The air hung heavy between us as I pressed my lips together, waiting.
“But he needs you.”
My breath hitched. He needed me. Not the court, not a servant—me.
“I would never ask you to do anything against your will,” she said, her gaze steady but filled with urgency. “Veridis knows I’d never force you. But if you still care for him—if he’ll allow it—Kallias needs you.”
“And if he won’t?” The question slipped out, sharp and trembling.
“Then he can take it up with his god.”
Wrapping my arms around myself, I hugged tight, indecision pressing hard against my ribs. “If someone saw me…” The words faded, too dangerous to complete.
“His guard will keep silent,” she assured me. “Greaves is closer to us than any outsider. Betrayal isn’t in his nature. I’ll make sure no one disturbs this hall tonight.”
“But if–”
“I am Gayle’sol of the Andeluith.” She dropped her hands, her posture straightening as if claiming an unseen crown. An air of nobility wrapped around her, almost regal, until she ruined the moment with a wink. “None here would dare cross me.”
A slow breath escaped me as I steadied myself. “I claimed Veridis.”
“I know.”
A faint smile tugged at my lips. Tilting my head, I studied her with mock suspicion. “You are far too clever, Gayle’sol.”
One brow arched, and she extended her hand. “Being married to Clay, I have to be.”
Her fingers felt cool, a soft contrast to the damp heat of mine. She gave a reassuring squeeze before pulling me toward the entrance. My stomach twisted at the thought of sneaking across the corridor—of finding him drenched in blood.
Of washing it away.
Gayle eased the door open and peeked down the hall. A quick nod followed, and she nudged me forward with an impatient push.
“Go. He needs you.”
My hand trembled as I raised it to knock.
“No! Inside!” She waved her hands, urging me on.
A glance down the dim corridor revealed nothing but shadows stretching along the walls. Doubt creeped in, but I shoved it down, gripped the handle, and stepped in.
—and immediately collided with Greaves.
I stumbled, gasping as he caught himself on the wood, then slammed the door behind him. His armored bulk loomed, a wall of dark steel and dried blood.
“Princess.” His voice grated low, and he lifted a hand, more gesture than apology, as he slid a dagger into its sheath. Red streaks marred his trimmed beard and face.
I pressed myself against the door, trying to shrink beneath his towering presence. Up close, he was a fortress of muscle and steel, a figure I had only seen from a safe distance. The scent of iron and sweat adhered to every inch of him, sharp and suffocating.
His expression softened, the hard angles of his face easing as he dipped his head. Dark eyes, deep and unreadable, swept over me in a slow appraisal before rising to meet mine again. He stayed rooted in place, unmoving, as if deciding what to do with me.
“Please.”
The word fell from my lips, stripped of authority. I was not a princess commanding a guard to step aside; it was a plea. I wasn’t asking for access to a throne room or a strategic council—I was asking someone to let me at their friend when they were vulnerable.
I stood there, holding my breath, hoping for something—a sign, a shift in his stance. My pulse hammered in my ears, as if the air itself was charged with the depth of my request.
Greaves watched me, his dark eyes unreadable, his posture a wall of uncertainty. Whatever Kallias had shared with him, it must have been enough to make him hesitate. If he knew we had fought, that I might have been part of Kallias’ pain, why would he trust me now?
