F resh air feels foreign to me.
Standing beside the cracked window, I breathe in the cool unfamiliarity beginning to blow into the stuffy study. The grounds sprawled beneath me are blanketed in a vibrant bed of grass, glowing in the cascading sunlight.
I don’t stand here often. Don’t open the curtains long enough to be perceived by the gossiping staff. But it’s warranted after my meals.
Tipping my half-eaten plate out the window, I watch the contents spill onto the grass far below. Each vegetable hits the ground with a soft plunk—potatoes, carrots, a stringy sort of bean I’ve come to dislike—all adding to the growing pile of scraps I’ve discarded.
It’s the part of my routine that needs refining. At first, it began as a way to clear my plate and appease the servants. Well, appease Gail with the proof that I digested her food. But, as of late, the whispers outside my door have only grown louder before each delivered meal. Perhaps my pile of uneaten food has finally been found, and it’s only a matter of time until Gail storms in here to spoon-feed me herself.
A knock on the door has me assuming that day is upon me.
“Come in.” Running frantic fingers over my tousled hair, I attempt to smooth down the standing strands. My crumpled shirt is the next concern that captures my attention, but I’m barely able to run my hand down the fabric before the door swings open.
Looking up, it’s not Gail who meets my gaze.
“There’s my secluded cousin.”
The smile I muster surprises even myself. “Hello, Andy.”
She steps farther into the study, her honey eyes sweeping over every inch of it. I clear my throat before stiffly sitting back into my seat. “Is there a reason for your… visit?”
Tearing her gaze from the open window, she allows it to settle on me. “Right. Well, I’m obviously here to fix your, um…” She trails off, visibly attempting to concoct some sort of scheme. “Your window?” She nods, trying to convince the both of us. “Yes, your window.”
“You’re here to fix my window?” I repeat slowly.
“That’s what I do!” She gestures to the belt of tools around her waist, nose ring flashing in the light. “I know it’s easy to forget that I’m still a Handy around the castle, what with my many other talents.”
My eyes skim over the worn leather encircling her waist, every inch of it occupied by the heap of tools thrown haphazardly inside. I remember the days when the top of Andy’s wine-red hair barely reached her father’s hip, though she was practically attached to it, following him everywhere.
So, naturally, he taught her everything she knows. The art of fixing, mending, creating—all part of a Handy’s role. Even despite the unique shifting ability running through her veins, she chose to pursue what most believe is a lowly passion.
Plopping hands onto her hips, she sighs. “But someone needs to clean up after you and Kai, and I have plenty of experience with that.”
I nod along with each word, reminiscing on the many things we’ve broken during our impromptu brawls. Back when we were just brothers, unburdened by these shiny new titles we now bear.
Unable to stand the feel of her heavy scrutiny, I preoccupy myself with pretending to be busy. Shuffling papers in my hands, I attempt to straighten the scattered contents of my cluttered desk. “There is nothing wrong with my window, Andy. If you wanted to see me, you could have just asked.”
A sorrowful shadow shades her face. “And you would have let me? See you, that is.”
Here we go.
It was foolish of me to think I could avoid this conversation for much longer. Sighing, I offer, “I’ve been busy.”
“Right.” She nods, her gaze distant. “You’re a king now. You’re my king now. I can’t imagine how difficult it has been to adjust.” A pause. “Especially after how it happened.”
You mean, how my father was brutally murdered? How I knelt beside his bloody body, staring at her dagger severing his neck? Is that what you meant to say, cousin?
I bite my tongue against the slew of spitting thoughts. “Yes, it has been… difficult.”
“Jax misses you. And he’s driving me insane, so feel free to take him off my hands.” She says this with that bright smile of hers, despite the sadness clouding her gaze. “All right, fine. We both miss you. And I know you’ve been dealing with a lot lately, but it might be really good for you to get out of this study—”
“Andy.” I hold up an ink-splattered hand, silencing her with a single movement. “I’m fine here. Really.”
My words are so steady that I almost believe them myself.
Andy stills. Smiles. Sets a quick pace toward the window.
“You know,” she says with that familiar edge in her voice, “I do think your window is broken, actually.”
I don’t look up from the stack of papers piled before me. “And why is that?”
I can hear the challenge in her voice. “Well, food always seems to be falling from it.”
Silence falls, filled only by the drum of my fingers against the desk.
Her arms are folded above her work belt when I turn to face her. She raises a scrutinous brow. “You want to explain this to me?”
I think about this for a moment. “No.”
She scoffs. “Come on.”
“You’re right. The window must be broken.”
“Kitt.”
“King.”
She blinks at my correction, straightens at my suddenly stony complexion. “It is king now. Things are different—I am different.” Shaking my head, I whisper, “He is gone, and I don’t even know how to breathe if he does not command me to do so. Command me to eat. To live.”
My hands are shaking. Papers slide from their sloppy piles while unshed tears burn my tired eyes.
Andy’s face crumbles, pity pinching her burgundy brows. “Oh, Kitt…”
I stand stiffly before she has a chance to kneel at my side. Clearing my constricting throat, I murmur, “That will be all, Andy.”
“Kitt, wait—”
“That will be all.”
She stands, sucking in a breath. “Let me help you fix the window. Please. It doesn’t have to stay broken.”
I look at her then. Let her look at me.
It’s only when she’s examined every crack in my calm facade that I say, “I’m afraid it’s beyond repair.”
