Chaos Theory

by Susan Harris

  His eyes widened for a brief second before his expression darkened once more. “So, what, you’ve spent six weeks watching me? Not sleeping?”

  “To be fair, I did sleep for a solid six hours when Atticus came by for a visit.”

  Nickolai threw his hands in the air. “That’s ridiculous. Not even you can function on six hours’ sleep. It defeats the purpose.”

  I cleared my throat. “I think I proved I can function on little or no sleep considering I saved your ass tonight.”

  “And got a knife in the shoulder.”

  I dismissed his comment with the wave of my hand. “Technicality.” Standing, I added, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a nice sleeping bag waiting for me and, as you implied, I could do with a few hours’ of kip. So be a good little princeling, Nicky, and stay inside this apartment until at least sundown.”

  I only realized I’d called him by my childhood nickname for him when he froze. It was far too late for me to take it back, so I pretended it hadn’t happened at all. Gathering up my jacket, a faded black one that had once been my mother’s, I made my way toward the elevator.

  Nickolai stopped me with a hand on my elbow. “Tell me where you’ve been sleeping, Ryan. Please.”

  It was the please that stuck my snappy retort in my throat. All I did was lift my eyes to look at the vent over his head. His eyes snapped upward and then snapped back to clash with mine, pity and remorse in them.

  Unable to handle that expression, especially from him, I snatched back my arm and stalked to the elevator, pushing the call button so hard I almost broke it. When the door opened with a ping, I strode inside and pressed the down button. The door began to close, but then Nickolai put a halt to that with his hand.

  “Don’t go, Ryan. No one should be forced to sleep in a vent.”

  “It’s quite homey, actually. I can’t have guests, but I’m an antisocial prick anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.”

  “I’d feel more protected if you stayed here. I mean, the rogue could come back.”

  I snorted, arching my eyebrows.

  “It’s not like you can go back to hiding, is it? I know you’re here now.”

  With a sigh, I stepped back out of the elevator. “I might as well take advantage of the cozy-looking couch,” I said. “Might be my last night of peaceful sleep.”

  I tossed my jacket to the side and flopped down on the couch, ignoring the dull ache in my shoulder. The wound would be healed by morning, probably just in time to haul my ass back to the compound. I crossed my legs over one another and folded my arms in my lap.

  “I’m not sending you back.”

  I blinked at the hushed words and sat upright with a hiss at the burn in my shoulder. “Say what?”

  Nickolai sank back down into the armchair and scratched the stubble on his chin. “I don’t see the point. You’re here now, and it seems pointless to stop my own mission. I’m sure we can come up with a cover story for you.”

  “But why?”

  Nickolai’s eyes dropped to look at the floor. “It would be remiss of me to send you back to a fate I myself ran away from.”

  It took a few minutes for me to realize he was taking about marriage. It was written in the clan charter at the age of twenty-one, the new monarch should be crowned and the reigning sovereign should stand down. Nickolai turned twenty-one in twelve months, but he’d delayed taking over as king until his mission was complete. Did that mean he was not going to marry until then, either?

  I made to question him, but the prince looked so forlorn I just couldn’t do it. Instead, I resorted to old tactics, wondering if I could drag him from his sadness like I had when were children.

  “Well, since you’re being all hospitable and shit, any chance of a pillow and a blanket? And since I saved your ass tonight, you can make breakfast in the evening. And Nicky, I swear, if you don’t have bacon in that monstrosity of a fridge, then how are you even a royal?”

  His lips twitched with a hint of a smile. “Are you naturally this much of a pain in the ass, or do you just try really hard?”

  “What can I say? It’s one of my better qualities.”

  Nickolai barked out a laugh, glancing toward the bedroom and then back to me. “Take the bed.”

  Heat flushed my skin. “Excuse you?”

  “You can sleep in the bed.”

  “I am not sleeping in the bed with you.”

