One foot in front of the other. One step at a time.

It isn’t that far to the staircase that sits in front of the small jet, but it feels like it’s a longer walk than the one Andrew and I made to that little cabin a few days ago. The throbbing in my foot with each step isn’t helping, but it feels like nothing compared to the increasing dread I feel with every inch as I move closer to the plane.

And Andrew doesn’t look like he’s doing much better than I am. For as much as he tried to rush me on our two earlier hikes, he’s walking at least as slow as I am now, and I can tell it has nothing to do with my injury.

He slips his hand into mine and squeezes it gently. Part of me wants to pull away from him. Hell, part of me wants to run away—as far away from this or any airplane as possible. And every step closer we get to the plane, it feels more and more like I’m trudging through waist-deep mud.

“I…I don’t think I can, Andrew.” I stop, turning to him. My voice is cracking and I’m barely able to get out any words at all. “I know this is important to you. I know…” I press my lips together, trying to hold back what I’m sure are going to be tears streaming down my cheeks any second. “I just… I can’t do it.”

He pulls my other hand into his and looks down into my eyes. He lets out a long breath—almost a sigh. “I’m not sure I can either, Victoria. But…” His voice trails off, almost as though he isn’t sure he should say what he’s thinking. He gives me a single nod. “But we have each other. And we have little choice if we wish to get to Montovia in a reasonable amount of time. I’m sure we can both agree that Montovia will be a better place at the moment, free of the reporters—”

“Distasteful leeches, you mean?” I give him a weak smile.

He grins. “You were listening.”

I let out a small laugh. “Of course I was listening. I make it a point to listen—most of us distasteful leeches do.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know.” I smile. “I’m still not sure about flying, though. I mean…” I lower my voice, though there’s no one around to overhear us. “Is there at least alcohol on board? I don’t want you to think I make it a habit to drink or anything, but—”

He lifts a brow, smiling. “There’s only one way to find out. And believe me, Victoria, if there is alcohol on board, I’ll be the first one overindulging.”

Something about his voice, the way he’s holding my hands is almost reassuring. But I know he’s doing it as much for himself as he is for me, even if he would never admit it.

He gives me another nod before releasing one of my hands and turning back toward the plane. I’m positive I see him gulp, though, as he looks back toward the staircase, but he’s covering his fear better than I can.

It feels like it takes us hours to finally get to the bottom of the steps, and he releases my hand, motioning me up first.

Damned gentleman.

I climb the first step, but hesitate. It has nothing to do with my limp or the pain still throbbing in my foot. I just can’t seem to make my legs carry me up at all.

I’m pretty sure I stand there like that for another couple of hours, frozen with terror, before I feel Andrew’s hand on my shoulder.

He dips his head to speak into my ear. “I’m right behind you. I’m not going to leave you.”

I close my eyes for a second. You won’t leave me now. But you’re sure as hell going to leave me eventually.

I can hear the fear in his voice—the same fear I feel in my chest, making my heart race so quickly it feels like it’s about to explode. But there’s something almost reassuring about hearing his fear. Something about knowing he’s feeling the same thing I am gives me the courage to take the next step and the next and the next. And he matches me step for step, his hand never leaving my shoulder.

A man—a steward or something, probably—motions for me to take a seat in one of the leather chairs in the cabin of the airplane. This plane is larger than Andrew’s, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference. It could be the biggest airplane in the world, and my head would still be spinning and the damned thing would still feel far too small—like the walls were about to close in on me.

Andrew seems to sense my impending panic attack and he guides me to one of the chairs before he drops into the seat next to mine.

He says something to the steward, but my ears are ringing so loudly I don’t hear anything either man says. It isn’t until the steward brings us each a drink that I realize what they must have been talking about.

Each glass is about three-quarters of the way full of an amber liquid. I don’t even need to ask what it is—I don’t really even care. I grab mine and down more than half of it in a single gulp, barely even noticing the burning in my throat after I swallow. I down the rest a second later and hand the glass back to the steward.

Andrew smiles before he does the same, downing whatever alcoholic beverage it is in the glass in a few gulps.

I hurriedly fasten my seatbelt and squeeze my eyes shut, almost willing myself to pass out from the quick intake of alcohol, but it doesn’t happen. My hands are clenching the armrests of the chair so tightly that I’m sure my knuckles are white and my fingernails are leaving permanent indentations in the leather.

Andrew does the touching thing again that he seems to like doing so much to me. He traces over the top of my arm, trailing the pad of his finger down to my hand before pulling it into his.

Even though it does the same thing to me as it has every other time he’s done it, it’s hard to pay much attention to the shiver that runs through me. Instead, I let him take my hand and I squeeze it instead of the chair, probably leaving fingernail marks in his skin where they’re digging into his flesh.

