“If I were missing an eye, would you no longer be attracted to me?” he presented. “Or what if I was short?”
“How short?” It wasn’t the right thing to say, but the words slipped out before she could stop them. Once they were out there, it wasn’t like she could take them back, so she elaborated. “I just mean, if you only came up to my ankles or my thighs, then honestly? I probably wouldn’t be as attracted to you. No. At least not physically. I’d still like you, though. The truth is, as much as people want to believe otherwise, stuff like that does really matter.”
“Then can we at least agree that it’s not everything?” he asked. He covered her hand on the counter with his own, staring at where they touched for a moment. “I promise, who you are means more to me than what you look like. Can you do the same? Or is that really so important to you? If I did get hurt, if I lost an eye or a limb, or got horrible burns,” he said, and licked his lips, “would you still want me?”
Guilt flooded through her at the questioning, insecure look in his eyes. She’d inadvertently hurt him with her doubts, planted some of his own. She hadn’t meant to. It was so easy to forget that insecurities could be passed on, like a disease, and she’d stupidly allowed hers to affect what was between them.
Her fears had caused him to second-guess her feelings the same way she’d feared his not knowing her actual face would affect his feelings. He was right; it wasn’t very fair.
“I’m sorry.” She moved closer, wrapping her arms around his waist, and pressed her cheek against his chest. His heart pounded a steady rhythm beneath her ear, kicking up a notch with each passing second. The fact that she could do that to him, affect him so much, caused her to smile.
“I’m being an idiot,” she continued. “I’m just afraid of losing whatever this is, that’s all. Of getting too deep only to have it ripped away.”
“I am, too,” he told her, tilting her chin up so that he could catch her gaze. “But we can’t push each other away or be afraid of how the other really feels. I care about you, no matter what you look like. That’s not going to change.”
“I care about you, too.” She grinned, knowing full well how stupid she probably appeared, but she was unable to hold it back. “So you’re totally cool with me shaving my head, huh?”
He flashed a mock-terrified face. “Uh, let’s not get carried away now. I like your hair. I’ll like it when it’s red. But yes, I’d rather you kept it. On your head.” He paused and frowned suddenly.
Knowing that it meant he’d gotten a telepathic communication, she pulled away and activated the sink so that she could quickly wash her face. It was odd how comfortable she was doing it in front of him. She didn’t feel like there was any reason to hide, especially after their talk.
Though, admittedly, despite that, it did still help that she didn’t actually look like herself. If she looked stupid, it was Olena looking stupid to him.
“That was Trump Fendus, the Basilissa’s personal royal adviser. The Basilissa has requested you.” He glanced down at what they were both wearing. “We should probably change. And stop by your room. Quickly,” he promised when she opened her mouth to argue. “This might surprise you, but I don’t have any makeup here.”
“That does surprise me,” she said, feigning shock. “This whole time I thought mascara was how you got your lashes so long!”
“Come here, you.” He grabbed her and began tickling her until there were tears in her eyes, which he effectively kissed away.
*
DELANEY TOOK A deep breath and braced herself before the doors to the Basilissa’s personal chamber. Though, it wasn’t technically hers, but a special room made out of the hospital wing of the castle. She was healing from her wound at a quicker rate than any human would, what with their advanced medicines and technology, yet she was apparently still pretty weak after the ordeal.
Trystan was supposedly in a private room as well, somewhere nearby, but Delaney wasn’t going to ask anyone which one specifically, and had no intentions of visiting. Part of her felt guilty about that, considering he was there because he’d saved her life. The other part recalled all the times he’d threatened that same life, which eventually won out over the guilt.
She’d thank him eventually anyway. He’d be healed before the next two and a half days passed and the real Olena got here, which meant she’d be forced to see him again before her departure.
Upon seeing them, the guards stationed at either side of the doors to the Basilissa’s room readied themselves, bowing slightly and avoiding eye contact. At her almost imperceptible nod signaling she was ready, they tugged the heavy golden doors open.
Inside didn’t seem anything like how Delaney would have pictured an alien hospital room to look. For one, instead of all the high-tech science-fiction-like gadgets she’d imagined, there was just the one glass tablet resting on a metal side table. It was no bigger than an original iPad, and the only thing flashing across it was a squiggly neon line that moved with the Basilissa’s breathing.
The Basilissa was seated upright, propped against a foam pillow that cradled her body perfectly. There was a thin white blanket over her lower half, and her loose-fitting shirt was a mint shade. Her hair was down and curled lightly around her shoulders, giving her a relaxed air Delaney hadn’t expected to come from a queen.
The entire left wall was one massive window, letting in a stream of sunlight that warmed the room and set all the gold accents glittering. The place was big enough to fit another three beds at least, with an attached bathroom twice the size of Ruckus’s.
There were currently four other people in the room, three of them obviously Tellers, the last an older man she assumed was the Trump.
“Ander Ruckus.” The older man with sandy hair addressed him politely then turned her way. “Lissa Olena. Basilissa Tilda asked us to give you privacy. If you need anything, just call. My men and I will be right outside the door.”
“Understood, sir,” Ruckus said.
“Thank you,” Delaney added for good measure, which might have been a mistake, for she caught the incredulous look that passed over his face before he quickly exited.
No one liked Olena. Not even the people who were supposed to protect her.
“Hello, Delaney.” Tilda’s voice was soft and almost lyrical. She smiled, and even that was delicate and ethereal in its own way.
“Hello.” Really, what else was there to say?
Ruckus stood in the corner of the room, close but not intruding. Apparently he hadn’t been asked for this meeting but was there merely as her bodyguard.
“How are you feeling after yesterday?” Tilda asked. The room smelled like a mixture of sweet roses and eucalyptus. The scent strengthened the closer she got to the Basilissa. “I’m sure the ceremony was hard enough for you without it being crashed by terrorists.”