  Nickolai jerked backward, his eyes widening. “I didn’t mean that, and you know it. You take the bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch. And by the way, there’s no need to look so horrified at the thought of sleeping in bed with me. It’s not like we haven’t done so before.”

  I wasn’t horrified at the thought of sleeping in the same bed as him; I was horrified I wasn’t horrified at the thought of it. “We were kids back then. We aren’t kids anymore.”

  “I noticed. Just take the bed, Ryan.”

  I shook my head from side to side. “No chance. I’m fine right here.”

  “Not everything has to be an argument, you know,” Nickolai growled, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans in a very human gesture.

  Unstrapping my sai sheath, I set it down on the carpet within reach and folded my arms behind my head as I lay back on the couch. “Yeah, I know. But I can tell you you’re wrong in almost seven languages, which definitely gives me an advantage.”

  Nickolai was still staring at me, his eyes wandering to the sai before he smiled smugly. That smile made me super uncomfortable, so I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing, trying to convince the prince I was falling asleep. I tried not to flinch—but failed—as I felt a blanket being draped over me, and even though I heard him walk away afterward, I could still feel his eyes on me from across the room.

  “Goodnight, Ryan.”

  “Goodnight, Nicky.”

  That earned me a chuckle. The room plunged into darkness a second later, the only remaining light coming from Nickolai’s bedroom door being slightly ajar. Sleep weighed me down, and I let myself relax enough to doze, praying that, even just for tonight, I was not haunted by dreams of blood and dead parents.

  A knock sounded at the door to my room, and I stared at it, hoping whoever was knocking would get the hint and buzz off. The knock sounded again and again, and I longed to scream, to demand, they leave me in peace. When the knock sounded again, I slid off my bed and marched over to the door, ready to fling it open, when a voice called out from the other side.

  “Ryan, it’s only me. Please open the door.”

  My hand froze on the handle, my heart racing in my chest. I couldn’t see him; I couldn’t face him his sadness and pity. Everyone already me treated like a broken girl who would never be whole. But it hurt more when I caught Nicky’s expression conveying those sentiments.

  “Come on, Ry. I know you’re in there.”

  “Leave me alone, My Liege. I don’t want any company.”

  “Ryan, open this door right now, or I’ll kick it down.”

  He wouldn’t—Prince Nickolai Romanov was always the epitome of calm and poise until I dragged him out of it. I began to smile and then caught myself, letting tears slip down my cheeks.

  “Come on, Ry. It’s your birthday. Can we just pretend for today we’re still friends?”

  My heart clenched at his words because we would always be friends. For his eighteenth birthday, I’d had Jack source a replica of a sword from a TV show I knew he’d loved. Jack gave it to him with no note or anything—none was needed. Only I knew Nickolai would love that gift, and I knew the prince would understand whom it had come from.

  My sixteenth birthday was today. I felt no cause to celebrate, the memories of birthdays surrounded by love and laughter too much for me to bear. I slowly took my hand away from the handle and slid my back down the door.

  “Don’t make me sing thought the door, Ry. We both know I don’t have a note in my head. Come outside and we can take a walk—we don’t even have to talk. Please, Ryan. I’m going to sit
here until you answer me, dammit.”

  I sat on my side of the door as Nickolai talked about anything and everything to entice a response from me. I let my eyes fall shut, listening to him ramble on and on as night seeped into day. Soon enough, my birthday was over.

  “Please, Ryan,” he said after a pause.

  My resolve worn through, I reached up to drag down the handle when I heard a voice and stopped.

  “Come away now, My Liege. You tried your best.”

  I opened my mouth to ask him not to leave, willed my hand to fling open the door and let him embrace me in the hug I’d denied him for almost a decade, but nothing happened. My voice and body were frozen, rusted.

  Nickolai sighed, muttered his goodbye through the door, and then he was gone.

  “The prince is gone, kiddo,” Jack quietly said, “but he did leave you a gift. It would be rude not to accept it.”

  I said nothing in response, the sound of Jack’s Irish lilt reminding me so much of my dad I could not stand to hear it.

