Page 83 of Not Another Happily Ever After

I nod, my throat tightening around the words I suddenly can’t seem to say.

Frog bows his head, swallowing hard as he slowly lowers himself to sit beside me. His shoulder rubs against mine and I forget how to breathe.

What was I thinking? Promising him I’d sleep with him near.If the sweeping sensation low in my belly is any indicator, I will be doing nothing of the sort.

“Is this alright?” Frog tenses.

“Yes,” I manage.

“Do you…sleep sitting up?” he asks.

I look to him, expecting some sort of jest. Instead, his eyes remain lowered, following the faint tremble of his hands.

My chest tightens. I don’t know what frightens me more—that he’s nervous…or that I know exactly why.

“Normally I take every palliasse in the castle, and stack them one on top of the other until I’m lying just beneath the stars.” I give a half-hearted laugh, hoping to ease the tension between us. But it only draws the silence tighter, until it feels like we’re both holding our breath.

Frog clears his throat, his gaze refusing to settle.

“Would you…like to do that?” he asks.

My forehead puckers. “Climb a stack of…palliasse?”

The knight’s shoulders loosen, a soft laugh escaping behind his mask. When his eyes finally find mine, the small spark in my chest becomes a flame.

For a long moment neither of us speaks.

Slowly, I sink to the floor, unable to look away. His gaze clings to me—steady, searching, as though he’s trying to memorize a moment neither of us should want.

Then, without looking away, he joins me on the floor.

The frayed rug beneath us is cold, but the space between us hums with a warmth I don’t dare name.

And yet… “Frog?”

“Yes, Miss Sunday?”

“You once said you were frightened by me…” I say.

He lets his eyes fall shut as he blows out a long, slow breath.

I hesitate, afraid to ask. Afraid to know.

“Do I still make you feel this way?”

His eyes open, and the ache in them tells me everything I wish it didn’t.

“Miss Sunday?—”

“It’s alright,” I interrupt, sealing the shattering of hope beneath closed eyes. “I’ll simply have to try again tomorrow,” I whisper, then turn to face the other way.

“Try what?” Frog asks as I surrender to the sleep beckoning my name.

“To win you over.” I yawn, already slipping into a dream, where the scent of wild orange and cinnamon wraps itself around me and Frog whispers sweet nothings while gently combing his fingers through my hair…

“I’m already yours, Miss Sunday. Heart, body and soul. It’s you I fear losing…”

Muffledvoices reach me through the carriage door, shouting and cursing, spoiling my good dream.