Page 162 of Reign

Inside, Fitzroy stood opposite me, but I refused to meet his eye—instead, I focused on the wooden planks underfoot, wary that just the sight of him might rekindle my anger.

“I wish to apologize,” he said, tilting his head as he tried to meet my downward glance. “You know I don’t believe the things I said last night.”

I looked up, letting him see the anger glowing in my eyes. He scrutinized me before disappearing behind the partition.

“I’m sorry,” he continued from out of sight. “I was angry because I—”

“When we left for the Isle, you knew I was upset about him,” I interrupted, determined to say all the things I wished I had the night before. “You were there when he declared we were no longer friends. You heard me begging for his forgiveness. During our time at Regina’s court, we became close, and I grew fonder of you each day. When we returned, Bash sought amends—and all I did was explain why I’d lied and say that I still care for him. I never betrayed you. I didn’t even embrace him—I merely shook his hand. For in the time Bash and I were apart, when I believed he hated me, my loyalty shifted. It was no longer his, but yours.”

“I know,” he murmured, emerging from behind the partition with a clean tunic, breeches, and hose in hand.

I accepted the garments. “Thank you,” I said quietly, as he turned his back to give me privacy to change.

As I removed the musty tunic and slipped into the fresh one, more unspoken thoughts from the night before resurfaced.

“You sent me out—alone—as the only woman in this camp, with no regard for my safety or where I might sleep,” I chided, my gaze fixed on the back of his head, searching for signs of remorse. “How can I believe that you don’t mean those awful words when your actions say otherwise?”

Fitzroy sighed, his shoulders sagging. “All I can say is sorry—”

“I don’t forgive you,” I cut him off, uninterested in his apology—I was good at holding grudges. “But I’ll keep my promise to stand by your side until victory—or death—because I truly believe you’ll be a good king. For all your faults, you’ll make Lyonesse a realm where all can live freely, without fear of persecution. For that, the kingdom will have your mother to thank—she raised you with strong morals.”

Once dressed, I patted his shoulder to signal he could turn around. When our eyes met, I faltered briefly—if I hadn’t kept reminding myself of the insults he’d hurled at me, it would have been easy to forgive a face that handsome.

“I value your steadfastness,” Fitzroy said, moving to his desk to retrieve a wad of parchment. “I’ve a request. Go to the Anchor and inform the witches of the recent events. Give this to Margaret—it’s my battle strategy. Should she have any suggestions, I require her counsel before sunrise.”

I nodded as he handed me the parchment. “Of course, my liege.”

He then selected a scroll. “This contains what I expect from them on the morrow—protection incantations akin to those used against the selkies.”

I nodded again, keeping things formal between us.

“My final request is that you take Billy off my hands,” Fitzroy added, gesturing toward his desk.

“Is he beneath there?” I asked, ducking to glimpse some of his sallow skin.

Fitzroy nodded. “He’s not coping well with the revelation of Regina’s hoodwinking.”

“She’s a wench,” Billy mumbled as he crawled out from beneath the wood. “I trusted her, and she tricked me.”

He staggered to his feet, his disheveled rags accentuating his pitiable state.

“He’s drunk and utterly useless to me,” Fitzroy said as we watched the boozy goblin struggle to stay upright. “I want him out of my sight for the rest of the day.”

“I’ll do your bidding,” I replied.

As I turned to leave, Fitzroy placed a hand on my waist.

I stepped out of his reach. “You don’t get to touch me,” I said, my voice low and firm.

“Understood.”

“We’re merely loyal subject and commander. What happened between us on the Isle shall remain there.”

My bottom lip trembled as I fought to maintain my composure. Letting go of Fitzroy hurt, but the thought of losing Bash again was agonizing.

“Once this battle’s over, I’ll strive to earn your forgiveness,” Fitzroy vowed with a remorseful sigh.

Removing his cloak, he draped it over my shoulders, securing it with a gleaming gold clasp.