Page 135 of Flames and Blood

He looks up when the door opens.

His hair is pushed back off his forehead like he did it with wet hands and never checked a mirror. There’s road dirt along his jaw. His eyes are the same as the first time I saw them, dark brown with something moving under the color, and they come straight to my face and stay there.

Somewhere in the last four days I stopped being sure I’d see him again. I never said that to anybody. I’m not sure I let myself think it until right now, standing in a doorway looking at him.

Neither of us says anything.

Then I cross the room at a run, grab the front of his coat and pull. He stands and gets his arms around me hard enough that my feet leave the floor.

“Oh, God,” I choke. I put my face into his throat and breathe him in.

I’m shaking. It isn’t the cold, and I don’t care that he can feel it.

Neither of us talks for a while. One of his hands is in my hair. Mine stays fisted in his coat, because letting go is more than I can manage yet.

“You’re freezing,” I say eventually, into his collar.

“I’m always cold, princess,” he says.

“It’s more than that. I know your cold, and this isn’t it.”

I feel him smile against the top of my head. “I’ve been in a truck for days. I would have been faster if I could have driven in daylight.” He says it the way he reports anything. “I can’t.”

I pull back far enough to look at him. There’s dried mud along the hem of his coat and a tear in one sleeve. His face is thinner than it was on the mountain, and it shows most around his eyes. He hasn’t fed properly in days.

“I have to say something first.”

“Say it.”

“I waited for you.” He isn’t looking at me now. “That last night.”

“I know.”

“I heard the toasts come through the floor. I heard you laughing.”

There’s nothing I can say to that.

“I tried to leave twice,” I say.

He doesn’t answer.

“That’s not an excuse. It’s just true.”

“I know it’s true.” He looks up. “I sat in that room and decided you weren’t coming.”

“I should have come.” I swallow. “I told you I would.”

His eyes meet mine. “There are other things you should have told me.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yes. I should have.” I take a breath. “Kaevor.” When I open my eyes, he’s still looking at me. “That wasn’t my choice. The betrothal. It was arranged between our families before either of us had even taken to the sky.” I reach out and cup his cheek. It’s as cool as I remember. “But I still should have told you.”

“Yes. You should have.” He lifts his hand to press my palm to his face.

“I’m so sorry, Gideon.” My voice is husky.

“I know.”

It isn’t enough for either of us, and neither of us says so.