The Cavalry is Dead

Chapter 17: A Convicted Felon Gives Me Literary Criticism

"No way," Asa said gleefully.

The other boy bounded forward. Romes was still kneeling in the dirt, parchment clutched in her hands, staring at Jax as if he'd donned a skirt made of broccoli and performed an interpretive dance of "I'm A Little Teapot." Jax's heart pounded in his chest. His chest suddenly felt too small for his lungs, his tongue too swollen for his mouth.

"Let me see!" Asa demanded.

He made a swipe for the stack of papers. Romes clutched them to her chest.

"Absolutely not," she said.

Xander frowned. "Those are private, Asa."

"I'm not going to read the whole thing," Asa said, making another grab. "Just the first paragraph."

"No." Romes turned to Jax, her green eyes like burning stars. "Explain. Now."

Jax swallowed. His shoulder was screaming in pain, and his ankle felt like a spaghetti noodle that would snap if he moved. Fatigue settled over him like a blanket. He wanted to sit down. He wanted to cry and eat chocolate. He did not, Jax thought, want to explain why he'd written a secret manuscript about falling in love with the girl he fancied.

Alas.

"Aha!" Asa cried.

He snatched the parchment from her hands, waving them above his head triumphantly. Romes cursed, hopping to her feet. She elbowed Asa in the stomach; he pushed down her head, his eyes devouring the lines.

"Oh, my gods." Asa shook his head. "This is hilarious."

Jax's cheeks burned. "Shut-up, Asa."

"No, I mean it's genuinely hilarious," Asa said, looking up. "This is what you're going to publish?"

"You're absolutely not publishing that," Romes said tightly.

She wrenched free of Asa's grip, her eyes blazing. Dirt speckled her cheek, along with a nasty-looking cut and some faded bruises. Her hair was caked with mud. She didn't look like the sort of person you should mess with, Jax thought, which was largely why he felt like he might throw up.

Jax took a step forward, and then instantly regretted it when his ankle throbbed. "Romes, I can explain—"

"Listen to this," Asa said.

Xander rubbed his face. "Oh, dear."

Asa cleared his throat. Then — to Jax's horror — he began to read aloud.

The princess padded to the window. Moonlight wreathed her hair in silver stars. She could feel the cold cutting through her silk nightgown, and she shivered, pressing her forehead to the glass. Outside, she could make out the shape of some hulking stone building. The east stables? The west? She was forever mixing them up.

There was a click as the door opened.

"You," the princess said, without turning.

He shut the door. "Me."

She closed her eyes. Duke Featherington crossed the room; his footsteps had a terrible heaviness to them, like horseshoes on cobblestone, and it made her think of lighter footsteps that she'd known once. Feet that moved like smoke.

"I told you," the princess said. "My answer is no."

He cleared his throat. "Your father said—"

"My father does not speak for me."

She could feel his warm breath ghosting along the back of her neck. The duke smelled of cigars and something sweet, and she wondered if he'd put on cologne for the occasion. Probably. His hand drifted over her arm—