I laughed and took the cup, fingers brushing his warm skin. The connection sent butterflies skittering low in my belly, and I pulled away, sniffing the drink.
He raised an eyebrow, sipping his own. “It’s cider.”
Steam curled beneath my nose as I brought the mug to my lips. Hot, sweet, comforting. It smelled like him. Cinnamon. I hid a grin, glancing out at the darkening fields. The sip was smooth, warmth spreading down my throat, filling my chest—tangy apples with a touch of sweetness.
I nodded, satisfied. “Thank you.”
“Once I saw your guards roaming the halls, I thought refreshments were in order.”
“How did you know I’d be here?” I teased. “I could’ve been anywhere.”
He braced against the wall beside me, scanning the garden below. “I come here to be alone. It’s my sanctuary when days are trying.”
I shifted, ready to get down. “I didn’t mean to impose–”
“Don’t,” he interrupted, raising a hand. “Please stay. It seems our days have both been more ill than good.”
I settled back into my seat, curling around my cup, trying to leech the heat from it but also protect it from the wind. Silence lapsed between us, and I wondered which part of his day was the worst. Was it the council meeting where he had to face down his son? Or the sparring ring? There was so much to being a king that I wasn’t privy to—perhaps it was something else.
“How’s your shoulder?” I asked.
He scoffed, rolling it in a half-shrug. “A hilt hurts less than a blade through the socket. Tallon knew I favored it.”
“That sounds… unpleasant.” I grimaced. “Vellos?”
“The battle of Ereth’nor. We were outnumbered three to one.” He blinked, his expression softening.
I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand as I watched him. “And yet, here you are.”
“I’m harder to kill than most.” He tipped his cup toward me, eyes glinting. “Best keep that in mind.”
I pressed a palm to my chest in mock horror. “I would never! Besides, my dragons are far too distant to carry me home.”
“Not you.” His gaze flickered, a slight wrinkle creasing his brow before he looked away. “Tallon’s too eager for the throne. But I jest.” His eyes held aguarded light as he watched me over the rim of his mug, as if weighing my reaction.
“The throne, not the yoke,” I murmured.
“He will mature.”
“Are you convincing me or yourself?” I bit down on my lip. What was it about this man that caused me to blurt out such things? He put me at ease, made me feel seen. But he was theking!
“You don’t care for him.”
Something sat on the edge of my tongue—denial? An excuse for my outburst?
His brow lifted, a spark of challenge. “Truth, remember?”
I clamped my mouth shut, watching him. His eyes held a glimmer, as if he’d known my answer long before I spoke it, and his lips edged into a faint smile. He wasn’t upset.
“No.” Admitting it brought a strange sense of relief. “I don’t care for his attitude or the way he treats me. I was raised better, and expected more from him.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, though he kept his eyes steady, willing me to continue.
“He’s rude, immature, and full of himself. I’ve tried, again and again, to prove my worth, yet he shuns me at every turn. I can’t see us finding happiness in marriage.”
He looked away, back to the dark fields, his face cast in shadow as the night deepened. Crickets chirped, their happy tune mocking my turmoil.
“He asked to be released from the alliance,” he said.
