He coughed out a laugh. “What was shouted at me today was no worse than what you dealt with during your coronation.” This was true—though Amarande was being questioned by an entitled twit from Pyrenee, not by her own people. Still, Luca shrugged. “Perhaps that’s just how it is to be for us. Or how it has been.”
Whether it was like this for her father and she hadn’t known, or if it was their own special cross to bear, there would be no fighting it. Just like Amarande couldn’t fight the small grin growing upon her lips as she looked at him now. The pace of her heartbeat had slowed, all the frustration and urgency from before bleeding to embers under her skin.
Amarande felt better, yes. But still unsteady.
Unsure.
She was never unsure about anything having to do with Luca. He was her North Star as always, but in that moment, it felt as if the sky itself were falling to ash around them.
Worse—they’d just been through one of the biggest days of Luca’s life and Amarande realized she’d just made their debrief about her fears and frustrations.
And he’d let her.
There should be a natural give-and-take between partners. Up until weeks ago, it had always been about Luca giving and Amarande just taking, taking, taking. But now, everything was different, and yet she wasn’t. He wasn’t. And Amarande didn’t know if this made them strong or weak.
They settled into silence, side by side, staring into the brazier fire, which had already started to wane, unfed. Its cool blue center sputtered and coughed, its white edges muddled, and orange body thinning. As the time passed, Luca’s arm wound about her shoulders, his fingers toying with the ends of her hair, which she’d left unbraided to protect her neck from the relentless sun.
Luca’s thumb dropped to her mouth, his touch so soft that her eyes closed as she savored it. He lingered there a moment before drawing a finger between her brows, smoothing out the line that had gathered there. “What worries you, Ama?”
What didn’t?
After a deep breath, the queen opened her eyes. Luca waited with that generous intensity he always afforded her, as if what she did and felt and said deserved nothing but all of his attention. Amarande wove her fingers through his, watching the flames paint them like the sun.
And so she began the way she had minutes ago, but calmer this time. “Koldo was right. It was a mistake for me to come with you, here and now. We all know my stubbornness occasionally wins out over my better judgment.…”
Luca arched a brow in the firelight.
He didn’t need to say it.
“Fine. ‘Occasionally’ is an understatement.” Amarande laughed at herself. “I know I am being recklessly stubborn about being here early and with you. I know there is danger. I know we are more valuable together than apart to Geneva. I know, I know, I know.”
Her voice felt small as she revealed the reality of her worry to the fresh air and him. “But the trouble is that even when the danger subsides, the reality is…” Amarande swallowed and forced herself to speak louder. “As much as I may dream it, you cannot shut yourself away in a castle located in a kingdom away from your own.”
He didn’t respond. This told her he knew this already. Of course, he did.
“We made a vow to stay together, joined together, if not together in the same space,” Amarande went on. That voice that had been soft in her own ears was now too loud, filling with a sob she had to swallow twice to get the rest of it out, her eyes heavy with the overwhelming need to cry. Admitting to this truth was a relief as muchas it was a burden. “Our love will feel like this no matter where you are or where I am. I know that in my head—not in my heart. It’s the stubbornness—I’m stubborn in my love of you, and it makes it difficult to acknowledge the reality that you do not simply belong to me. For all my insistence and bullheadedness, I cannot change that you belong to this place and its people.”
Without hesitation, Luca answered.
“I do.”
It was a vow, yes. But not to her heart—to the people of Torrence. One he made the moment he accepted his destiny.
Sadness welled thick in Amarande’s throat. Her gaze remained downcast, pinned on the dying embers as tears threatened, hot in the cooling desert night. Luca held her tighter and she wedged her head between the crook of his neck and his shoulder and chest. His strong arms enveloped her, so close his heartbeat joined with the stutter-and-patter of hers. When she shut her eyes, the tears finally came free.
“Ama,” Luca whispered, adjusting to sweep away the wetness from her cheeks. “I can stay with you in the Itspi for a long while. It’ll take ages to rebuild Torrence—the cities, the infrastructure, the will and trust of the people will take time. Perhaps longer than it’ll take to build a castle to call the kingdom seat. I likely can lead from the Itspi for years until I have a castle to call my own. But I will have to be with my people for a time. I will have to be a presence in their lives.”
Thickly, she bit out yet another iteration of her current refrain. “I know.”
“Of course, you do.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “Ama, do you remember the moments after we pulled you from that burning cell and shuttled you away to safety?”
Amarande nodded—she had no strength left for a pithy answer like the one Luca gave to her similar question in the meadow.
“I know your eyes better than anyone else’s. I saw the spark shift when I told you I had to leave to help the resistance finish the fight. I know you understood here—” Luca tapped her temple with a gentle knuckle—“why I had to finish the battle with my people. Why they needed me. Why it was important. You’re an excellent leader and your father’s daughter—you know exactly what it takes to stoke the will to fight with your life on the line for those who would leadyou. But I also know that even though you understoodwhyI had to go in your mind, my doing so was still a shock to your heart.”
Luca moved that knuckle to press a few inches below Amarande’s collarbone, right where the wolf tattoo marked him. “You want us to be together, hand in hand, not just heart in heart. I want that, too. You know I do, in my heart and head. But you also know I must lead my people.”
With sword-rough palms he swept both her hands in his now—skin and sinew and intention, all in that grip. What she wanted, what he wanted, represented in something they could do so easily. If only the rest were like that.
