Page 128 of Queen of War and Ruin

“Where—” I manage to stammer.

“It’s one of mine,” he says. “What? You think I stole it from that asshole from Marion?”

He glances over his shoulder like he’s expecting to see Gerard walking up the hill to join us. I take the dagger, tuck it into my belt, and let my hand rest on the hilt. Gods, it feels good to have a blade again.

“I’m sorry about Gerard,” I say. “We should have left him in Vsenrog.”

A strange expression flickers across my brother’s face as a gust of wind tugs at his hair.

“Not your fault,” he says. “Men like that think they can get away with anything.”

I frown. Men like that? What in the gods’ many names does he mean? I stare at him for long enough to realize he’s not going to offer any further information.

“Men in the royal guard?” I finally ask.

Petrys huffs, then glances up at the sky, as if the late afternoon sun holds the answer. For a moment he looks almost like he’s blushing.

“Men that attractive,” he finally answers, almost under his breath.

My mouth falls open again. “What?”

“Oh, shut up,” Petrys snaps.

“Gerard?” I stammer. I’ve always known Petrys prefers men, but still. “You find him⁠—”

“I didn’t say I find him attractive,” Petrys huffs. “I said he is attractive. It’s an objective fact.”

“Sure,” I say, grinning as I sink back against the aspen tree. “Sure, it is.”

Petrys huffs again. I wait for him to dig that hole even deeper, but he doesn’t reply. Two white butterflies dance in the air between us, circling and twirling. Petrys finally meets my gaze.

“She knows your name,” he says in a soft voice.

I swallow.

“She said it in the palace,” he continues. “To wake you up.”

Well, shit. I can’t deny that. I spin the blade of grass between my fingers as Petrys runs his hand through his hair.

“I wasn’t even sure you remembered it,” he says.

“Gods,” I snort. “I’m not going to forget my own name. I’m not an idiot.”

“I never said you were,” he replies. “I just— You never said it again. Not after we left home.”

“Of course not,” I say. “I didn’t want to get anyone killed.”

He grins at me. “You really do love her.”

I open my mouth. Close it. Turn back to face the meadow, with its paradise of flowers and kingdom of butterflies.

“Yes,” I finally admit. “I do.”

“Well, that’s—nice,” he says, with just enough of a pause before nice to make me wonder what he really meant to say.

I sigh, then look back over my shoulder to the protected hollow where my wife is sleeping.

“I don’t know,” I confess. “I— Gods, I fucked things up.”