Winter (The Lunar Chronicles #4) - Marissa Meyer Page 0,35

he looked away. There were times when she stood so close that he was amazed at his own ability to keep his hands to himself.

Moving the basket to her other arm, Winter started walking again. “Not everyone thinks I’m beautiful.”

He scoffed. “Whoever told you that, they were lying. Or jealous. Probably both.”

“You don’t think I’m beautiful.”

He snorted—somewhat uncontrollably—and laughed harder when she glared at him.

“That’s funny?”

Schooling his expression, he mimicked her glare. “Keep saying things like that and people will start to think you’ve gone crazy.”

She opened her mouth to refute. Hesitated. Nearly ran into a wall before Jacin scooped her back into the center of the narrow alley.

“You’ve never once called me beautiful,” she said after his hand had fallen back to his side.

“In case you haven’t noticed, you have an entire country of people singing your praises. Did you know they write poetry about you in the outer sectors? I had to listen to this drunk sing a whole ballad a few months back, all about your goddess-like perfection. I’m pretty sure the galaxy doesn’t need my input on the matter.”

She ducked her head, hiding her face behind a cascade of hair. Which was just as well. Jacin’s cheeks had gone warm, which made him both self-conscious and irritated.

“Your input is the only input that matters,” she whispered.

He stiffened, cutting a glance to her that she didn’t return. It occurred to him that he may have led them into a topic he had no intentions of exploring further. Fantasies, sure. Wishes, all the time. But reality? No—this was taboo. This would end in nothing good.

She was a princess. Her stepmother was a tyrant who would marry Winter off to someone who was politically beneficial for her own desires.

Jacin was the opposite of politically beneficial.

But here they were, and there she was looking all pretty and rejected, and why had he opened his big, stupid mouth?

Jacin sighed, exasperated. With her. With himself. With this whole situation. “Come on, Princess. You know how I feel about you. Everyone knows how I feel about you.”

Winter stopped again, but he kept walking, shaking his finger over his shoulder. “I’m not saying these things and looking at you at the same time, so keep up.”

She scurried after him. “How do you feel about me?”

“No. That’s it. That’s all I’m saying. I am your guard. I am here to protect you and keep you out of trouble, and that’s it. We are not swapping words that will result in a whole lot of awkward nights standing outside your bedroom door, got it?”

He was surprised at how angry he sounded—no, how angry he felt. Because it was impossible. It was impossible and unfair, and he had spent too many years in the trenches of unfairness to get riled up about it now.

Winter strode beside him, her fingers clenched around the basket handle. At least she wasn’t trying to catch his eye anymore, which was a small mercy.

“I do know how you feel about me,” she finally said, and it sounded like a confession. “I know that you are my guard, and you are my best friend. I know you would die for me. And I know that should that ever happen, I would die immediately after.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s pretty much it.” The sound of a nearby coffee grinder rumbled through the stone walkway, and the smell of baking bread assaulted his senses. He braced himself. “Also, I think you’re sort of pretty. You know. On a good day.”

She giggled and nudged him with her shoulder. He nudged her back and she stumbled into a flower planter, laughing harder now.

“You’re sort of pretty too,” she said. He threw a scowl at her, but it was impossible to hold on to when she was laughing like that.

“Your Highness!”

They both paused. Jacin stiffened, his hand going to his gun holster, but it was only a young girl watching them from the doorway of a little shop. A soap-filled bucket stood untouched at her feet and her eyes were as big as the full Earth.

“Oh, hello,” said Winter, adjusting her basket. “Astrid, isn’t it?”

The girl nodded, heat climbing up her cheeks as she gaped at the princess. “I—” She glanced toward the shop, then back to Winter. “Wait here!” she squealed, then dropped a rag into the bucket with a wet plop and rushed through the door.

Winter cocked her head to one side, her hair tumbling over her shoulder.

“You know that kid?”

“Her mother and father run this florist.”