The familiar lines at the corners of his eyes deepened, clashing with the smile meant to disguise them.
“I would suffer far more for you,” I whispered, teasing gone, promise bare.
He risked everything for me. His life, narrowly spared. His kingdom, now bleeding for it. And I—with pride intact and integrity unbroken—carried the kind of love poets carved into history. And suffered nothing for it.
“The men treated you well?” he asked, leaning back, withdrawing his hand.
“After your guard stole ten years from their lives,” I said, laughing. “Greaves, even in his state, had them flat on the ground before they knew who we were. Fallione smoothed things quickly. They swore loyalty on the spot.”
“I’ll remember them when I return to Reem. Loyalty offered in times like this is worth more than any oath sworn in peace.”
“I believe your people will prove themselves,” I said, leaning closer.
The look he gave me carried such longing, such conflict; it ached straight through my chest.
“We shall know soon enough.”
The night passed in restless turns on a stranger’s bed. Sleep came thin and fractured; my thoughts too loud, the mattress unkind.
Kallias’ breathing stayed even, yet his body never truly softened. Neither of us surrendered to rest. Silence stretched into the darkness, a shared decision not to disturb one another, each pretending sleep had found us.
I suspected the only ones who were blessed with real respite were Cain and Raul. Their snoring filled the hut, a rough, steady chorus. Greaves sat against the bed, head tipped to the side in a shallow doze. Fallione lay near the fire, knees drawn in to leave room for our hosts on the cramped floor.
Claus and Ronan spent the night beneath the stars. Ronan’s choice surprised no one, though Claus’ did, especially once the patter of rain began pattering against the thatched roof.
Our quiet pretense ended when a leak found Kallias’ shoulder, cold drops seeping through from above. We spoke in hushed tones before dawn, preparing for the day.
Outside, I stepped away to relieve myself, blinking against the dim gray light pressing down from the clouded sky.
“Miserable weather,” Ronan muttered, falling into step beside me.
I gathered my skirts, lifting them clear of the long, wet grass. “Better for hiding Gyrak.”
He twisted, scowling at Claus trailing behind us. “I’ve got her.”
I dipped my chin, smiling at the ground. Ronan might’ve been an overgrown crab, but he was my little brother. Loyal to the bone. Protective to a fault.
The small structure ahead came into view, and disgust curled in my gut.
I was a queen. Without a throne and palace. This was my reality now, the same one our gracious hosts lived with each day. Necessity stripped pride bare, and I crushed what remained beneath my heel.
The mantle did not change the fact that I was still a woman.
Ronan stood guard while I fumbled in the darkness, hoping I didn’t soil my clothes too much.
Patience frayed, I hurried back out. Claus leaned against the corner of the hut, his oiled hood pulled low. I felt his attention linger, heavy and deliberate. Unease crawled up my spine, raising the hairs on my nape.
“I don’t trust him,” Ronan murmured. “What kind of loyalist attacks the man he believes to be his king?”
“Who attacked whom again?” I asked, flashing a brief smile at the Thresher as I veered toward the dark mound of scales resting on the plain.
“I’m serious.”
“And I’ll remind you,” I said, sniffing, “you’re a terrible judge of character. You tried to convince me Tallon wasn’t a vile wretch. If Kallias trusts him, so do I.”
“Tallon was just… immature,” Ronan argued.
Gyrak lifted his head as I neared, releasing a soft chuff of greeting.
