Shadow Touched

7. GREY

"Please, Finch."

"No."

"Finch."

"No."

As soon as I finished speaking with my father, I searched high and low for Finch but couldn't find him anywhere. I learned early on about the Captain that if he doesn't want to be found, he won't be. How he manages to disappear so completely is beyond me.

I left a message with one of his men for him to find me the moment he returns from wherever he's slinked off to.

I went back to my room, and, well, I guess you could say I celebrated my victory, which is a gentleman's way of saying I got even more drunk than I already was.

Now, I am staring at my friend, watching as he refuses to meet my eyes. It's a bit funny. Finch is a giant of a man. I mean, I'm no shrimp, but Finch, he's a warrior. He has to be at least six-foot-four. His body is corded in muscle. He's the youngest Captain of the Guard in Atheccan history and arguably the most skilled swordsman in the country. Quite frankly, he's not someone you'd want to piss off. Yet, here he stands, resolutely not looking at me, all because I am heir to the throne. He'd have no problem saying no to any other man making this or any other request of him. His shoulders are folded in on themselves, his hands jammed firmly in his pants pockets, doing his best to ignore me. He thinks that by not looking at me, I'll magically disappear.

"Finch," I implore.

"The King is already sending a dispatch."

"This is different."

"No."

"Finch," I repeat, this time with more authority. "What if I told you this was not a request? Would you still say no?"

"Yes."

I wait. Finally, the Captain looks at me. He sighs. Naturally, he's forever sighing.

"Your Highness..." he begins, trailing off, as though that alone is enough to make me see reason.

"Grey. I—may I speak plainly?"

I blink, surprised that he thinks he needs to ask. "Of course."

"This is a huge mistake."

A tiny tendril of rage unfurls in my stomach. I try to shake it off.

"Gods, Finch, tell me how you really feel."

He purses his lips. It makes him look a little like the Dowager Viscountess Skullding. At the realization, I find myself biting back another laugh. The tendril of rage dissipates.

"Have you forgotten what happened the last time she was here? Of the madness she created? The havoc? The—the—pain? Because I haven't, Grey. I haven't forgotten how she led you down a path of vice, brought you to a point where you questioned your position, and led you to behave in a way unbecoming of the House of Valderre and of a Prince of Athecca!

"And let's not forget the fact that she nearly led you to an early grave. That her impetuousness, her sheer pigheadedness sent us into the arms of a madman, resulting in the death of my General and—"

"Yes!" I finally interject, "Your General Finch. Your General, and her father. Have you really forgotten all she lost?"

"Of course I haven't," he replies, shaking his head slightly. He pushes himself off the wall he's been holding up, straightening to his full height. He's not pleased.

"I didn't need any help going down a path of vice. You and I had been off deflowering maidens and fucking barmaids well before Naima. More importantly what happened—the incident—it was my idea. My plan. The entire thing was orchestrated by me, not her. She never asked for my help. She never wanted to involve me. I insisted."