Page 86 of Fit for a King

Even if, in that life, it felt as though I barely existed at all.

27

NICHOLAS

IT WAS RAINING.

Again. And it had been going on a week now.

Not the wicked rainstorm that came after a hot summer’s day, but the miserable drizzle of a dark cloud that wouldn’t leave you the fuck alone.

It was fitting, really, that my life had taken a turn for the gray. That was what happened when you snuffed out the sunlight.

Or sent it away—and that was what I’d done to Noah. Shut the door on the daylight, banished myself to a life of gray gloom. I was wallowing in it like the stone-cold king I’d formerly been and now was again.

I walked over to where a glass of scotch sat on my desk and picked it up, staring out at the rain as it ran down the pane, wondering—not for the first time—where Noah was.

It was a common occurrence now, my mind wandering off to the places Noah might be, my imagination running wild with what he might be doing or thinking. But I tried not to let myself get too deep in the trenches there, because in the end it had been my choice.

I’d done the unthinkable.

I’d convinced him I was safe to love, and then turned around and proven he was right to fear it all along. But his friend, Violet, had been right. Every look, touch, night we spent together wouldn’t damage my reputation, but it would forever impact his, and his family’s, if it went any further.

I’d had to end it.

I threw back a swig of the scotch and, as it made a fiery path down my throat, picked up the three darts I’d had brought up earlier in the week, then walked to the middle of the room. Then I lifted the first one and lined the tip up with the bull’s-eye I’d had Reynolds hang on the door.

I let it go, throwing it across the sitting room, where it landed with a satisfying thwack. But a not-so-satisfying landing spot—in the black.

I growled to myself as I twisted the next dart between my fingers and pictured Alejandro’s face when he’d told me I needed to remove Noah from my service, then his footman as he’d leaned in and whispered in Noah’s ear. I hurled the sharp object across the room just as the door opened. As it hit on an angle and fell to the floor, Gabriel drew up short, his eyes popping wide.

“Jesus,” he said, looking down at the dart, then me. “You could’ve hit me.”

“Who says I wasn’t aiming?” I fired back, then turned away to pick up my glass. “Maybe if you announced yourself, your life would be in less peril.”

“Doubtful.” Gabriel bent down and picked up the dart before closing the door. “And if I’d announced myself, you would’ve turned me away.”

“And your safety would’ve been guaranteed. I’m not sure I’m seeing the problem here.”

“Other than the fact you’ve missed your second audience with the prime minister, as well as one with the lord chancellor, no problem.” Gabriel looked to where my bed sat unmade and the curtains were still drawn. “No problem at all. But people are starting to talk.”

“And I’m supposed to care, why?”

“Because you’re the king, and they look to you for guidance.”

“Yeah? Well, they can look somewhere else for a minute.”

“And I would agree,” he said, reaching for the bottle of scotch and capping it, “if it’d been just a minute, even two, but brother—it’s been much longer than that.”

I refused to look at him as he leaned back against the desk. But I could feel his eyes on me, feel his searching for an answer, waiting for some kind of reason for my recent behavior.

I had none.

“Are you going to talk to me?” he said.

“I was hoping not to.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that. We need to talk.”