“I just choose not to most days.”
“Would that have anything to do with why your military record is pretty much blacked out?” she asked carefully.
His whole body stiffened against her arm, and she expected him to climb to his feet and storm off. Instead, he exhaled loudly through his nose. “Are you sure you want to know about me, Daphne?”
“I know I may not like what I see.”
“No one else ever has,” he muttered darkly. “Is that really what you want to know? What about what your aunt said?”
Her hand reached across for his, and she marveled at how easily their hands fit together. “I want to know both. Can we do that? I am the princess, after all,” she added sarcastically. “Not that it means anything anymore.”
“It will if you believe it does,” he argued.
“Then tell me what’s going on in the city. Please, Matt, I have a right to know what everyone really thinks of me.”
His jaw clenched and he looked away, but he told her. With each word, Daphne’s anger rose. “You were six when Marietta was killed in that accident? Afterwards, the king and queen tucked you away behind the walls of the palace. You were hardly seen before, but after the accident, it was almost like you didn’t exist.”
“But I was still here. I saw people at festivals,” she insisted.
“Yes, and everyone saw your smiling face, but then you were tucked away again. Now that you’re older, rumors have started that you’re a shut-in, maybe even not right in the head,” he muttered, sounding as irritated as she felt. “Hell, I believed them before I met you.”
Daphne didn’t understand how it was possible. When her sister died, it hurt her, but she had moved past it. She had no choice. She was a princess, and there were duties to carry out. “The people… What do they think I do?”
He shrugged. “It varies. Some think you’re depressed all the time, hiding in your rooms. A few think you’re nothing more than a spoiled child who does nothing worthwhile.”
“And Aunt Agnes has been pushing for Dion to take over because the people believe I’m nothing more than a depressed shut-in?” She jumped to her feet, tottering towards the edge of the roof, but she caught herself and shoved Matt’s hands away as she stormed across the roof. “As if everything wasn’t already terrible, now they all think I’m useless! How am I supposed to prove anything to my people if they don’t even know what I’m already capable of?”
Matt cut off her pacing and gripped her shoulders. “You have to prove to them you’re worth following,” he said sternly. “You have to show them.”
“How? I can’t leave the damn palace walls!”
“When I was in the military, I commanded men,” he told her, each word sounding forced. “I had to prove to them I was a confident leader, that they could trust me to get them home alive.” He sucked in a shaky breath, and his hands twitched against her shoulders. “They had to know I would hit my targets without fail.”
Daphne’s hands reached up and covered his, holding them steady. “Targets. You were an assassin?”
His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. He never smiled, at least not with his mouth. “Close enough. I was a sniper.” A ghost of guilt and pain crossed his face and he tried to move away, but Daphne didn’t let him. She gripped his hands tighter, pressing them against her shoulders to keep him there. “I killed people, Daphne. It was my job, and I did it without a second thought,” he whispered bitterly.
“Here I am, worried about what people might think of me, and you’re dealing with something so much worse,” she whispered and brushed her fingers gently across his furrowed brow. “Is that why you never smile? You’re carrying around all this guilt for doing what you had to do?”
His mouth fell open, but he didn’t speak. Daphne moved her hand down his face, tracing the harsh lines of his cheekbones and jaw. Slowly, his face relaxed
“Would that have anything to do with why your military record is pretty much blacked out?” she asked carefully.
His whole body stiffened against her arm, and she expected him to climb to his feet and storm off. Instead, he exhaled loudly through his nose. “Are you sure you want to know about me, Daphne?”
“I know I may not like what I see.”
“No one else ever has,” he muttered darkly. “Is that really what you want to know? What about what your aunt said?”
Her hand reached across for his, and she marveled at how easily their hands fit together. “I want to know both. Can we do that? I am the princess, after all,” she added sarcastically. “Not that it means anything anymore.”
“It will if you believe it does,” he argued.
“Then tell me what’s going on in the city. Please, Matt, I have a right to know what everyone really thinks of me.”
His jaw clenched and he looked away, but he told her. With each word, Daphne’s anger rose. “You were six when Marietta was killed in that accident? Afterwards, the king and queen tucked you away behind the walls of the palace. You were hardly seen before, but after the accident, it was almost like you didn’t exist.”
“But I was still here. I saw people at festivals,” she insisted.
“Yes, and everyone saw your smiling face, but then you were tucked away again. Now that you’re older, rumors have started that you’re a shut-in, maybe even not right in the head,” he muttered, sounding as irritated as she felt. “Hell, I believed them before I met you.”
Daphne didn’t understand how it was possible. When her sister died, it hurt her, but she had moved past it. She had no choice. She was a princess, and there were duties to carry out. “The people… What do they think I do?”
He shrugged. “It varies. Some think you’re depressed all the time, hiding in your rooms. A few think you’re nothing more than a spoiled child who does nothing worthwhile.”
“And Aunt Agnes has been pushing for Dion to take over because the people believe I’m nothing more than a depressed shut-in?” She jumped to her feet, tottering towards the edge of the roof, but she caught herself and shoved Matt’s hands away as she stormed across the roof. “As if everything wasn’t already terrible, now they all think I’m useless! How am I supposed to prove anything to my people if they don’t even know what I’m already capable of?”
Matt cut off her pacing and gripped her shoulders. “You have to prove to them you’re worth following,” he said sternly. “You have to show them.”
“How? I can’t leave the damn palace walls!”
“When I was in the military, I commanded men,” he told her, each word sounding forced. “I had to prove to them I was a confident leader, that they could trust me to get them home alive.” He sucked in a shaky breath, and his hands twitched against her shoulders. “They had to know I would hit my targets without fail.”
Daphne’s hands reached up and covered his, holding them steady. “Targets. You were an assassin?”
His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. He never smiled, at least not with his mouth. “Close enough. I was a sniper.” A ghost of guilt and pain crossed his face and he tried to move away, but Daphne didn’t let him. She gripped his hands tighter, pressing them against her shoulders to keep him there. “I killed people, Daphne. It was my job, and I did it without a second thought,” he whispered bitterly.
“Here I am, worried about what people might think of me, and you’re dealing with something so much worse,” she whispered and brushed her fingers gently across his furrowed brow. “Is that why you never smile? You’re carrying around all this guilt for doing what you had to do?”
His mouth fell open, but he didn’t speak. Daphne moved her hand down his face, tracing the harsh lines of his cheekbones and jaw. Slowly, his face relaxed
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