Red Heir - Lisa Henry Page 0,79
can’t believe it. Because you could do a lot better than a penniless scribe with a limp and a penchant for scarves, you know? Ask anyone. Ask Greylord, or Ada, or Calarian or Dave. Hell, even ask my parents. But you... you’re standing here telling me that you love me.”
“That’s what I said.” Quinn held his gaze. “Is that a problem?”
Loth was still reeling from the news that Quinn loved him. Somehow he’d missed it, but that was okay. It was better than okay, because now he knew and he’d get to tell Quinn that he loved him back. He reached up and untangled Quinn’s fingers from their death grip in his doublet, then laced their fingers together and took one tiny step forward.
“No,” he said quietly, leaning their foreheads together. “As it happens I feel the same, so it’s not a problem at all.”
The smile Quinn showed him was dazzling.
Loth managed a shaky smile in return. “I’m not sure how it solves the whole two prince issue, though.”
Quinn dropped to his knee.
Loth’s blood heated. “I mean, it’s a nice offer, but is this really the time? Wait what am I saying—it’s always a good time. But did you lock the door? We don’t want a repeat of that time in the—”
“Loth!” Quinn jabbed him in the thigh. “I’m trying to ask you to marry me.”
Loth’s mouth fell open. “Bullshit.”
Quinn sighed and stood up. “You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you?”
“You love me anyway,” Loth said, just because he could, and saying it made him smile all over again. “Why did you get up? Are you checking the door's locked?”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “I’m not blowing you, idiot. I’m serious. I’m actually proposing. They want a legitimate heir on the throne? We’ll give them one. They don’t need to know which of us it is, do they? If we’re married, we rule jointly.”
A jar of buzzing wasps momentarily replaced Loth’s brain. Because Quinn wasn’t just offering marriage. He was offering Aguillon. He was offering the kingdom.
“I’d be stealing,” he babbled, “and I’ve never stolen anything before that didn’t fit in my pocket or my scarf.”
Quinn poked him in the chest. “You’re not stealing anything. I’m sharing it with you. Also, what are you talking about stealing?” His eyes widened. “The kingdom, or my heart?”
Loth spluttered with laughter. “Gods, you’re right. I’m sorry, I really don't have a romantic bone in my body, because that was probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, and I laughed. I should say yes now before you come to your senses and back out.”
“Say it, then,” Quinn said, his eyes shining. “Make your choice. You can either go back to being a penniless scribe, or you can say yes.”
“Yes,” Loth said, dizzy with emotion. “Yes.”
Quinn laughed, and leaned in and kissed him. Hard. And then he went and locked the door, and sauntered back to Loth with a wicked gleam in his eye.
This time when he dropped to his knees, there was no confusion.
Chapter Nineteen
Loth tugged at the collar of his doublet. He wondered if he could undo the top clasp or if his mum would come over and fasten it again like she’d been doing all night, tutting and fussing and telling him to stop fidgeting. He didn’t mind, really—not given how well she and Dad had taken the news. When Loth had told them that he and Quinn were getting married and that he’d be joint ruler of the kingdom, Mum had looked across at Dad and said, “Told you. And really, it’s not a patch on that business with the Lord Mayor’s son. Or his wife. Or the minstrels.”
Loth had a sneaking suspicion his parents actually preferred Quinn over him, but then, he preferred Quinn over himself as well, so he couldn’t fault their taste. He tugged at the collar again, and Quinn elbowed him. “Stop it, Mum will see.” Because she was Mum to both of them now, of course.
“I am the ruler of Aguillon, and I’ll undo my collar if I want,” Loth said, pretending to pout. He mainly did it so Quinn would kiss him, and it worked wonderfully well.
The ceremony had passed in a haze, and, frankly, Loth was still waiting for someone to come along and pinch him. But no, the weight of the crown he was wearing appeared to be very real. So did the weight of Quinn’s hand in his, offering a comforting squeeze whenever Loth found himself