Rule (Roam Series, Book Five) (5 page)

He refused to look away from me, and as soon as he began speaking, I wanted to slap across the face him for his patronizing tone.
“Eva, I am engaged to be married. My fiancé is prepared to be queen. The coronation has already been planned… our wedding is in a month.”

I opened my mouth to speak, losing my words as I comprehended what he was saying.

Fiancé? Engaged?
I prided myself on being a bad-ass bitch with a cold, hard shell, but deep inside the fourteen-year-old girl who dreamed of our royal wedding collapsed into a sad, sobbing mess. Illogical jealousy stoked my resentment.

I went from heartbroken to furious within three seconds.

“
You
will make me queen,
or I will not go.
You can be with that- woman- all you want- I don’t expect you to be a husband to me…
in that way.
I have to have the throne, uncompromised.”

He lifted his eyes, staggered. “Uncompromised?”

“No one will challenge my rule. I won’t be shunned on the throne like fucking Anne Boleyn. You’ll treat me like your wife and queen- at all times.”

His eyes swept over me, and his strong jaw tightened. “Not intimately. You’re a child.”

“Well, no, not intimately.” I stiffened, my ego choking and curling into a pathetic ball in the corner. “And I’m not a
child
. I’ll be eighteen in a month.”

“And if I agree, you’ll take on the full responsibility of a queen… and all the accountability that comes with it.”

“Yes,” I agreed, too quickly.

“And you’ll consent to the instruction and guidance necessary?”

“Instruction and guidance?”

“A queen does not beat her scepter on the ground when she is angry. She does not imprison subjects without a fair trial. She does not flaunt her body,” he dropped his gaze to my chest, and I shrunk slightly. “Nor does she parade around dropping
… how do you say it? ‘F-bombs.’”

“F-bombs?” I giggled at that; I couldn’t help it.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Moreover, she obeys her king at all times.”

At that, I hardened. “
Obeys
.”

“Obeys. Complete fealty. My word is final, and you respect that, both privately and publicly.”

“I guess.”

“Eva,” he closed the gap between us, and I shuddered at the heat from his body so close to mine.
He smells so good.
“You agree or disagree.
You do not guess.
”

So close
to him, without touching, my words escaped me. Everywhere, my body came sharply alive.
Liam doesn’t make me feel like this… even when he has his hand up my skirt.

“I agree,” I conceded, breathless.

“And you understand that I love another.”

Pop
. My confidence deflated and left me thoroughly aggravated.

“I get it. I have a boyfriend, too.”
Lame
.

“It’s settled then.” He held his hand out, and I gripped his fingers, shaking once.

“Nice doing business with you. When do I get my crown?”

“You will help plan your coronation.” He promised softly. “Do you
still… enjoy music?”

Do I enjoy music?
Does he know what I can do?
I answered casually, heading for the sliding glass door. “I love music.”

He smiled distantly, a defeated look in his eyes. “
You can still…
make
… music, then?”

He’s asking me if I still possess magic.
My father warned me to keep my abilities a secret, so afraid I’d be in danger if others knew what I was capable of.

But this is Will… he was there that night, at the lighthouse.

He knows.

I turned to him, knowing my eyes were no longer my mother’s green color. I made a small circle with my right hand, and the lights went out.

Twinkling stars appeared on the ceiling of the library, and I watched his face fill with wonder. “I always thought… when I saw you again… that I would thank you. With a song.”

“Thank me for what, Eva?”

His voice, so low and melodic, almost broke my concentration.

“
For saving me.
” I turned my fingers again, and Ben E. King’s
Stand By Me
poured softly through the room. “This song makes me think of you.”

He met my eyes, and I fought a shiver as he reached for my hand, still in the air. As his strong fingers covered mine, my lips parted and my eyelids grew heavy.

“
You’ll want for nothing,
” he spoke only inches from my lips. I held my breath, my eyes widening as he released my hand. “Pack very little. I will make sure you have everything you need.”

The lamplight returned, but the song continued to play. “I… okay. Thanks.” I cleared my throat, backing toward the door.

“Thank you for this song.” He kept his steady gaze, and my fingers gripped the handle of the sliding glass door as my heartbeat tripled.

I offered a smile from somewhere deep inside my chest. “Goodnight, Will.”

“Logan!” I nearly skipped the last step on the staircase, barreling into Logan’s waiting arms.

He gripped me tightly to his chest, sweeping me off my feet. His dark, brown eyes flashed with his smile. Immortally twenty-seven years old, his amused grin subtracted years from his appearance. My brother-in-law’s hair grew slightly longer and curled at his forehead, and his position as third baseman for the Cleveland Indians had made him famous. My dad warned him about keeping a low profile, but Logan just shrugged.

I love his I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude.

“He flew in early this morning… Mom said we have to go to Pennsylvania?” Chris shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, shifting at the kitchen counter.

“
No!
No, Chris, you have to stay here,” I pulled away, pinching Logan’s arms in my fingers, lowering my voice. “Logan,
you have to protect him.
”

“Hey.” He ruffled my curls, further tangling them into the mess that my restless night in bed had caused.  “I know what’s up. What I
don’t
know is why, even after our profound, albeit brief conversation, you put on a mini skirt and tried to sneak out using the fire ladder.”

