The Lightning-Struck Heart (62 page)

“Yes,” Randall said. “You are. But you are not the only one. There will be others not bound as you are, and Sam will find them. Away, Knight Commander Foxheart. I won’t ask again.”

Ryan’s jaw tensed, but that was all. His gaze flickered to mine, and I held it because I wasn’t going to be hurt by him. I wasn’t going to show on my face that my insides were screaming for him to fight back. To rally against Morgan and Randall. Against Tiggy and Gary and Kevin. Against all of them. For me.

He didn’t, of course.

He called to his knights, even as some of them shook their heads. Pete looked annoyed, but he listened to his commander. They began to shuffle toward the far end of the sparring fields.

“You knew,” I said as I watched him go. “You saw him coming and knew how my magic would react.”

“Yes,” Randall said simply.

“It won’t be the same,” I admitted. “With anyone else.”

He looked sad at that. “I know. But it will be enough.”

“Has this ever happened before?”

Randall could have played the fool. He could have lied. Instead, he said, “Once.”

Morgan looked to speak, but Randall shook his head, once, cutting him off.

“And?” I asked.

“The man went Dark. He killed many people.”

“What happened to him?”

Randall sighed. “I destroyed him. I destroyed him because I could not save him. He made a choice, and like with any choice, there were consequences. I was one such consequence.”

“You’re worried about me. Aren’t you?” I didn’t know if that made me feel good or even worse.

“Not yet,” Randall said, and wonder of all wonders, he smiled at me. “You’ll know when I start to get worried.”

Avoidance Is Key
to Maintaining a Happy Sam

“I’
M
WORRIED
,”
Randall said a few days later while I worked on my Grimoire in the labs.

And because I hadn’t stopped thinking about a single word he’d said, I freaked.

“I’m going Dark side, aren’t I?” I said, sounding rather breathless at the horror of it. “I’ll have to go live in the Dark Woods and be broody and start to monologue about everything. I’ll try and trap people and then tell them all about my plans, thus giving them the means to stop me with, but I won’t be able to do a thing about it because I won’t have a fuck left to give! I knew this was going to happen! Why, just last night, I thought about taking the last strawberry scone on the plate even though I
knew
Gary wanted it. I thought to myself just how delicious that scone would be and how I wanted it in my mouth, and even though Gary asked if he could have it,
I didn’t care
. I didn’t care that my best friend wanted the last strawberry scone because I wanted it myself. I had to forcibly stop myself from taking it and lording it over him. I wanted to rub it in his face that it was
my
godsdamn scone. And don’t get me started on my
other
devious plots that I have bouncing around in my head.”

I waited.

Randall didn’t say anything.

I sighed. “You’re supposed to ask me about my other devious plots.”

“I really don’t want to,” he said.

“Randall.”

“Sam. You’re monologuing.”

“Oh. My.
Gods
. It’s happening! It’s
happening
. Randall.
Randall
. You have to kill me. You have to kill me before I lose control and come up with a ridiculous plan for world domination that relies on way too many moving parts and a completely ludicrous
deus ex machina
twist that makes no sense to the overall arc.”

“So. Like. Your whole life. Basically.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you seriously getting
sassy
with me right now?”

“I would never call myself
sassy
, Sam,” he said.

“This is
serious
!”

“Sam. You’re not turning into a Dark wizard.”

“You just said you were worried!”

“I did. About what you’re going to wear to the wedding.”

“I… you…
what
?”

“And are you bringing a date? I think you should consider bringing a date.”

“What the fuck—?”

“You are representing the King and Morgan after all. And by extension, me as well. Can’t have you looking alone and slovenly. Why, the rumors alone in the Court would be egregious.”

“Randall!”

“Yes, Sam. You may not be aware, but I am standing right next to you. There is no need to shout.”

“I will turn your nose back into a dick, so help me gods.”

He frowned. “Would that make you feel better? About the whole wedding thing? If it would, I wouldn’t be adverse.”

