Octavia clears her throat, trying to re-steer the conversation onto safer ground. “After the match, Lincoln will join our procession to Antrum.”
Lincoln leaves tomorrow. That thought is one massive rainstorm on my angry parade. Suddenly, I no longer think about clobbering the King. Instead, I focus on how Lincoln and I will be separated, and for who knows how long? And Antrum’s locked down so tightly, I don’t even know when or how we can connect. A heavy sadness sets into my body.
My voice comes out barely above a whisper. “That’s the plan.”
Lincoln gives my hand a squeeze. “Let’s get you back home. Did you ride Nightshade here?”
“Yes.”
“Good. She’s probably outside waiting for you now, along with Bastion.” He gently kisses my cheek. “I’ll meet you there in a minute. I have to get my stuff.”
The sadness in my heart lightens a bit. At least I’ll have Lincoln nearby until it’s time for us to part.
I say my goodbyes to Connor and Octavia, giving her an extra-long hug. This may be the last time I see her for a long while. The Queen eyes me carefully, her mental gears spinning away.
“Don’t worry,” says Octavia. “We’ll meet again, my dear.”
I force a half-smile. “I’m sure we will.” However, if I’m being honest with myself, seeing any of them again is far from a sure thing.
***
It’s dark by the time Lincoln and I near my house. Nightshade and Bastion step in perfect rhythm down the quiet streets. Sadness seeps into the air and our hearts. The two of us haven’t spoken much since leaving the royal tent.
Without being asked, our horses stop on the stretch of sidewalk before my front porch. Lincoln and I dismount, telling Night and Bastion to return to the Ryder stables. Night stares at me, her over-large black eyes smooth and round as marbles, the look in them saying the horse equivalent of ‘no kidding, sister.’ Lincoln and I watch our mounts trot away, then stroll up to the front door, hand-in-hand. Mom opens it before we have a chance to knock.
“Myla! I’ve been worried sick.”
I inwardly groan. She has her ‘insanely overprotective and twitchy’ face on. Not that I totally blame her, but yipes. This could get ugly.
I shift my weight from foot to foot. “Hi, Mom. This is Lincoln.” I can’t help but smile.
Lincoln’s mouth warms into a shy grin. “Hello.”
Mom taps her foot. “You’re thrax?” She’s in rare form: worried and anxious with a side order of crazy. Here comes the ugly.
The Prince nods. “Yes.”
Mom eyes the heavy pack slung over Lincoln’s shoulder. “You brought armor and weapons?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Come in.”
My mother, the charmer.
We all step inside. Mom closes the door behind us, then points dramatically to the couch. “This is where you’ll be sleeping, Lincoln, the thrax.” She fixes him with the exact same stare Lincoln’s father gave me, the one that says ‘I know what’s on your oversexed little mind.’ And hey, that’s not untrue, but we’ve got it under control. Mostly.
He bows slightly. “Of course.”
Mom wraps me in a long hug. “I’m glad you’re safe, baby. Don’t stay up too late.” She glances at Lincoln and sighs. “Thank you for watching over Myla. It says a lot about your character.” She kisses him gently on the cheek. “Good night.”
I let out a long breath. That was a downright normal interaction between Mom and Lincoln. She’s been bouncing back from her overprotective mode into her old Senator Lewis self faster and faster these days. What a relief.
Mom pulls her threadbare robe tighter and walks into her bedroom, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
Lincoln and I exchange a look that mixes shock and relief, the kind I normally reserve for near-miss accidents with Betsy. I half-smile. “I’m not sure who wins for weirdest parental interaction of the day.”
“Come on. Me, definitely.” He enfolds me in his arms. “I’m so sorry about that, by the way. Father should have focused on your safety, not a power play with the Earl. He used to be…Very different.” He gives my back a gentle pat. “But enough about my family for one day.” Leaning forward, the Prince moves to set his mouth on mine.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” Frowning, I glance at Mom’s closed door.
Lincoln releases me and steps backwards. “I understand.”
We’re so close to goodbye. After tomorrow’s Arena match, Lincoln returns to Antrum and Walker portals me into the Gray Sea safe house. The weight I felt on the ride home grows heavier, settling into every cell of my body. My eyes sting.
I wrap my fingers around Lincoln’s hand and lead him into my room. Sadness hangs in the air like fog. Lincoln sits on my bed, his back against the headboard. I climb onto the mattress and curl up beside him. My cheek nestles onto his chest; his long arm wraps loosely about my back. My eyelids grow heavy.