“Is already watching. Has been since the battle ended.” I pull her close by the nape of her neck, press my nose against her temple, breathing her in. “It knows what happened. Knows what you’ve become to me. A few more minutes won’t change that.”
“A few minutes?” Her eyebrow arches. “That’s insulting.”
I laugh. The sound surprises me—rough and unused, but real. I can’t remember the last time I laughed.
“However long you need.”
I set her down in a hollow like the first—bones in the walls, the King’s voice faint.
“The bolt needs to come out.” I look up at her, meeting her eyes. “It’s going to hurt.”
“Do it.”
I brace one hand against her thigh, feeling the muscle tense beneath my palm. She’s watching me with trust that I’m not sure I deserve—trust that I’m going to take care of her, that I won’t let the pain be worse than necessary.
I grip the bolt and pull.
She doesn’t scream. Just sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth, her hands fisting against the packed earth on either side of her. Blood wells from the wound—fresh and bright—and I press my palm against it, applying pressure while the forest responds to my silent command.
The sap that wells up from the roots is the same substance that flows through my scars. Dark. Viscous. It stings when Iapply it to her wound, and she hisses, but within seconds the bleeding slows. Stops.
“Forest medicine.” She’s looking at the wound with something between fascination and horror. “Is that going to make me grow bark?”
“No. But it will heal faster than it should.”
“Good.” Her hand finds my wrist, pulls me toward her. “Then stop playing healer and come here.”
I go. Can’t not. She’s gravity, and I’ve been falling since the moment she looked at me without fear.
The hollow is cramped, forces us close. I don’t mind. My body covers hers, braced on my forearms to keep from crushing her. The position is familiar now—learned in another hollow, practiced in the heat of desperation and survival. But this is different.
Slower.
I take my time kissing her. Learn the curve of her mouth, the way she gasps when I nip at her lower lip, the sound she makes when I trail my mouth down her throat. Her pulse beats rapid against my tongue, and I can feel the same rhythm through the forest—two heartbeats syncing, hers and Briargrave’s.
“I’ve never—” She loses the words when I find the sensitive spot beneath her ear. Tries again. “I’ve never felt this way before.”
“Which way?”
“Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.” Her hands slide beneath my shirt—what’s left of it—tracing the bark-scars that pattern my torso. “Like I’ve been running my whole life and I finally found somewhere worth stopping.”
I understand. I’ve been holding myself apart for the same reason.
“The King is going to try to use this against me.” The truth needs to be spoken, even now. Especially now. “What we have—it makes me vulnerable in ways I haven’t been in a long time.”
“I know.”
I kiss her again. And this time, I don’t stop.
FORTY-TWO
THAROS
Later—much later—we lie tangled in the hollow, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing patterns on her back. The setting sun has faded to twilight. She fits against me like she’s always belonged there, and I find I have nothing left to explain—only this.
She lifts her head, looks at me with those storm-gray eyes. “Is this your version of a proposal?”
“Would you say yes if it was?”
