“Thanks.” I didn’t break our gaze. There was nowhere else I wanted to look.
“So . . .” Donovan rolled the word around in his mouth, tasting it. “I know the favor I want.”
“What?”
He pulled me closer and lowered his head. He did this slowly, watching my reaction, giving me time to move away if this wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t move away. I kept my eyes open until the last moment. Then I shut them and felt his lips press against mine.
My worries about my first kiss had been unfounded. Our teeth didn’t bang together. My lips knew what to do. They followed his lead.
Donovan slid his hands around my waist, and I wound mine around his neck. His jacket lay open and as I leaned against his chest I felt the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It felt like music, and the words that sang through my insides were, “Donovan likes me like that.”
I’m not sure how long we kissed. He wasn’t in a hurry to end this and neither was I. Finally he lifted his head.
I smiled at him, my arms still draped around his shoulders. “You’re right. That wasn’t such a bad favor.”
He kept his gaze on me, but didn’t smile back. Worry tinged his eyes. “I’m probably not your usual type, am I?”
“I don’t really have a usual type.”
He stiffened, and the worry in his expression grew. “Because you see so many different types of guys?”
It was sweet he thought so many different types of guys were interested in me. I couldn’t lie though, and didn’t want to. If he liked me, he had to know who I was. “At your school do you have girls that are friends with guys, but never hang out with them except as friends?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m one of those girls.”
His eyebrows rose in happy surprise. “Score. The guys at your school are stupid.”
I laughed at his assessment. “Yeah, exactly. So it turns out you can be my type.”
He smiled, but it was still the shadowed with worry. “Will I still be your type when we go back to the twenty-first century?”
That was what was bothering him? He thought I was only interested in him as a fairy tale fling?
I drew out my words. “That depends. What’s your usual type of girl?”
He pulled me closer. “Beautiful, talented . . . often clumsy . . . completely honest . . . oh, and over Jason.”
“I think I’m your type.”
“Good.” He smiled, leaned down, and kissed me again.
Chapter 21
Donovan and I held hands on the way back to the castle. I don’t remember anything about the walk—who or what we saw along the way. I felt like the sun had risen inside me, like a long dim chapter in my life had ended and everything was brighter now. It both amazed and frightened me how much a couple kisses could stir my emotions. No, it wasn’t the kisses; it was the feeling behind them. It was Donovan seeing so much in me he couldn’t imagine the guys in my school seeing less.
Most things hadn’t changed since this morning. I was still stuck in the wrong century, and I had to steal a cup from a powerful fairy in order to return home. But I was grinning like none of it mattered because Donovan was holding my hand. What had happened to me?
By the time we got back to the castle, my lady’s maid was searching for me so she could help me dress for supper. I hadn’t realized I needed different clothes for that. Apparently in this time period the evening meal required its own attire. While she bustled me upstairs to change my clothes, a valet directed Donovan to his room for similar treatment.
I put on a dark blue dress with gold trim crisscrossing the underskirt and sleeves. My lady’s maid’s hands flew through my hair with practiced ease, braiding my hair so it resembled a ribboned Christmas wreath. My sisters were readying themselves for dinner as well, but they didn’t say anything to me while our servants primped us into our finery. A couple sent me disapproving looks, though. They probably weren’t pleased that I’d disappeared all afternoon with Donovan. I didn’t care.
When I walked into the dining room, he was waiting by my seat. He wore a dark green jerkin with flared shoulders that emphasized his own. Sort of matador-ish and cool. He gave me a broad smile, and his gaze travelled over me in an approving way. Perhaps changing for dinner wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
During the meal, we talked about school, swapping bad teacher stories. Donovan had me laughing in a very unprincessly manner about his chemistry teacher, who was occasionally careless in his demonstrations and at one point set his desk on fire.
“Mr. Mertz put out the fire right away,” Donovan said, “but once the fire alarms go off, they make everyone evacuate anyway. We had to stand around outside while the firemen checked out the room for smoldering, combustible remains.”
“At least you got out of class,” I said.
“Yeah, and the best part was when Tyrone Wright carjacked the fire truck.”
“Seriously?”
“The guy never should have messed with men who wield axes. That’ll teach him to take a dare from me.”
“You didn’t!” With the smirk on Donovan’s lips, I couldn’t tell whether he was serious or not.
“Hey, the hood is an exciting place to live.”
King Rothschild interrupted our conversation. “And what would you do, Prince Donovan, about the outer provinces?”
Donovan straightened and his voice took on a formal tone. “Pardon me, Sire. What is your problem with the outer provinces?”
The king ripped into his food with an enthusiasm that seemed out of place. “We won the war. Each province surrendered and swore fealty, yet they refuse to pay the reparations they agreed to. If you became King of Capenzia, what would you do about such defiance?”
Donovan hesitated. “Is it defiance, Sire, or are the outer provinces just unable to pay? Certainly the war must have been a financial burden to their lands as well as yours.”
The king knifed the slab of meat on his plate, cutting it with gusto. “Their burdens aren’t my concern. They caused the war and as such must pay for it. If I don’t enact a price for their rebellion, what’s to keep them from rebelling again?”
Several of my sisters glanced at one another uncomfortably. A couple looked like they wanted to speak, but none did. Donovan watched them, waiting, then spoke himself. “Have you considered marriages of alliance between your daughters and the provinces’ princes?”
The clinking of silverware immediately stopped. Half of my sisters cast disbelieving looks at Donovan, the others cast hopeful looks at our father.
King Rothschild didn’t see any of them. He made a grumbling noise in the back of his throat, like he was choking on Donovan’s words. “Why would I give my daughters to the sons of conniving, treacherous men?” He set his goblet down with such a forceful thunk that the liquid sloshed onto the tablecloth. “Why not give them my silver, horses, and land too? That would teach my subjects not to cross me.”
The king lifted his hand as though making an announcement. “Come fight King Rothschild. If you win, you’ll take his possessions, and if you lose he’ll give them to you.” He lowered his hand and picked up his fork. “Nonsense. I’ll give my daughters to allies not enemies.”
The king went on for several more minutes, insisting foes needed to be crushed not coddled. If he hadn’t been so intent on his speech, he might have noticed several of his daughters let out disappointed whimpers and others stared forlornly at their plates.
I was glad the fairy tale ended with their marriages to the princes. Sooner or later the king would have a change of heart.
When the king finally stopped ranting about rewarding cutthroats, Donovan addressed him again. “Sire, do you want the provinces ruled by allies or enemies?”
“I want them to obey me. That’s all.”
Donovan should have dropped it. The princesses had never given him a reason to champion their cause, and the king had made it clear he didn’t welcome differing opinions. But Donovan didn’t drop the subject.