I gaped at him.

“Just don’t make it so big this time,” he said. “It was hard to officiate the ceremony last time when it kept falling in my mouth.”

“I can honestly say that I wish I’d never heard those words coming from you,” I told him.

“Can you do this?” he asked me seriously.

“Of course I can,” I said. I even almost believed my own words. “I’m Sam of Wilds.”

A
ND
I
thought I
could
do it. I really did. I told myself that the key to a happy Sam would be to handle my problems the way they should be handled. Maturely and responsibly.

So the solution was obvious.

Avoidance. Lots and lots of avoidance.

Now, let it not be said that I never faced certain… complications… head on. Many parties can probably attest that I often found myself in the thick of things, with no real idea as to how I got there (see gay fairy marriages and how every Dark wizard in existence seemed to want me dead). If someone I cared about was in danger, I’d fight my hardest. If I saw injustice, I tried to correct it. I spoke for those who could not, I helped those who could not help themselves, and I tried to be an all-around good person on top of it, regardless of the minor slipups I had where I ventured into morally gray territory.

However, when things got personal?

Well. That changed everything.

I offer the following evidence:

Five-year-old Sam said, “Hi, Mary. Why are you looking at me weird?”

Seven-year-old Mary said, “We should get married when we get older because I love you and you can stay at home and bake pie while I go to work at the mill, and I will have babies and you can raise them because my mom says that we don’t have to follow normal gender constructs.”

Five-year-old Sam said, “My mom is calling. I have to go. Bye. Oh, and I am moving to another country and if you see someone who looks like me after today, it’s not me, just someone who looks like me and is not really me and is probably my evil twin so just ignore him forever.”

And:

Nine-year-old Sam said, “We could be friends. I’ve always wanted to have friends.”

Ten-year-old Monique said, “We can start as friends, I guess. And then you can be my boyfriend. You must tell me I am pretty every day and kiss me on the lips and say things about how you like my eyes.”

Nine-year-old Sam said, “I don’t want friends that bad. My mom is calling. I am moving. Boy who looks like me is evil. Avoid at all costs.”

And:

Fifteen-year-old Sam said, “Who is that? Is that a new knight? What’s his name? Why does he look like my dreams?”

The hornless gay unicorn named Gary said, “Oh, girl, you’ve got a good eye. That’s Ryan Foxheart. Pulled up from the King’s Army.”

Fifteen-year-old Sam breathed, “I want to put my face on his face.”

The hornless gay unicorn named Gary said, “Um. What did you say?”

Fifteen-year-old Sam said, “Nothing! Nothing. Um. I have to go. Upstairs. To… touch. The walls.”

The hornless gay unicorn named Gary said, “Why don’t you just go introduce yourself?”

Fifteen-year-old Sam said, “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Good-bye.”

So. There’s a history there.

Granted, I’d never been in as deep as I was now.

Which made the avoidance that much more necessary.

And that much more ridiculously difficult.

Because it had been a
very
long time since there’d been a royal wedding. The King and the Queen had been twenty and seventeen, respectively, so the decades that had passed since then were a long drought for those that lived for such things.

And unfortunately, it seemed most lived for it.

The City of Lockes was transformed into the City of Rainbow Fucking Sunshine Because Everyone Is Celebrating Team Rystin. Banners were hung around the City, the profiles of Justin and Ryan flapping in the wind. Blooms of flowers were placed at almost every corner. Garland wrapped around the streetlights. Vendors set up carts on the roads, selling Completely Authentic Rystin Merchandise (which, shockingly, was not authentic at all and was most likely made in Meridian City by an aging factory worker and was in no way, shape, or form endorsed by anyone from the castle). All the hotels sold out within a day. I hoped Todd and his father were pleased. I spared a brief moment to appreciate the memory of Todd’s ears.

But everyone was thrilled and merry and gay. There were smiles on people’s faces, a skip to their steps.

Well, until they saw me.

