Free Autumn Rose: A Dark Heroine Novel by Abigail Gibbs Page B

and admitted my feelings. But what I wanted to say in reply was an accusation . . . treasonous even. But when else will I get the chance to ask?
    “I think you, and the entire royal family and council, are withholding information from me. I think you know why my grandmother was murdered, and by whom. I think that because I heard mutterings at her funeral . . . and why else would no answer have been given by now?”
    His knuckles went instantly white on the steering wheel, and eighteen months of suspicion was confirmed by his paling complexion. “What makes you think I would know that kind of information?”
    “You’re second in line to the throne. You’re good with politics; better than the heir. I think your parents would trust you.”
    I averted my gaze at the unexpected compliment I had paid him. I kept it averted, and waited and waited, until I rested my head against the window in defeat.
    “I have orders not to tell you,” he said stiffly.
    I gasped, and the surge of hate and pain I felt every time I thought of her trebled. I wanted to say something, but words failed me. A tear eased itself down my cheek, squeezing between the window and my skin. I closed my eyes, preventing any more from forming, and allowed my hair, wet and beginning to curl, to cover my face.
    I felt a pressure on my knee—his hand. I jerked my leg away and pulled my bag protectively onto my lap, feeling my cheeks flame a very bright red. His hand hovered between the gear stick and the steering wheel, as though he was unsure of what to do with it. He settled for the steering wheel.
    “I’m sorry. I really am. And I’m sorry for revealing your title, too. It was wrong of me.” I waited for him to continue. He took the hint. “I thought it might ease relations with the students and, though I know this will sound selfish of me, I wanted to treat you as an equal. People accept that more when they can put a title to a name.”
    I opened and closed my mouth again, feeling remotely like a fish out of its depth.
    “I suppose I didn’t understand that you wanted to . . .” He seemed to search around for an appropriate phrase. “Well, live as a human.”
    I felt my chest split into a bizarre mix of anger and confusion. “That’s not what I want.”
    “Sure? When was the last time you used complicated magic? And I don’t mean to tidy your hair.”
    I couldn’t even answer that, and I slumped back in my seat.
    “Exactly. If you mean what you say, then why don’t you practice your magic?”
    Again, I couldn’t answer him until we approached my road and I told him to turn right. We climbed past the church and the adjoining graveyard, turning left onto the tree-lined avenue. I could see his eyes glancing left and right, taking it in, judging. I knew that behind those eyes, he was thinking how unimpressive it all was. Though the houses were of an intimidating red-brick Victorian design, detached and comfortably spacious, I knew this was not the norm for someone of my standing.
    I told him to stop halfway down and unbuckled my belt. I hesitated, my hand on the handle, about to open the door.
    Decorum, child, I heard her voice say. Decorum is everything.
    I pursed my lips. “I’m sorry if the way I live offends you, Your Highness. I’m sorry if you don’t think I’m entitled to be upset over your stupid orders. But I’m afraid I do not have much choice in it.” He turned to me so sharply that I felt my weight fall against the door, away from him. His expression was completely puzzled, but something in his eyes bordered upon recognition as they widened ever so slightly. “Thank you for the lift,” I finished and got out as quickly as I could, scuttling around the car to the pavement and under the shelter of the tree. As I closed the garden gate behind me, he turned around and pulled away. I watched the car disappear around the corner, recalling his outburst in my mind.
    A smile appeared, bigger than the one I had worn earlier. It