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“Then simply tell me the truth.”
Hawthorn exhaled, chest hurting. “I have had worse knights, and do not detest her company as much as I protest.”
At this, Markham barked a laugh. “It appears you have more in common with her than I thought.”
“Jules? She hates me.”
“Juliana can lie.”
“I don’t think she’s lying about that.”
“Do you not?” Markham regarded him carefully. “She was worried about you last night, you know.”
“She’s not here now,” Hawthorn said, hating how he sounded like a petulant child. It wasn’t that hewantedher here, exactly. She was, after all, terrible company.
But he imagined anyone would be awful right now, and at least time waslessawful, with her around.
“It’s not easy to watch the people you care for suffer,” Markham remarked, his gaze misty and faraway.
Hawthorn sincerely doubted that Jules cared about him at all. She’d always acted like he was a terrible inconvenience, even when he was upright and capable of breathing properly.
But then… he thought he might have remembered something in her voice last night. Panic and fear.
He was likely misremembering.
Before he could think of a reply, Jules barged back into the room, damp hair around her back and shoulders. It went the colour of burnished gold when wet, a fact Hawthorn knew but wasn’t fully aware of until right now. She wore a long night shirt, similarly damp, and it highlighted every muscle and curve of her.
“You look better, daughter,” Markham remarked.
“Please,” she groaned, blowing a loose hair from her face, “I look almost as rubbish as he does.”
“Charming as ever, Jules,” Hawthorn uttered, wishing he had the energy to roll his eyes. It was hardly a lie. She was never charming.
“I’m still exhausted,” Juliana declared. “Are you all right to watch over His Royal Snottiness while I take a nap, Father?”
“Of course.”
She flopped down on the chaise and pulled the blanket up to her head.
“You shouldn’t sleep with wet hair,” said Markham, at the same time Hawthorn opened his mouth to say something similar.
Jules scowled, lifting up her head and tugging her damp locks free to hang over the armrest in the direction of the fireplace, before lying her back down again. She was asleep within minutes.
“You don’t need to stay,” Hawthorn told Markham. “I do not require anything. I promise not to disturb her.”
“If you’re sure…”
“I am.”
Markham left the room.
Hawthorn turned back to Juliana. He didn’t often get the chance to watch her sleep. It was an oddly peaceful image, when her silence didn’t herald an oncoming tongue-lashing or barely concealed contempt.
He found he missed her barbs nonetheless.
Strange.
Soon after, the effects of whatever potion Markham had given him took effect, and he fell back to sleep.
