And if he fell, she would not even be there to hold his hand. She would not be able to kiss him goodbye. To whisper that she had always, always loved him.
Her chest spasmed with a sob, but no sound came out. She could not let him leave without telling him she wasn’t finished loving him. Not yet.
Not ever.
***
Celeste didn’t knock.
She slammed her palm against the heavy oak door once—twice—before it registered that she was breathing too hard to speak. She tasted salt and desperation in every tear that found its way onto her lips. She would not let him leave. This was not a curtain call, and no one, not even that stoic general, could exit the stage unless it was his cue.
The door opened.
Hawk stood tall in full uniform, brass gleaming under the candlelight. His boots were polished, his saber sheathed at his hip. He looked as if he were about to march.
She opened her mouth to speak. No words came out. All her arguments unraveled as they stared at each other in the dark.
A sob tore from her throat. Surging forward, she flung herself at him.
Her body hit the wall of his chest, and he stiffened—then crushed her against him. His grip was too tight. She welcomed it, burying her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder,breathing in the man she thought she’d forget and knowing she never could. Her fists curled into his coat. The wool scratched her skin. She wanted to tear it off him. To remove his uniform, the same one that made him the most handsome man in the world and made her insanely proud of him, she wanted it burned, so he would never have to bloody it. She settled for clinging to him, wrapping herself tighter around his frame.
He didn’t speak.
His thumb brushed a tremor from her spine. He lowered his head, pressing his lips into her hair.
There were no words beyond their breathing. Could she stop this hourglass inside her? Live forever in the scent of his cologne, in the soothing warmth of his hands?
For one blissful moment, she imagined that time had frozen. That he would hold her like this forever. No ships would sail, no sabers would leave their sheaths, no dawns would come, and the lark would never sing, only the nightingale, playing the sonata of their love.
He took a struggling breath. She felt its force against her hair.
“Don’t go tomorrow,” she whispered. “Please. I can’t bear it if you go away.”
His breath hitched. His hands went still on her back. She felt his hesitation, and then the inevitable steel returning to his body like armor reforging itself.
He set her on her feet.
She stumbled, dizzy. Her hands slipped from his chest, landing awkwardly at her sides, as cold air rushed between them.
“It is my duty, Celeste,” he said.
“I cannot stand that word,” she hissed. Her breath came too fast now, her lungs hot and tight. “Graves won’t go. He chose to stay. Why can’t you do the same?”
Because Graves loved Rue. Still, she dared not say it aloud. Not when Hawk’s eyes were already shuttering. Not when his mouth thinned into that line that said don’t hope for more.
But then he wiped a tear from her cheek with such tenderness... and his thumb lingered on the corner of her mouth.
“The army will lose a great captain with Graves’s absence,” he said softly. “But if I were to stay… the army would lose its cavalry. There is no other general in my position, Celeste. Not going is not an option.”
“Then take me with you,” she said.
“You don’t know what you ask—”
She reached for him. Caught his hand between both of hers.
“Please,” she breathed. “I know some officers take their wives. I can come. I’ll help—I can take care of you. I won’t be in the way.”
His fingers twitched in hers, but didn’t pull free. The candlelight flickered across his features—his silver hair, the deep shadows under his eyes, the rigid set of his jaw. And when he looked down at their joined hands, it was with a stare so unguarded, so pained, it made her chest ache.
