Page 9 of Legacy of Thorns (Kingdoms of Legacy #3)

Daphne

T he boy slumbering peacefully inside the stall looked young, just as Finley had claimed. Perhaps it was the softening of sleep, but Daphne guessed him to be fourteen at most.

The anger and frustration coursing through her lightened the longer she gazed at him, overtaken by her desire to help.

But the feelings—directed at herself—didn’t entirely disappear.

She had known better, she really had. She had sensed from the beginning that Finley was hiding something, and in the past she had always trusted her intuition.

But being back in Oakden was interfering with her clear thinking.

She had lived so much of her life as if watching from the outside—as an outsider, it was easier to remain detached.

But now she had stepped foot into her own life… only to immediately trip up.

Not that she blamed herself entirely. Finley’s blasted good looks deserved a significant portion of the blame. She wouldn’t have ignored her intuition if she hadn’t been confused at the way he made her heart flutter. She would have walked away from him back in Ethelson.

But she hadn’t walked away, and now she was staring down at a boy who shared a youthful version of those good looks.

But there was something softer about Archer’s face—something both boyish and peaceful.

He looked like the sort of person who found something positive and hopeful in every situation he encountered.

He certainly didn’t look like a hardened criminal. And Morrow had claimed he was trying to help someone.

Daphne glanced around the old barn. It was an unlikely place for the lord to store valuables. What had Archer been stealing?

“Lord Castlerey is a genial person for the most part,” Finley said softly from behind her.

“But unfortunately he has a large number of grandchildren and is particularly susceptible to the Legacy’s influence.

Whenever one of his family approaches sixteen, he becomes convinced he needs to act to protect them by confiscating some new household item from all the locals.

From what I’ve heard, he fastens on a different household item each time, and he always comes to his senses eventually and returns the items. But then another grandchild approaches sixteen…

” He sighed. “Archie can’t abide injustice or the strong preying on the weak.

He may have been technically stealing, but he was only returning the items to their original owners. ”

Daphne looked at the sleeping boy again. “I take it this isn’t the first time he’s gotten involved in others’ troubles—whether legally or not.”

Finley winced. “Ever since he heard stories about Lathlain across the northern mountains, he’s been convinced he should have been born there instead of Oakden.”

Daphne raised an eyebrow. “Stealing from the rich to give to the poor, is it?”

Little was known about the kingdoms that lay beyond the almost impassable northern mountains, but everyone had heard the tale of the thief from Lathlain with a heart of gold. If Archer had been trying to emulate him, it was no wonder he’d gotten himself into trouble.

Now that she had seen him and heard his story, Daphne had lost the desire to walk away or to refuse to help him out of petty revenge on Finley. But Archer was also basically a child. She couldn’t possibly kiss him. They needed to find a young girl his own age for that.

“I can’t do it,” she said, her words short and clipped. “You’ll have to find someone else.”

But when she turned to go, Finley blocked her path out of the stall.

“I can’t let you leave.” He sounded haunted but also firm.

“Do you really think you can force me to kiss him?” Daphne asked, her voice tinged with frost.

Something flashed in Finley’s hand, but the tiny dagger was too small to incite fear. Her determination hardened.

“Stand aside.”

Finley didn’t move. “This is an Oakdenian blade, not an ordinary dagger. One prick, and you’ll be sleeping alongside Archie.” He shrugged. “I don’t know for sure if it will work while you’re asleep, but I’m hoping one brush of your lips is all he needs.”

Daphne stiffened. Why hadn’t she seen this coming as well? Finley had already shown himself willing to lie and manipulate to get her there.

Finley sighed. “I don’t want to use this against you, Daphne. I swear I don’t. But I can’t let you walk away from my brother. How can you look at him and just leave?”

“People usually underestimate what I can do.”

“It isn’t like you have to kiss him on the lips!” Finley cried. “Is it really too much to ask you to brush your lips across his hand?”

Daphne’s brows rose, her eyes moving from the dagger in his hand back to the sleeping boy.

“Will that work? Really?”

“I’ve heard stories of at least two instances where it did,” Finley said. “I’m not asking you to do something unsavory. I’m just asking you to save a young boy.”

Daphne ground her teeth together. It went against the grain to reward Finley for all his lies, but when he put it like that, she didn’t really have a choice.

Dagger or not, she had to live with herself, and she wasn’t sure if she could if she just walked away without even trying to help.

