Free Wickedly Charming by Kristine Grayson

quite as trim as he could be, and just a hint of a bald spot that he might not even know about. A few lines around the eyes.
    Not as young as he used to be either.
    Seasoned.
    Like her.
    Only no one called him old and bitter and jealous.
    But, back when she first met him (all of a few hours ago), he had called himself a nerd.
    â€œWhat are you really doing here in the Greater World?” she asked.
    â€œMe?” his voice squeaked just a little. “Getting books. I told you. I read a lot.”
    She picked up his badge. It was purple, not for royalty, like she’d initially thought, but for booksellers. “You got an illegal badge?”
    â€œNo,” he said. “I sell books back home.”
    â€œYou’re a merchant?” She couldn’t quite keep the incredulousness from her tone.
    He straightened his shoulders as if by making himself taller he would become more powerful. “It’s an honorable profession.”
    He was being defensive. That surprised her. “I just thought being prince was profession enough.”
    â€œMaybe in the Greater World,” he said. “Here princes have to give speeches and do good works and have meetings with other princes. Back home, all I do is wait for my father to die.”
    He flushed a dark red.
    â€œI didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he said.
    â€œI know what you mean,” she said. “You like it better here.”
    He nodded.
    â€œWhy?”
    He waved his badge at her. “People don’t have any expectations of Dave the Bookseller. Except one.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” she asked, actually curious.
    â€œThey expect him to know a lot about books.”
    ***
    As he said that, he suddenly knew how to solve her problem. Charming held out his hand.
    â€œCome with me,” he said.
    The hallway was quiet, now that her people weren’t shouting. The signs still lined the corridor. Her small team had left them behind. Fliers littered the floor. She had made a mess.
    She wasn’t looking at the mess. She was looking at his hand as if she expected him to be holding a dagger. “Why should I come with you?”
    â€œBecause you’re going about this all wrong,” he said.
    She frowned, turning her head slightly in that way people had when they were considering something they hadn’t thought of before. Or maybe she just wasn’t sure if she should walk away with a crazy man who had been angry with her a moment before, and who now believed he had the solution to all her problems.
    Because he did. He did have the solution to all her problems.
    Or at least, to what she thought her problems were.
    â€œI’m going about what all wrong?” she asked.
    â€œGetting them to think better of you,” he said. Although he wasn’t exactly sure who “they” were—the folks in the Greater World? Clearly, or she wouldn’t be here protesting. What about the folks back home? Did she want them to think better of her too? Because that would be harder.
    She said, “They need to know that we’re not evil. We’re just people, doing the best we could with a bad hand—”
    â€œI know,” he said. “I know what the perception is, and I know how wrong it is. But you can’t change it by telling people they’re wrong. That whole ‘people like you’ thing—”
    â€œI’m sorry I said that,” she said. “It’s rude.”
    â€œSo are these placards,” he said. “They insult book people.”
    â€œThey do?” she asked.
    She clearly didn’t understand.
    He sighed and let his hand drop. “Book people love books. Most book people love books more than anything in the whole world.”
    His voice shook. He was talking about himself. He knew that. He wondered if she did.
    â€œWhen you tell book people that they should change books or censor them or ban them, you’re taking away the one