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Elyse’s head throbbed from crying. She wished she had a warm rag to place over her swollen eyes, but she settled instead for pulling the covers over her face and enveloping herself in darkness.
The sleeping pad was surprisingly comfortable, and the linens were soft. She even had a curtain that she’d drawn to give herself an extra layer of privacy. Yet as she tried to lose herself in sleep, all she saw was the horrid silhouette of the walker. The crackle of the fire outside was the gnashing of its teeth, and the wind rustling the canvas of the tent was its snarls.
She yanked the covers off and sat up in bed, cradling her head in her hands. Her entire body throbbed from the disasters of the last four-and-twenty hours. She had almost died twice—first at Ymaritis’s hands, then by the claws of the walker. But worst of all had been baring her soul for the others, blubbering like an infant in front of them. She’d nearly given herself hiccups from sobbing.
As she’d poured her heart out, she desperately wanted to cover her face and run inside the tent. Even being so vulnerable in front of Sera and Jaime, who already knew about Lazarus, was difficult enough. But telling Killian? She’d almost rather face the walker again.
And yet, it had been cathartic. Coming clean, all of it, without being shackled or attacked. They had listened politely, encouragingly even, and had not shown her any ill will.
Most of all, as she recounted her life story, she had craved Killian’s approval. She’d forced herself not to stare at him and scrutinize his facial expressions, harrowingly lit by the campfire. But she hadn’t been able to help stealing glances at him, searching for forgiveness.
Her stomach churned now as she thought of it. Surely, if he’d forgiven her, he would have said so. As much as she needed to hear him say that he no longer held a grudge against her, she tried to understand that it was something he might not let go of right away—if ever.
She heard the tent flap open, and the soft sound of footsteps against the carpeted floor. She expected to find Sera checking in on her and was surprised by Killian’s face peering in at her as he tugged back the curtain.
“Elyse?” he asked softly—almost hesitatingly. “Do you need anything? Water or… company?”
Her heart leapt in her throat. At that moment, she wanted his company more than anything in the world. But if it was mere pity, or an obligation to help keep her head straight for the mission ahead, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to bear it. Perhaps it was better to dismiss him and face her feelings on her own.
Killian, however, took her silence as an invitation. He moved swiftly into the sleeping area, shutting the curtain behind him, and eased himself onto the makeshift bed. He left several feet of space between them, but to Elyse, it felt like miles.
“Can I speak freely?” he asked.
Elyse only nodded, too afraid to open her mouth. She knew her voice would sound weak.
Killian sighed as he leaned his elbows onto his knees. “I’m sorry for not asking you sooner. I should have given you a chance to explain before I arrested you—or attempted to.”
Though it was dark, she could see a crooked smile on his lips. She stared at that smile, unsure what to say. Those words took her breath away.
“I think you understand why I didn’t want to hear any of it at the time… Why I wasn’t ready,” he continued. “But that doesn’t mean it was right for me to do so, and I’m sorry.”
Elyse closed her eyes as she felt tears welling to the surface. Dammit—how did she still have any tears left to cry?
She sniffled, and Killian’s brow furrowed. He immediately shifted closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in tight. “Hey,” he breathed as she buried her face in his chest. “It’s okay.”
Her whole body shuddered as she failed to stifle a sob. Killian ran his hand over her back in soothing motions, and Elyse felt her anxieties begin to melt away.
This, being held by Killian, letting him comfort her… Why had she been so terrified of it? It felt so right. After her mother’s death, she had borne this weight completely alone. And now, she had friends—friends who were willing to listen without judgment or condescension.
She lifted her gaze to meet Killian’s. He looked down at her with open, attentive eyes. “What is it?” he asked gently.
Elyse swallowed. Before she could change her mind, she asked, “Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive me?”
Killian took a deep breath. He reached out and gingerly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, stroking her cheek with his thumb. The touch electrified her, igniting her hope, but she held her breath and waited for his answer.
“Twice this week, I thought I was going to lose you,” he began, his voice gravelly. “And both times, I knew I would do anything to save you.”
Elyse tried not to look away as her chin trembled.
“I’m still hurting, Elyse. I don’t know that I can simply forget that I was lied to, that you took away my king…”
She hung her head. She should have known. She should have realized that forgiveness was too much to ask for. Her hope diminished as anguish gripped her heart.
Killian let out a breath. “But I’d like to try.”
Slowly, she lifted her head. His eyes were on her—calm and encouraging.
“You were right,” he uttered. “There’s something about us.”
