m tempted to stay on the bed and never move again, I sit up and wait until he looks at me. “As long as I’m in this job, there’s always going to be that danger, San. I’ve been through worse, trust me.”

“Because that makes me feel better,” he grumbles back.

“I didn’t tell you I was wounded because I needed you to stay safe. You’re more important than me.”

He doesn’t like that, his miserable expression shifting into a scowl that drops the temperature of the room. He mutters something in Candoran, too quick and low for me to understand him, but I doubt it’s anything good.

My eyes flit over to Freya for the millionth time since the twins arrived with their little army, all of whom have been kind enough to stay outside and watch the perimeter while Wulfric shouts at them to not tromp all over his bellflowers.

The princess, tucked in the safety of her brother’s hold, has her eyes closed and looks like she could be asleep if not for the little smile on her lips.

Lips that I want to taste again.

She was still on the bed with me when Hex and Sander stormed inside in what I assume was a poorly planned rescue, and despite the chaos around us, she spent a long few seconds looking down at me, her fingers brushing my face with a featherlight touch that left me shivering.

As if she feels my gaze, Freya opens her eyes and smiles weakly at me. My body reacts to that smile with a longing that I won’t be able to ignore as easily as I did before. Not now that I know the feel of her hands in my hair and on my skin. Now that I know how she tastes.

“Tell me everything you know,” I say to Sander, my voice strained. I need a distraction before I march over to the princess and pull her into my arms.

Sander glances between me and his sister with his eyes full of suspicion, but it’s not like he doesn’t already know how I feel about Freya.

There’s a reason I sat with Freya during the ride to Skalridge to give the twins a break from me; Sander and Hex have been subjected to my frustration with the situation more than they likely wanted.

I couldn’t admit anything about my feelings to Freya, so I admitted it all to them, hoping they would have advice.

They didn’t. Mostly they teased me about liking their uptight and significantly older sister.

But I think Sander is finally realizing how serious my feelings really are as he studies me.

“Fenwick had someone on the inside who let him in before we ever got to the arena,” he says as he sits on the chair next to the bed.

“According to his own words after the guards detained him, ‘The royals have had their turn, and it’s time for a new age of Candora.’”

I wrinkle my nose. “Now I know why I had such a bad feeling about the guy.” As I speak, my wounds throb, and I grunt and press a hand to my ribcage to try to distract from the pain.

I could have taken something other than basic painkillers, but anything stronger would have dulled my senses more than they already are.

I’m regretting that decision right now, even if the drugs haven’t had a chance to kick in yet.

“What about the other shooter?” I ask. “The one who got me.”

Sander growls low in his throat and glares at the bandage on my waist. “Disgruntled blueback. He let Fenwick inside.”

I lift my eyebrows as a swear slips from my tongue. “A cop?” I should be grateful that he didn’t hit anything important. “I thought Candorans were all about a peaceful existence.”

“From the little we know, he was hit with hard times and denied government assistance, and he blames the monarchy for his family going hungry.” Sander shakes his head. “He never should have been neglected like that.”

“That doesn’t mean assassinating the princess is a good idea.” I frown at him and the way he almost looks guilty. “His choices are not your fault, Sander.”

“But his circumstances are because of my family’s choices,” he retorts.

“What could you have done? You’ve never wanted the throne.”

“But that doesn’t make me any less of a prince,” he snaps, then shrinks in on himself and bows his head, clasping his hands at the back of his neck. “What am I even doing with my life?” he mutters, more to himself than to me.

In the two months I’ve known the twins, Hex and Sander have both seemed perfectly content.

They’re incredibly smart and the best fighters I’ve ever seen, but I figured they were happy to live more regular lives as palace guards instead of using their talents for better things.

Sander is clearly in crisis right now, and I don’t know how to help him because I have no idea what he wants. I wonder if he knows.

Sighing, he sits up straight and fixes a calm expression on his face that almost looks believable. “Rothesby recognized the blueback as the man you saw last night when you were tailing Fenwick. He and three other guards are taking both shooters to Invem.”

“Good.” I’m disappointed I won’t get to interrogate either of them until we get back to the capital, but it’s for the best. I doubt I could handle that conversation calmly.

“Rothesby also thinks there were others at the debate, but they got spooked and ran when the first two attempts failed. He and Hex went after a few suspicious men in the mayhem but couldn’t catch them.”

I glare at Hex across the room, but the prince isn’t looking at me.

Probably on purpose, since I ordered him to run if things went south.

Not dive into the fray. Rothesby, on the other hand, deserves a raise.

“At least most of them were cowards,” I grumble, though I hate the idea of more people out there with enough anger to threaten a princess.

It’s not like I can do anything about it in my current state, so I change the subject. “What about Grimstad?”

Sander glances at his sister, making my stomach twist. I really don’t like the way she’s connected to Grimstad in his mind.

“From what I’ve heard, the wound was mostly superficial,” he mutters, “but Mum convinced him to head straight to Stonemere for some recovery time before the Celestial Ball instead of finishing his campaign.”

I swear under my breath. I’d forgotten all about the ball, a big annual celebration among the nobility that sounds like the worst night of my life. That includes being stitched up by a dull needle without anything to numb the pain. At least tonight I got a kiss out of it.

That won’t happen at a royal ball. Or maybe ever again.

“Grim took a bullet for the princess,” I mutter, as if I need a reminder of why he’s a better choice for Freya.

She may have said that she doesn’t want to have a family with the guy, but that doesn’t mean she won’t marry him if it makes the most sense for her country.

Last night was a fluke, a moment of passion that I shouldn’t have allowed, no matter how much I wanted it.

“So did you,” Sander replies, looking from me to Freya. “Did…did something happen between you two?”

“Me and Grim? No, he—”

“You know what I’m asking, El.”

Yeah, I do, but I can’t admit that I crossed a line. Not even to him. He and Hex are my closest friends here in Candora, but they’re still princes. Their life is not my life, and it never can be.

So I lie. “Aside from her putting my life in the hands of a questionable Candoran hermit? No.”

Even though it’s a bad idea, I look at Freya, reading her lips as she tells Hex that she was so afraid and didn’t know what to do.

I failed her. I’ve been a terrible bodyguard from the start, and the only reason she’s still alive is because of Grimstad.

Not me. From the beginning, I’ve made everything harder for her.

Grunting, I stand and head outside, realizing too late that it’s freezing tonight and I’m not wearing a shirt.

But if I go back inside, Sander will keep trying to talk to me.

Or Hex will accuse me of letting Freya down by not preventing the shooting in the first place.

I need a moment to myself, so I ignore the palace guards who try to ask about my wound or what happened after we left the arena, passing all of them until I end up at the edge of a small pond.