“She doesn’t get to choose,” I said. “Not really.”
“She’s still breathing.”
“For how long?”
I pushed away from the post and started pacing between the hay-stacked walls, my hands clenched.
“She’s a healer, not a bargaining chip. She deserves the gods-damned truth, not a crown held together with documents and fear.”
“You think she doesn’t know that already?” Gideon said. “You think she doesn’t feel it every second she walks through these halls?”
“I know,” I acknowledged. “I know.”
Silence.
He observed me for a long time.
Then: “You care about her.”
I remained quiet. He knew all too well how I felt.
He gave me a crooked smile. “She’s not the only one stuck in this castle with her heart in chains.”
My jaw tensed. “She deserves better than this.”
Gideon offered no argument. His gaze, deep and unwavering, held my eyes with an unnerving degree of understanding. “Maybe,” he whispered. “You see her. And she sees you, which is a rare thing. But it doesn’t matter what you think she deserves.”
I looked down at Bran, who had rested his head on my foot, eyes half-lidded but alert.
“She’s going to sign it,” I said.
Gideon didn’t stop me. “Yeah. She probably is.”
We stood there in silence. The wind howled against the high stone walls outside, but in the stables, it was quieter and warmer.
“I should’ve walked away before any of this started,” I muttered.
“But you didn’t,” he said. “And you’re still here. That counts for something.”
Does it? I wanted to ask. Or is that what men like me tell ourselves so we don’t fall apart?
But I didn’t say that.
Instead, I nodded and reached down to scratch Bran’s ears again.
I couldn’t give Wyn freedom. And I couldn’t offer her a future.
But I could stay close.
The castle was quieter at night, but never truly still.
Stone didn’t rest the way forests did. Trees held their breath in silence. Walls whispered when no one was listening.
I sat on a worn bench near the lesser servants’ corridor, tucked in a pocket of dim torchlight. My uniform jacket lay folded beside me. My sword belt hung loose over my knees. But I didn’t move.
Not yet.
My hand drifted to my pocket for something small and delicate.