Then there were the looks of sympathy, a slight wince to their faces because apparently
everyone
knew my business.

So.

Avoidance.

“Hey, Sam. How are you doing? Do you need to talk to—?”

“Nope!”

“Oh, Sam. Maybe you should just—”

“Nope.”

“Hi, Sam. You don’t know me, but I want to offer you my condol—”

“No, thank you.”

“Sam. Forget Ryan Foxheart. My last name is Harding. Combine that and we’d be HaveHard. Doesn’t that sound… erotic?”

“Nope!”

Avoidance became my mantra.

I told myself it would be easier to get over this entire shitstorm if I didn’t have anything to do with Ryan and Justin leading up to the wedding.

With Justin, it worked out marvelously for the both of us because he seemed to be doing the same to me and was obviously far too busy with the wedding planners, discussing the food and clothes and decorations and music and lighting and vows and flowers—especially since my mother had looked at him, laughed, and walked away when he told her he’d be requiring her services. It was the first time in my life I’d appreciated a mutually beneficial arrangement I had going on with the Prince.

And Ryan?

Well.

Let me tell you about
that
motherfucker.

Avoidance is key to maintaining a happy Sam.

When problems of a lightning-struck heart are prevalent, avoid them until they go away all on their own.

Ryan did not get that memo.

While Randall was forcing me to elucidate, Ryan was right there, lurking like a fucking jackass in the corners.

“Can we help you?” Randall asked him once after he followed us into the library.

“No, no,” Ryan said. “Just looking for… this book,” he said, pulling one off the shelf. “To do… research.”

Randall looked over and read off the title. “
Sex & Pregnancy: You Won’t Actually Poke the Baby
. Huh. That’s… light reading.”

Ryan blushed, and it made me want to poke
his
baby.

Or something.

It was all very confusing.

“Yes, well,” he muttered. “Can’t be too careful.” Then he fled.

“Idiot,” Randall muttered, sounding strangely fond.

W
HILE
M
ORGAN
and I were conducting our blood-on-shrooms experiment, Ryan just happened to need access to the labs to “continue the research” he’d done before he’d left the castle on the quest to rescue Justin. When Morgan asked Ryan to remind him just what that research had been seeing as how the wizard had
never
seen Ryan in the labs researching
anything
, Ryan mumbled something about poking babies and some such and then accidently set his trousers on fire when he leaned against a burner. It was very awkward (read: stimulating) because he was forced to take off said trousers to avoid burns and apparently had forgotten that day to wear undergarments, his top
just
long enough to preserve his modesty. Morgan sighed a little. I died a little. Ryan fled.

“Shall we continue?” Morgan asked, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

“Oh my gods,” I said because I couldn’t quite compose my thoughts as I was pretty sure I’d just seen a hint of Ryan Foxheart’s balls.

“Sam?”

“Oh my gods.”

“And I’m pretty sure the experiment is over for the day.”

“Oh my gods.”

W
HEN
G
ARY
and I plotted our plans to follow the rumors of unicorn horns, Ryan happened to be sitting at the table next to ours in the so-called War Room, obviously doing his best to feign ignorance as we pored over the maps. It wasn’t working. The book he was holding in his hands was upside-down. It’s like he wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

“And just think,” Gary said, far more loudly than what was actually necessary, “after we get done with these ridiculous obligations your station requires you to be present for—because let’s be honest, that’s the
only
reason we’re still here—we’ll leave this place far behind and you, my young kitten, will find yourself a man of the desert. Dark skin and dark hair. Big dick and awesome nipples. His name will be Matta and he will take you into his desert dwelling before he goes into your desert dwelling.”

Ryan’s hands tightened on his book.

“That was… unsurprisingly descriptive,” I said.

“Shhh,” the War Room librarian said. She had to be almost as old as Randall.

“Sorry, Griselda,” Gary said, sticky sweet.

“Matta, huh?” I said. “Can his first name be Wassa?”

Gary stared at me blankly.