“Yes.”
“And you expect me to accept that.”
“For today,” I say, meeting his gaze evenly, “yes.”
The tension stretches again, thinner this time, sharper. Then he exhales slowly.
“Tomorrow,” he repeats.
“Tomorrow,” I agree.
This time, it sounds closer to a promise than a delay.
The fire shifts between us, its light steady against the stone, since the ruin collapsed, the direction of what comes next isn’t his to define alone.
I’ve already chosen the path. He just doesn’t see all of it yet.
The silence lingers, but no longer sharp, and I let it settle instead of breaking it again too quickly. He’s thinking. His gaze unfocuses slightly, not from weakness, but from distance, from calculation continuing even when his body refuses to follow.
I don’t want him there. Not right now.
“Tell me something,” I say, before I can second-guess it.
His gaze returns to me, slower this time. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It isn’t,” I reply. “Not everything is strategy.”
“That depends on the question.”
I shift slightly closer to the fire, pulling one knee in, grounding myself before I answer. “What did you want to be,” I ask, “before all of this?”
He watches me for a moment like he’s trying to decide if I’ve lost control of the conversation or if this is something else entirely.
“Before what?” he asks.
“Before the house. Before expectations. Before you had to be… this. Like when you were little.”
He almost smiled, faint and brief. “You assume there was a version of me that didn’t align with expectation.”
“I assume there was a version of you that didn’t care.”
That holds him longer. For a moment, I think he won’t answer.
“I wanted command,” he says. “Not the kind I have now. Not built on inheritance or obligation.” His gaze drifts, not away from me, but past me, somewhere quieter. “Something earned. Something that didn’t come with… conditions. Like a knight or something.”
There’s something in the way he says it that feels too honest to be calculated.
“And you?” he asks.
I huff out a quiet breath. “I didn’t think that far ahead.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” I say, then pause. “I just didn’t think I’d live long enough for it to matter.”
His gaze sharpens slightly at that, something unreadable passing through it.
“That seems inefficient,” he says.
