Read Online Reign: A Royal Military Romance by Roxie Noir - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Roxie Noir
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little.
“Because I know what a tiny harp is called?”
“I’m just kidding,” I say, already wishing I could backtrack.
He kicks at a loose rock and it bounces across the stone blocks that make up the floor of the rampart.
“Did it work?” he finally asks. “Are you impressed?”
“That you knew the word lyre?” I ask, smiling.
“That I know more about heaven than you,” he says.
“You’re not going to convince me you’re an angel,” I say. “You snuck up here just like I did.”
“It’s my palace,” he points out. “I don’t have to sneak anywhere.”
“So the palace guard knows where you are right now?” I ask.
“I just said I don’t have to sneak, not that I didn’t,” he says. “Having your every move tracked can get tedious after a while.”
“You’re taking a pretty big risk being alone with me, then,” I say. “Maybe I’m an assassin.”
The second I say that out loud, I regret it.
“I’m not an assassin,” I say quickly.
“Yes, that was a joke,” he says, his eyes sparkling again. “I’m catching on.”
“I just couldn’t sleep,” I say.
“Me either,” he says.
He looks like he’s about to go on, but doesn’t.
I take a deep breath.
He came and gave you bread when you humiliated yourself , I think.
“You know what helps me sleep sometimes?” I say, reaching into my pocket.
“Is it smoking marijuana?” he asks.
“Shit,” I say, and laugh. “I guess I wasn’t very crafty.”
“It’s not what Americans are known for,” he says.
“I’ve still got half a joint,” I offer. “I smuggled it from Amsterdam by accident.”
I pull out the joint and the lighter and offer them.
I have no idea if he’s ever even smoked before. Everything I’ve read about the prince makes him sound like a serious, straight arrow who toes the line.
I’m starting to realize that there’s more to Kostya than the official reports, though.
“A medical school dropout and a drug smuggler,” he says, taking the joint and the lighter. “Bad girl doesn’t even start to describe you.”
“It got lost in my dirty laundry,” I say. I have no idea whether that makes me more or less of a bad girl. “I didn’t mean to smuggle it here.”
He lights it and takes a deep breath, then holds it in before blowing the smoke up toward the stars. Then he coughs a little.
“It’s been a while,” he says.
The crown prince of Sveloria takes one more hit off of my smuggled joint, then hands it back to me. I crush it out again on the stone wall. He exhales again and clears his throat.
“These stones are hundreds of years old,” he says. I think he’s trying to sound stern again, but I’m not falling for it.
“Then they’ve had worse things happen to them,” I say, and put the stub and the lighter back in my pocket again.
“The ramparts were built so that archers could fire flaming arrows at ships coming ashore,” he admits.
I stick my hands in my pockets, not bothering to cross my arms anymore. My nipples are definitely out, proudly declaring I am cold and/or slightly aroused, and trying to hide them is only making it more obvious.
I hope Kostya thinks I’m just cold.
“What’s keeping you awake?” I ask.
He looks at me for a long moment. His eyes are slightly glassy.
I pray that I didn’t get him too high. Even though he’s over six feet of muscle, if he doesn’t smoke much, two hits can screw a guy up.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he says. “If I tell you why I’m awake, you tell me the long story about why you dropped out of med school.”
“It’s not a good story,” I say.
He shrugs.
“It doesn’t reflect well on me,” I say. “Not that I’ve made a great impression so far.”
Kostya runs one hand over his hair, shakes his head a little, and then looks at me.
“Now, you worry about the impression that you’ve made?” he asks.
“Better late than never?” I say.
He smiles. Maybe it’s the pot, but he actually, legitimately
“Because I know what a tiny harp is called?”
“I’m just kidding,” I say, already wishing I could backtrack.
He kicks at a loose rock and it bounces across the stone blocks that make up the floor of the rampart.
“Did it work?” he finally asks. “Are you impressed?”
“That you knew the word lyre?” I ask, smiling.
“That I know more about heaven than you,” he says.
“You’re not going to convince me you’re an angel,” I say. “You snuck up here just like I did.”
“It’s my palace,” he points out. “I don’t have to sneak anywhere.”
“So the palace guard knows where you are right now?” I ask.
“I just said I don’t have to sneak, not that I didn’t,” he says. “Having your every move tracked can get tedious after a while.”
“You’re taking a pretty big risk being alone with me, then,” I say. “Maybe I’m an assassin.”
The second I say that out loud, I regret it.
“I’m not an assassin,” I say quickly.
“Yes, that was a joke,” he says, his eyes sparkling again. “I’m catching on.”
“I just couldn’t sleep,” I say.
“Me either,” he says.
He looks like he’s about to go on, but doesn’t.
I take a deep breath.
He came and gave you bread when you humiliated yourself , I think.
“You know what helps me sleep sometimes?” I say, reaching into my pocket.
“Is it smoking marijuana?” he asks.
“Shit,” I say, and laugh. “I guess I wasn’t very crafty.”
“It’s not what Americans are known for,” he says.
“I’ve still got half a joint,” I offer. “I smuggled it from Amsterdam by accident.”
I pull out the joint and the lighter and offer them.
I have no idea if he’s ever even smoked before. Everything I’ve read about the prince makes him sound like a serious, straight arrow who toes the line.
I’m starting to realize that there’s more to Kostya than the official reports, though.
“A medical school dropout and a drug smuggler,” he says, taking the joint and the lighter. “Bad girl doesn’t even start to describe you.”
“It got lost in my dirty laundry,” I say. I have no idea whether that makes me more or less of a bad girl. “I didn’t mean to smuggle it here.”
He lights it and takes a deep breath, then holds it in before blowing the smoke up toward the stars. Then he coughs a little.
“It’s been a while,” he says.
The crown prince of Sveloria takes one more hit off of my smuggled joint, then hands it back to me. I crush it out again on the stone wall. He exhales again and clears his throat.
“These stones are hundreds of years old,” he says. I think he’s trying to sound stern again, but I’m not falling for it.
“Then they’ve had worse things happen to them,” I say, and put the stub and the lighter back in my pocket again.
“The ramparts were built so that archers could fire flaming arrows at ships coming ashore,” he admits.
I stick my hands in my pockets, not bothering to cross my arms anymore. My nipples are definitely out, proudly declaring I am cold and/or slightly aroused, and trying to hide them is only making it more obvious.
I hope Kostya thinks I’m just cold.
“What’s keeping you awake?” I ask.
He looks at me for a long moment. His eyes are slightly glassy.
I pray that I didn’t get him too high. Even though he’s over six feet of muscle, if he doesn’t smoke much, two hits can screw a guy up.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he says. “If I tell you why I’m awake, you tell me the long story about why you dropped out of med school.”
“It’s not a good story,” I say.
He shrugs.
“It doesn’t reflect well on me,” I say. “Not that I’ve made a great impression so far.”
Kostya runs one hand over his hair, shakes his head a little, and then looks at me.
“Now, you worry about the impression that you’ve made?” he asks.
“Better late than never?” I say.
He smiles. Maybe it’s the pot, but he actually, legitimately
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