Whatever her feelings toward Archer’s older brother, Archer had done nothing to earn her ire.

“Fine.” She spun. “One quick kiss, and if it doesn’t work, you let me go without another word.”

“Of course.” Finley’s eyes glowed as his gaze fixed on his brother’s prone body. “One kiss is all I ask.”

Daphne sighed and knelt beside Archer. His hands had been neatly folded on his stomach, but she didn’t like the idea of kissing one of them—as if she were a courtier flirting with a princess.

Her eyes drifted to his boyish face. The forehead would be better—as if she was kissing a child awake. It wasn’t hard to muster maternal feelings at the sight of the innocently sleeping boy.

Leaning jerkily forward, she pressed her lips against Archer’s forehead. She didn’t linger, pulling back quickly and looking for signs of life. Behind her, there was no whisper of sound from Finley. Apparently he was holding his breath.

As they both waited, disappointment seeped through Daphne. She had been tricked off course for nothing.

The boy opened his eyes. In wakefulness, he looked even more like his brother than he had while asleep, although his blue eyes lacked the greenish tinge that made Finley’s stand out. He also looked older.

Daphne, still crouched beside him, rolled back on her heels. His eyes latched onto hers, growing slowly wider and wider.

When he pushed himself into a sitting position, he seized her hand, moving too quickly for her to whisk hers out of the way.

“My lady!” he breathed.

Daphne tugged her hand free and scrambled to her feet. “I’m no lady.”

Archer followed her up, his eyes still fixed reverently on her face. “Yes, you are. You’re the lady of my heart.”

Daphne snorted as inelegantly as possible. “Aren’t you fourteen?”

Awake, she was doubting that estimate, though. Archer puffed out his chest and rejected the suggestion with force.

“I’m sixteen and more than old enough to court a beautiful lady.”

Daphne’s eyes widened, and she let out a crack of disbelieving laughter. Court?

She looked desperately back at Finley, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Earlier, she had been too frustrated with herself to have much anger left for him, but this time a wave of outrage swept through her.

Clearly Finley, unlike Daphne, hadn’t forgotten his old school lessons.

Those unfortunates who fell prey to the Oaken Legacy’s enchanted sleep fancied themselves in love with the person who woke them—a fancy that was strengthened by the Legacy.

And while the Legacy couldn’t actually control someone’s actions—or even thoughts—those who were susceptible could fall prey to its influence.

And apparently Finley’s sixteen-year-old brother was extremely susceptible to falling in love.

She glared at Finley, but he brushed past her, seizing his brother in a choking embrace. “Archie! Do you have to play the fool every time I leave? What were you thinking?”

Archer grinned and clapped Finley on the back, but when he pulled away, his eyes flashed to Daphne.

“I’m sixteen now, brother,” he said. “I’m too old to be called Archie.”

“Oho,” Finley said. “I’ll believe that when you stop getting yourself into scrapes and needing your big brother to come to the rescue.”

“Actually,” Archer said, “it was an angel who rescued me this time, not you, Fin.”

“And who do you think brought the angel to you?” Finley asked dryly.

“Don’t call me an angel,” Daphne said firmly, “unless you want me to start calling you Archie as well.”

Archer straightened. “Of course not, my?—”

“Don’t call me a lady either,” Daphne said promptly.

“Then what should I call you?” The twinkle in his eyes reminded her too much of Finley.

“Nothing,” she said. “You’re awake now, which means I’m leaving. And with any luck, I’ll never see either of you again.”

“No!” Archer seized her hand and gazed soulfully at her from eyes that resembled a puppy’s. “You can’t mean that. Unnamed Lady, you wouldn’t leave me when I’ve just found you!”

“Her name is Daphne,” Finley said from behind Archer.

The suppressed laugh in his voice made Daphne glare daggers at him.

It would serve him right if she dumped him on his rear for getting her into such a ridiculous situation.

Except she’d seen his experience with the training dance, and she was afraid it might take more effort than she was willing to expend.

“Is he awake?” Morrow called hopefully through the barn door, and Archer finally let go of her hand.

“Morrow!” He bounded out of the stall and toward the bear of a man.

Morrow pulled him into a rough hug, pounding him on the back with such force that Daphne winced involuntarily.

“The lad’s awake, Nisha!” Morrow called through the open barn door, and Nisha appeared in the gap.