I am.
But I am not built to listen to girls cry. And definitely not this girl.
“Right. Fine.” I take off my helmet and set it down on the stone floor. “I’ll go.”
Hamish blanches. “Are you mad? You’re the scariest one of us all!”
“Thanks.”
I lift the metal breastplate over my head, leaving it near my helmet. Out of the corner of my eye, I see several of the men cross themselves. But I ignore them, wrapping a hand around the heavy brass knob and entering the princess’s—now the queen’s—bedroom.
It’s dark inside, mostly, with a handful of sconces flickering on the wall.
I’ve never been in here before, but I expected it to be much bigger. On one end of the room, there are three windows showcasing the starlit sky, on the other is an enormous bed. The tiny figure crying in the center of it makes the piece of furniture seem even larger.
My heart protests the sight.
Poor girl.
My sisters never had anything so tragic happen. I’m totally unequipped for this.
Not to mention, the guards were right. I am scary. I’ve been told since childhood that I’m unlikely to marry. A woman will have to cook from sunrise to sunset to keep you fed! That is one of the more popular insults. When I started working in the palace, there was serious debate about posting me outside of the walls to ward off attacks. They really considered it.
Approaching the princess in the dark like this might not be wise, but I can’t see any other choice. There’s no one else to console her.
“Princess Britta,” I say, forgoing the title of queen. After all, she hasn’t been crowned yet and it could be a jarring reminder of the crimes against her parents. “Might I…be of some assistance?”
She gasps and flies into a sitting position.
An invisible fist hits me in the chest, winding me.
Dear God, even with a puffy, tearstained face, she’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on…and I need to stop noticing that so much. This girl with the long, raven-black hair and emerald eyes is royalty. I’m a humble guard. A man of low birth. I have no right to be ogling her. None whatsoever.
“Wh-who are you?” she croaks, swiping at her delicate nose.
But she doesn’t seem scared, thank God. Maybe the tears have blurred her vision and, combined with the light, she can’t see me properly.
“Rexington Monroe, Princess.” I bow. “You can call me Rex. I’m one of your guards.”
She blinks. “What are you doing in here?”
“Beg pardon, Princess. But I thought you could use someone to cry at.”
A beat passes. “Cry…at?”
I nod once. “I have five sisters. It seems to help them when there’s something on hand to absorb a little bit of the misery.”
Britta huffs an awed sound. “Five sisters. That must be lovely.”
“Begging your pardon, it’s not. They’re frequently unhinged.”
“Oh.” She sucks in a breath. “I almost laughed just there.”
Something warms in my chest. Something that’s never warmed before. “It’s okay to laugh,” I say, chancing a step toward the bed. And from this new angle, I can see her shapely bare leg peeking out from under the white coverlet, the nightgown drooping down from one smooth, feminine shoulder. Stop looking. “You’ve likely got a lot of crying ahead, Princess, so allow yourself the happy moments.”
“Who knew I had such a wise guard?” she murmurs, sounding a little hollow. “How long have you been working in the palace, Rex?”
Jesus God, she said my name.
Don’t make a big deal out of it.
“A few months, give or take.”
A line forms between her brows. “I’m sorry we haven’t formally met. I’m…well, isn’t it just embarrassing that one girl has fourteen guards? As if you men don’t have more important things to do than follow me around, watching as I paint landscapes and take violin lessons. I’ve been afraid to look any of you in the eye, for fear I’ll witness your disdain. And boredom.”
Her ramble is so adorable and unexpected, I feel compelled to jump out the window because nothing will ever top such sweet honesty, so I might as well end my existence. The only reason I don’t is because there’s more.
“And you guards can’t even swat at a fly if it lands on your noses. How awful. It makes me feel so terrible that I’ve learned to ignore you lot, which is probably worse. At the very least, I could have offered to swat the flies. I’m very sorry, Rexington. What a fantastic name. And even after I’ve ignored you, here you are, offering me sympathy and comfort. I shouldn’t accept it after being so unkind.”
“You should accept it,” I manage around the ball of yarn in my throat. “There is nothing to apologize for. And truth be told, Princess, it’s kind of funny watching the other guards try to wiggle flies off their noses. You can’t put a price on that kind of entertainment.”