This is probably riddled with typos, but I DO NOT CARE. Oh my god. I've been working on this stupid one shot for like a week and a half. FOUR DRAFTS. FOUR FREAKING DRAFTS OF LESS THAN 1500 WORDS. A normal person probably would have thought, hmm, maybe this idea isn't quite developed enough to be written, but I just KEPT ON GOING. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME.
Anyway: this takes place in a universe where Eadlyn doesn't get engaged from the Selection, but she still banishes Kile. Canonically, Eadlyn and Ahren's next birthday is one of the exceptions for Kile being banished, so that's where all this came from. Hope it's good. It probably isn't. Go easy on me.
I never found a place to mention it in this draft (draft 3 was actually so good I just couldn't do the fking ending) but you might want to know that Kile fell in the koi pond because he wanted to give Ahren a fish as his birthday present.
I squeeze my eyes shut immediately after opening them. Apparently, in my drunken haze, I fell asleep with all the lights on.
Also, apparently, I fell asleep with Kile Woodwork.
I recoil at the sight of him—not because Kile is the worst person I could've slept with. Far from it, actually, but it's complicated. Before last night, my birthday party, I hadn't seen Kile in a year.
Now, it seems I have seen all of him.
He's rubbing the sleep from his eyes, not nearly as surprised to see me as I am to see him. Kile's always been the levelheaded one. "Morning, Eady."
His voice comes out all gravelly. Something stirs within me. I shake my head, aggravating the hangover-induced headache. "Oh no. Kile, I'm so sorry."
It comes back in flashes. I remember the beginning of the night easily: cutting the cake with Ahren, welcoming our guests, including Kile. It gets blurry after that. Red wine. Telling Camille, in great detail, how beautiful she is. Throwing my shoes in the fountain for some reason. And…
Oh god.
My face feels hot. I can't look Kile in the eye, but I also can't stop the images running through my head. A sloppy kiss by the fountain, a whispered suggestion. My whispered suggestion. This was all me.
Not that Kile wasn't equally enthusiastic, stumbling up to my room. I remember yanking off his shirt—I still have no idea what his middle name is, but I guess we're playing by different rules now—and letting him slide a hand up my dress. No, not letting him. Urging him. Demanding.
I've never been so embarrassed in my life.
Kile blinks. No shirt, a blue-gray bruise at the base of his neck; that's my work. "Sorry for what? You didn't do anything wrong."
I did, though. I shake my head, ignoring the throbbing pain that accompanied it. "I was out-of-control. It was entirely inappropriate."
I'm the queen. I'm not supposed to lose control, ever.
Hurt flashes across his face. "I thought you wanted to."
"No, no. I did want to," I try to assure him.
At the time, I really wanted to.
I remember him hovering over me cautiously, telling me he didn't want to hurt me, and I remember promising him it was okay, I wanted to, I trusted him. It did hurt, a little bit, but he was so careful and sweet with me, until I was gasping for air and digging my nails into his back. There's probably marks there too.
"But I was drunk. I wasn't myself," I continue. Nothing I'm saying seems to make Kile feel any better. "I shouldn't have made a move on you like that. I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?"
There's an edge to his voice. It's a stark contrast to last night's whispered words, promises in my ear that he made good on shortly after. I'm taken aback. "Well…yes."
I'm the queen: there's a certain standard of behavior I hold myself to, and it doesn't allow for getting blackout drunk and hooking up with my ex at my birthday party.
"So you last night really didn't mean anything to you?"
That's not a yes-or-no question. Kile is—I think—my friend. I missed him while he was away, not that I really had any right to. And last night…if I could divorce it from the circumstances and messiness of it all…
Wow.
But I can't drag him into my internal turmoil. Isn't it bad enough that I dragged him into my room? So I force myself to nod and say "yes".
"Eady, you always do this."
He sounds aggravated. I draw back, but there's not really anywhere to go. I'm not leaving the bedcovers unless I'm sure I'm wearing pants. "Excuse me? This is brand new."
"Not this. You pull me in then toss me to the side. It's exactly what you did in the Selection," he says accusingly.
My breath catches in my throat. I've been working very hard to not think of the Selection, what could've, should've, and has been.
But he's right.
When I called off the Selection—without a fiancé, per my agreement with Dad—Kile and I were on the verge of something. Something that scared me. I didn't know how to handle it, so I sent him away, thinking time and distance would do the trick.
Apparently not, since seeing Kile immediately drove me to drink and the night ended with us in bed.
I take a deep, steadying breath, try to put myself back on track. "That wasn't about you. I cancelled the Selection because I don't need a husband."
"Of course you don't need one," Kile says indignantly, like it's been obvious from the start. "But do you want one?"
I've never considered that. In my mind, I always walk my path alone.
He continues more tentatively; I'm not giving him anything to go on. "Could you want…me?"
Yes.
My mind answers before my mouth is anywhere near ready to say it. Yes. I want you. I can't keep running from it.
"I'm probably kidding myself here, Eady, but last night meant something to me. So did…everything else. I know you; I know you'd be fine without me," he says earnestly, but even I'm not sure if that's true anymore. "But if there's any chance your life is better with me in it…"
I find my voice, a breathless whisper that sounds nothing like the queen. "Of course it's better. But it's also—Kile. I'm not good at this."
"I'm not asking for perfection," he reasons. "Just a simple yes or no."
If you ask me, it's far from simple, but I try to present it as such to my tragically overcomplicated brain, currently wracked with a headache. Kile balances me out. Obviously the physical chemistry is off the charts. By all logic, he's a good match for me.
That's my head talking. What does my heart say?
Do I want him? Would I choose nights like the last one over the peaceful solitude I always envisioned for myself? Did I miss him when he was gone? Do I care about him?
The answer to all those questions is another resounding yes. I speak it out loud and watch Kile's eyes light him. His hair is spiked up like a porcupine, but I don't think I could possibly find him more beautiful. He embraces me, and there's this big smile on his face when he pulls back. I love that smile. I've just never realized it before.
"We don't have to rush into anything. We can take it slow," he promises, although that ship has kind of sailed. I'm still not sure if I'm wearing anything besides underwear. Kile definitely isn't. "There's a lot I want to talk about, but we should probably get up and face the music."
I groan. Confronted with more pressing issues, I forgot people would probably notice Kile sneaking out of my room and they'd definitely give me hell for it. "Would you consider climbing out the window and telling everyone you slept in the garden?"
"We're on the third floor. Not a chance."
"My birthday was yesterday. You owe me a present," I remind him.
Kile smirks. "I already gave you a birthday present. Remember? Last night? You said-"
My cheeks burn. "I remember! Fine, you can go out the normal way. Together?"
"Together," he agrees. "Grab my shirt for me?"
I pick it up and toss it to him. "It smells weird."
"Oh, right. I fell in the koi pond last night."
"I can't believe I shared a bed with you."
It's still early. We have so much left to figure out, but the easy laughter between us, the things I've never dared to say out loud before, it's all a good start. I won't run from this again, even when Ahren and Camille poke fun at me for the way it started. I'll hold on tightly and fight for it, whatever it takes.