“
In my defense, I was already wearing the mini skirt. And- I can protect myself.”

“Even ninja hookers need to listen to their parents.” Chris added thoughtfully through a mouthful of
Special K.

“Christopher,
please
call me a hooker again, I dare you-…,”

“Fighting, and it’s not even six o’clock.”
My mother moved with poise across the living room, already dressed.

I watched as she gathered her long hair to on shoulder, smoothing it evenly away from her face. Everything about
Roam Perry was graceful, from her eloquent words to her careful patience. She was so intelligent, but never talked down to me or made me feel inadequate. She always told me I was smart in a way she wished that
she
could have been at my age; practical and prepared. I still had vague memories of watching her graduate from Princeton University while my dad held three-year-old Christopher in his arms.

She had managed to find a job at my elementary school as a third grade teacher, and then eventually my junior high as the eighth grade history teacher. By ninth grade, I’d
begged
her not to follow me to high school. She understood, and began teaching virtually for the University of North Carolina. She only had to report to the campus once a month, but otherwise ran her classroom exclusively online.

My father had gone to medical school at that point, and was now in his third year
surgical residency at Carteret General Hospital.

And they were…
desperately
… in love.

And by
desperately, I meant all-consuming, do-or-die,
Dolce and Gabanna
perfume commercial
in love.
But- oh my God could they argue- which I figured was the only
normal
part of their relationship. Sometimes, when they fought, I could hear my dad yelling from the other side of the beach about my mom spoiling us (even though it was my dad who bought me whatever I wanted) or my mom shrieking at him about being “stubborn and bull-headed” (that was her favorite.)

B
ut, at the end of the day…
The way he would wrap his arms around her from behind and dance with her to some silent song, humming in her ear… or the way she would run and jump into his arms out of nowhere and engage him in a desperate, passionate kiss…

I will never have that with Liam… or anyone.

I wasn’t pessimistic- just practical. My mother truly believed that my dad was her
hero
… because he was. He swept her away into a magical romance, saved her from the evil rapist king, and kissed her every night with an
“I love you, baby.”
Every. Single. Night.

He was her soul mate, and she was his.

And all I wanted to do was die… someday.

When my immortality would throw me into depression-mode, I’d retreat to my room
with my headphones and my sketch pad. I needed no devices, and the headphones were only a courtesy to my family. Usually, at my very saddest, I’d orchestrate a fervent mix of Billie Holiday and Nine Inch Nails, drafting architectural views of the castle I still saw in my dreams.

Art
was my escape from this never-ending existence into a predetermined world. When I would finish a piece, the sense of ending, of completion, helped fill the angsty emptiness of my indefinite, infinite future.

I finally hung up my drama queen crown around
fifteen, focusing on my love of drawing. Though my mother had tried her best to peak my interest in other subjects, my father nurtured my need for art. By sixteen, I was copying the photographs in his medical journals, trying every medium at least once. The human body fascinated me.

“The Cleveland Institute of Art has the best program for a Biomedical Art Degree,” he told me at the beginning of the school year, as he helped me fill out college a
pplications. “And you’d have Vi, Logan, and Wynn… Morgan, Jason, and Grandpa Cam would be right there near you.”

My mother finally accepted my passion for art, and began enlarging my work and hanging it all over the house. I protested, especially the ball-point pen sketch of the magnified human femur hanging near the dining room table.

“I am
so proud of you,
” she had replied defensively, but finally agreed to move the dissection drawings to the non-eating areas of the house.

Now, folded in Logan’s hug, she barely looked
twenty-four, let alone thirty-four.

“Is King
Will coming down for breakfast?” I yawned, my bare feet sliding on the wooden floor as I walked to the counter.

“
We have been up for a while, actually.”

His voice jarred me; I turned as Will and my father walked in from the front door. My father had obviously loaned him clothing; the jeans fit tighter against Will’s thighs and hips, and the white, button-down polo was rolled over his forearms. Unshaven, his dark, shadowed jaw contrasted attractively with his ice blue gaze.

I remembered our conversation from last night.
A queen does not flaunt her body.
My spaghetti-strapped tank top did little to stop the attention drawn to my cleavage; I reached for my hooded sweatshirt hanging on the back of the couch, slipping it over my shoulders quickly.

“Cold?” He asked me, raising his eyes in amusement.

“Just covering the goods like a proper queen.”

“Queen?” Chris nearly spit his cereal out. “Wow. I’ve heard you call yourself
hot
, which was merely laughable, but
queen?
Someone catch her giant head before it falls off her shoulders.”

“Eva, we need to speak to you on the balcony. Christopher, wait here, okay?”

He listened to my father, confused. “What in the heck am I missing?”

“I’ll explain in a little while,” West promised, grasping his son’s shoulder lovingly before ushering me out to the balcony.

Will stopped in the living room, staring at the sketch on the wall. The shadowed drawing of the human heart clashed terribly with the bright living room, but my mom had insisted it belonged. “You did this?”

“Yes,” I lowered my eyes at the admiration in his voice, flushing.

“So talented,” he murmured. I nodded once, amazed that he could flatter the words right out of me. I followed him to the balcony.

The unseasonably warm air left me sweltering inside the sweatshirt. I sighed with irritation, tugging the zipper down slightly.