Evylin couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her.
“Iwould,” he pressed. “Because if that is the future you want, I’d accept it.”
Evylin moved out of his touch to stand before the fireplace. She questioned the fairness of his request, placing the burden of their life solely on her. Nonetheless, she couldn’t ignore the essence of his plea. He wasn’t asking her to decide because he was unwilling; rather, he wanted to secure her happiness above all else.
But there was one immense fault in his request.
“I don’t know what I want,” Evylin said, turning back to him. “I left Whickam Village because I made a promise to Ryen. I fulfilled that promise. But all that time, it wasn’t whatIwanted. My actions were forhim. Now...”
Hewitt’s words came back to her.“What would be reason enough to live?”
Evylin smiled humorlessly. “I don’t know what life I desire.”
Silence met her confession. She wasn’t sure if he delayed his response because he was waiting for her to elaborate or if he was unsure of what to say. But then he stepped forward.
Deckard brushed her hair over her shoulder, his fingers grazing her jaw and neck, trailing down to her shoulder and upper arm. He caressed her gently, warming the skin under her gown. “If you don’t know,” he said with the greatest tenderness, “then I’ll do whatever I can to help you discover the answer.”
As Evylin gazed into his eyes, which glimmered a soft green-gold in the firelight, she recalled all the reasons for her love. There was no denying his physical attractiveness. His eyes, always reminiscent of shifting oceans, the strong contours of his brow, cheekbones, and jaw, the genuine expressiveness of his features, the toned musculature of his physique, and his overall calm demeanor all contributed to his appeal. Yet, her feelings went deeper than mere attraction.
Evylin loved Deckard for his goodness—in every way. He was heartfelt. He exemplified trustworthiness and loyalty, showed tenderness and calmness, and embodied superior morals and a friendly demeanor. Even though he was somewhat reserved with others, he shared everything with her. And he was willing to sacrifice any part of himself for her, always eager to give.
Setting her hand over his, Evylin whispered, “Please.”
Gently, Deckard kissed her temple, his hand sliding down her arm to entwine their fingers as he guided her across the room. They settled at the edge of the bed, the mattress yielding to their weight, their hands resting on the plush comforter between them.
“How do we...?” Evylin asked, words failing as she held his gaze.
Deckard tipped his head to the side. “I suppose the first step is figuring out what it is you want out of life.”
“How do we do that?”
He hesitated far longer than she expected. “Do you have any ideas currently? Any thoughts on what youmightwant? Any dreams of how the future might look?”
After a few seconds’ consideration, Evylin shook her head. “Not really.”
“Nothing at all?”
“I mean, if Ireallythink about it, I guess I imagine myself traveling and fighting, but...” She let out a deep breath. “I don’t know how much of that is actually what I want and how much of it is residual from the past twenty-seven years of my life. We’ve been traveling and fighting for six months now. How do I know whether I actually want more or if I’m just...used to it?”
A small smile tugged at the side of Deckard’s mouth. “Do you like traveling?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like fighting?”
“Yes.”
“Then why wouldn’t you want them to be in your future?”
It was a valid point, but traveling and fighting had many drawbacks, which had caused Evylin to question her dreams ever since they left Whickam Village. However, she thought the biggest reasonnotto include them in her future was potentially sitting right in front of her.
“Do you like traveling?” she asked.
Deckard pressed his lips together, revealing his displeasure with the question. He believed their conversation should focus on her rather than himself. However, he replied, “Sometimes.”
“Do you like fighting?”
“Not particularly.”