  “Let me know you’re okay in there, Ryan, or so help me Eve, I’ll do what the prince threatened earlier.”

  Clearing my throat, I managed to free my voice. “I’m fine, Uncle Jack,” I answered. “I’m fine.”

  “Open the door and take in the prince’s gift before someone runs off with it,” he said. “I’m tempted to, myself.” And with that, he turned and walked away.

  I listened to the sound of Jack’s boots as they descended the stairs, and once again, I was alone. Cautiously, I opened my bedroom door and scooped up the small parcel. Nickolai had wrapped the gift in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles wrapping paper, a joke we’d shared as kids whenever I trained with my practice sai. I smiled fondly as I remembered how Nicky would jest with me about the fact I couldn’t be a turtle because I didn’t like cheese. Written on the label in elegant calligraphy was just my name: Ryan Skye Callan.

  I carefully unwrapped the box so as not to tear the paper, my eyes widening at the sheath sitting inside. I had been trying for ages to find a way to carry my sai other than at my waist. This was a crisscross sheath that fastened around my waist and hooked over my arms, settling the sai against my shoulder blades for easy access.

  Setting the box on my bed, I quickly fastened the sheath over my back, delighting in the lightweight material—I barely noticed it was there. How had he known? How did he find such a perfect fit?

  Before I could stop myself, I launched out the door and down the stairs so loudly I could’ve woken the entire house. Without so much as another thought, I ran through the halls of the royal family’s residence, looking for Nickolai. Rounding a corner, I ground to a halt.

  Nicky had indeed made it back to his room, where he now stood tucking a stray curl behind Nattie’s ear, and I flushed with embarrassment as they both turned to look in my direction.

  What had I been thinking?

  My heart clenched in twisted agony as I backed away, spun back around the corner, and darted back the way I’d come. I made it to the top of the stairs before Nickolai called my name. I stopped.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” he said.

  I shook my head. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, My Liege. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Ryan—” he began, but I held up a hand to stop him.

  “I simply wanted to thank you for your gift. I’m sorry to have interrupted.”

  “Ryan, wait.”

  Ignoring him, I bounded back up the stairs, not daring to take a breath until I was safely back in my room. Closing the door, I banged my head against it, thinking how much I hated birthdays.

  My eyes darted open, and I sat up in the darkened room, Nickolai’s raised voice snapping me to attention.

  “Seriously, Mother, she was living in a vent to watch over me. Had you told me you wanted to send someone with me, I would have agreed.”

  The queen sighed, and my spine locked ramrod straight. When did she get here?

  “You were adamant you wished to see this through alone,” Katerina replied. “Had I asked for Ryan to accompany you, I’m sure you would have stubbornly declined.”

  “I’m not above compromise, Mother.”

  “Do you wish for someone to replace her?”

  There was a pause, and my heart pounded in my chest, waiting for Nickolai’s answer.

  “No,” he finally said. “Had I not been so curious and gone off in search of the screaming, I’d be none the wiser she was even here. The first time I laid eyes on her was when she pushed me out of harm’s way. The fault of her discovery lies with me, not Ryan.”

  I expelled a breath, and the door to Nickolai’s bedroom opened. He gave me a small smile and held up the phone, giving me a glimpse of the queen sipping her tea. I ducked down as Nickolai strode barefoot into the kitchen.

  “Should I send Atticus to debrief you both?” she asked.

  “That won’t be necessary, Mother. Although, perhaps if he called with one of the donors, we could discuss the possibility of enrolling Ryan in my classes.”

  Excitement bubbled in my chest. I could go to college like a real person!

  “Would Ryan be agreeable to that? Have you even asked her?”

  Nickolai grinned as he turned the phone in my direction and told his mother to ask me herself. I hissed and tried to smooth down my hair.

  “Good evening, Ryan.”

  “Good evening, My Liege.”

  The queen sipped from her cup before addressing me again. “Would you be agreeable to Nickolai’s suggestion of enrolling you in his classes?”

