Even in profile, he’s handsome as ever. Familiar as ever. That floppy blond hair falling into his face, always in desperate need of a trim. Those long-lashed brown eyes fixed out the glass pane, lost deep in thought.
Hearing me enter, he turns.
“Ems.”
The crack in his deep voice breaks something inside me. Maybe it’s that ice around my heart. Maybe it’s my heart itself, unable to hold together any longer when confronted with a man who knows me better than practically anyone else in the world. I’m not sure. All I know is, one minute I’m standing by the door and the next I’m across the room, in his arms.
My cheek hits his chest, his embrace closes around me like warm water after a pencil dive. My eyes press tight to keep the tears at bay, but there’s no denying the thickness of my voice — the word comes out a sob.
“Owen.”
His arms tighten around me so hard I can barely breathe. I get the sense he’s holding back; that, if my ribs weren’t at risk of fracture, he’d squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until he’d assured himself I was truly there, in his arms.
In silent surrender, I let him hold me until we’ve both gotten our fill, until my curiosity wins out over his comfort.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, the words muffled against the fabric of his shirt. “It’s been months since I last heard from you. I’d be pissed as hell if I weren’t so damn happy to see you.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Believe me, Ems, I’ve wanted to see you too. I wanted that so badly it almost killed me.” His arms tighten again, underlining his declaration. “Do you have any idea how much I missed you?”
My voice is a mere slip of sound. “I thought…”
“What?”
“I thought maybe you didn’t want to see me anymore. That you…”
That you’d left me, too.
Owen loosens his hold to peer down into my face. “I didn’t leave you in third year when you messed up the word CHARTREUSE during a spelling bee. I didn’t leave you when you crashed my car through my parents’ fence after the spring semi-formal dance and got me grounded for the entire summer. You really think I’d abandon you now, just because you went and got yourself a royal title?”
“Then why haven’t you been answering my calls?” I smack him on the arm, face twisting into a glare. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been about you, Owen Harding?”
“I’m sorry, Ems. I’m so fucking sorry. I know you’ve been through hell these past few months. I wish I could’ve been here at your side. But I had to see this through. I couldn’t come back until I was absolutely certain you were out of danger.”
My brows lift. “So, you being here… does this mean the threat is over? That I’m safe now?”
“I’m sure the new Commander of your Queen’s Guard has briefed you on some of this already.” Owen’s nostrils flare slightly. “He’s got quite an attitude.”
“Who, Riggs?” My lips twist as Emmett Riggs’ intent, angular face flashes inside my mind. “He’s just protective. Keeping me alive is kind of hisraison d'etre.”
“Some job he’s been doing. You’re skin and bones. When was the last time you ate a real meal?”
“I’m fine.”
He appears unconvinced. “You’re too pale. And you’ve got bigger bags under your eyes than you did when you were applying to the clinical psych program.”
“It’s been…” I swallow. “It’s been hard, okay? Hard to worry about myself when…”
“When you’re busy worrying about everyone else?”
I nod weakly.
“That changes now. I don’t care if you’re the queen. You’re a person first. You have to take better care of yourself.”
“Okay, Dad,” I tease, on auto-pilot, then go still. That particular wound, that father-shaped hole in my heart, is still so fresh and unhealed I sometimes lose my breath just thinking about it. Saying the wordDad, even as a joke, makes me feel as though I’ve been sucker punched right in the stomach.
Owen knows me well enough to swiftly change the subject. “Anyway. Your new Commander — Riggs, is it? — seems capable. Certainly confident enough in his role. He barely agreed to let me through the castle gates tonight. I think he would’ve started torture proceedings, if your personal guard hadn’t vouched for me.”
I make a mental note to thank Galizia later. “You can’t blame Riggs for being suspicious of you — you’re a stranger to him. And you did show up at midnight.”