I barely pay attention to the pilot on the loud speaker—the alcohol is starting to kick in and my head is swimming again. I’m not sure if it’s the booze or the sheer terror of feeling the plane move, but I can’t open my eyes. Andrew’s grip on my hand tightens as the plane picks up speed.

Without opening my eyes, I turn to him, dipping my head to where I hope his shoulder will be. But instead, he pulls me into his arms as much as he can while we’re both seatbelted, releasing my hand to slide one arm around my waist and the other across my body to stroke my hair. It seems like he’s almost hugging me.

I have no idea how long we stay like that, only that having him hold me somehow keeps my silent sobs to a minimum.

We’re airborne after a little while, but it takes me some time to be able to open my eyes. Andrew silently strokes my hair the entire time until I finally lift my head and open my eyes.

He looks down at me for a long moment before he dips his head, placing a chaste kiss on my lips. He pulls away after that, just far enough to gauge my reaction, I think. He looks at me for another moment before he does the same thing. He dips his head, gives me a short, closed-mouth kiss—for a little while longer this time—before he pulls away again.

I search his eyes—we both know how wrong this is. How this can’t happen. Why this can’t happen. But it doesn’t seem to matter. Whatever this is—this pull I can’t seem to shake—he seems to feel it, too. And maybe it’s the fear of flying or maybe it’s the new respect we found for each other while we were out in the wilderness together. It’s probably knowing how he’ll never be mine, no matter what we feel. But I want him now in a way that I didn’t before. In a way I can’t seem to hold back.

When he dips his head toward me again, I slide my hands up his chest, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into me. I part my lips, almost begging him to deepen the kiss. And he obliges, sliding his tongue against mine before he trails it over my bottom lip.

I can taste the bite of alcohol on him and I pull him even closer. His hand slides up my back, fisting into my hair as his other fumbles with my seatbelt. He finally frees it and pulls me even closer to him, almost onto his lap.

I gasp against his lips as his hand reaches behind me, sliding the zipper of my dress down. It’s not even a second before he’s sliding it off my shoulders, pulling away from me only enough to help me slide my arms out.

He groans when his hand finds my breast, his other arm reaching behind me again to unfasten my bra. He unhooks it with what seems like a flick of his wrist, and slides his hand underneath, trailing his fingers across my skin from my back around to my breast. He slides my bra off my shoulders, his fingers finding the sensitive skin on my nipples.

I gasp again—almost moaning into his mouth. I think I hear him clear his throat, but I don’t stop kissing him. Instead, I fumble with the buttons on his shirt, trying to bare his chest the way he has bared mine.

I hear another throat clearing and my eyes fly open at the same time as Andrew’s.

His eyes widen and he pulls me toward him, shielding me against his body from the man standing in front of us.

I can’t even turn around to look—I know it’s the steward. My face feels like it’s on fire and my chest is so tight I can barely breathe. I pull my bra back up—at least it’s still around my arms and hasn’t been thrown to the floor. Yet.

I don’t even bother to hook it—I just pull it up and cover my breasts, turning myself off Andrew’s lap and back up against my seat, trying to get my arms back into my dress while my back is turned to the steward.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Highness, but the pilot has informed me that there is going to be some turbulence in a few minutes. He recommends…” He clears his throat again. “Buckling your seatbelts, Your Highness. Until the turbulence has subsided. He says he is trying to find a way around it, but it may last for some time. I apologize, Your Highness.”

“Yes… Yes, thank you.”

I still can’t bear to turn around—I’m pretty sure the steward got an eyeful of my bare breasts—and I’m sitting with my head against the back of the seat, my eyes closed as I’m almost head-butting the neck rest on the back of the chair.

I feel Andrew’s hand on my still bare back a second later. “I’m so sorry, Victoria. Let me help—”

“No. I can do it myself.” I turn away from him as best as I can and pull the dress back up and over my shoulders before I reach back to try to zip it.

“Here, allow me.” His hand is on my back again, and I stiffen, pulling away. I stand, my back still turned to him as I zip up the dress myself, not even bothering with trying to rehook my bra.

What the hell was I thinking?

“You… You should sit down, Victoria. Buckle your seatbelt.” He pauses. “I… That is to say that we may need to—”

He’s interrupted by a lurch of the plane and my heart speeds up as I grab the arm rest. I turn to him, my eyes wide with terror.

He motions back to my seat. “Sit. Please?” The last part sounds almost like a question and I can tell he’s just as terrified as I am.

I nod and drop back into the seat next to him, fumbling again for my seatbelt.

I’ve barely clicked it closed before the plane bounces a few times and lurches again. I close my eyes, leaning against the headrest and clutching at the sides of the chair, my fingernails digging into the leather once more.

Another lurch and I feel Andrew’s hand on top of mine.

“I’m sorry, Victoria. I’m so, so sorry.”