  I nodded a little too eagerly. “I would be able to keep a better eye on him if I were in class with him.”

  “Then it is settled. You will live and go to class with Nickolai. I will send Atticus to follow up on the rogue. Come up with a viable story as to why you two are living together. The easiest solution would be to act as if you are a couple.” With that, the queen hung up.

  I didn’t dare look at Nickolai as I struggled to change the subject. “Is… is that an iPhone? That must be ancient. I haven’t seen one in ages. How the hell does it still work?”

  Nickolai ignored my babbling, turning his back to me as he took some bacon from the fridge and set about cooking breakfast just like I’d asked. Smiling.

  I pulled out the bread and set four slices into the toaster.

  “It’s not such a bad idea, pretending we are together,” he said. “We already argue like an old married couple.”

  Leaning against the fridge, I glared at him. “What, has the Russian bridegroom been getting some indecent proposals? Aww… poor baby.”

  “I do not look like a Russian bridegroom,” Nickolai muttered as he flipped the bacon.

  “Sure you do,” I said with a smirk.

  “If I look like a Russian bridegroom, then you must look like an ice queen. What is it they call you? Frosty?”

  I snarled and snatched a piece of bacon from the pan, narrowly missing being swatted with the utensil Nickolai was holding. “The last person who called me Frosty ended up with a broken nose, though I’ve heard some women like a man with flaws. Shall we test the theory, Nicky?”

  “Sure thing, Frosty, if you promise to kiss it better after.”

  I punched him on the arm, earning a growl in response as the toast popped. I grabbed the toast, set the slices on two plates, and then slid the plates over to Nickolai to fill with bacon. Grabbing two bottles of blood from the fridge, I returned and leaned on the counter, waiting for Nickolai to finish cooking.

  When he placed more bacon on my plate, I hungrily devoured it as he watched me.

  “When did you become so uncivilized?”

  I snagged a piece of bacon from his plate and shrugged. “I’m not sure I was ever civilized.”

  Nickolai chuckled, and the sound heated my veins.

  “So, why don’t you want to pretend to be my girlfriend?”

  “I’m sorry, but Russian bridegrooms who look like Zack Morris circa 1
990 don’t do it for me.”

  “And what does, Frosty?”

  I told myself the heat in his gaze was merely us teasing one another, that this taut electricity simmering between us was just Nickolai wondering if I was still his best friend. But she was dead, and I wasn’t certain who I was right now.

  You cannot continue to live as if you died, too.

  The queen’s words sounded in my head as I winked and flashed Nickolai a mischievous grin. “You’ll never find out.”

  Nickolai met my grin with one of his own. “Sure, Frosty. Whatever you say.”

  Without another word, the git nicked my toast and bit into it, then walked away humming “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?”

  Fairy tales were dead wrong—not all princes were fucking charming.

  8

  After what could only be described as the most glorious shower of my entire life, I dressed quickly in a simple pair of black leggings and a longline black T-shirt, slipping my feet into a pair of Chuck Taylor IVs and hurried out to find Nickolai lounging on the couch where I’d left him.

  His nose was stuck in a textbook as he chewed the end of his pencil, deep in thought. I studied him for a minute, wondering when the boy I’d easily dragged into mischief, who’d hated his lessons, had changed so much. But I guess we both changed over the last decade, and Nickolai looked more at ease here than I’d seen him look in a long time.

  “When you’ve stopped staring at me, we should get going.”

  “I was simply wondering how much you’d fetch on the black market. I mean, I’m sure some aging socialite would love you on her arm at some charity event.”

  Nickolai arched his brow, and I rolled my eyes, striding forward to grab my discarded sai sheath by his feet. I slung the sheath on with expert precision like I’d done many a time, mindful I could feel Nickolai’s eyes on me.

  His sudden movement dragged my gaze in his direction. The prince had slung a backpack over his shoulder and was angling toward the door. I folded my arms across my chest and sighed.