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Juliana tripped on the stairs halfway up, skirts sprawling everywhere. She laughed in a highly un-Jules like fashion.
“These stairs are proving most problematic. Where’s my sword?”
“You can’t vanquish stairs, Juliana.”
“Have you ever tried?”
Hawthorn sighed. “Come, my wicked wench, let’s conquer these stairs together.”
Jules barely managed two before falling flat on her face. The disconcerting giggles continued. “They’re conqueringus.”
“They’re conqueringyou,certainly.“ He shook his head. “Come here.” He looped her arm over his shoulder and swept her against his body, groaning under her weight. “You are much heavier than you look.”
“I’m pure muscle!”
His eyes drifted down to the warm, soft slope of her breasts, pushing against the fabric of her dress. “Not quitepuremuscle…“ he muttered, entirely against his will.
“Are you looking at me?”
“I’m always looking at you,” he admitted glumly. He really hoped she didn’t remember that particular admission in the morning.
They stumbled into their chambers. Hawthorn swept her into her adjoining room, depositing her on the bed. He wasn’t used to Jules being this way. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do.
But whenever she’d dragged him back to his chambers, drunk out of his mind, he always remembered she removed his shoes.
He stooped down to unlace her sandals, quite sure he’d never been this close to her before, never touched this part of her body.
Why am I thinking about where I’ve touched her before?
“Hawthorn,” said Juliana, her tone now devoid of giggling. “Don’t tell anyone what happened. Don’t let them see what a fool I was.”
Hawthorn exhaled, as if too deep a breath would shatter the thinness of the night. “It really matters to you, doesn’t it? Keeping your weaknesses hidden?”
“That matters toeveryone,“ she insisted. “I just have more weaknesses than most.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
Without another word Juliana dropped the sleeves off her shoulders and peeled down the dress to her waist, displaying every glorious naked inch of her chest.
“Holy vines,” Hawthorn uttered, desperately trying to look away and somewhat failing in this endeavour.
Juliana had no notion of his distress. She picked up his fingers and placed them against a long, silvery wound, which curved down her chest. Her torso was littered with them. “I am mortal,” she reminded him, and he really did need the reminder, because he often thought of Jules as cut from something else entirely. “My body breaks more easily than yours, and I have to find ways of making it stronger. And my heart too, carries mortal scars. Mortal weaknesses.”
“You have a heart of steel, Jules.”
“Then why does it hurt all the time?” she asked, and to his alarm, tears sprouted in her eyes. “I have too many. Too many fears. Too many weaknesses. Mother, Father, snakes, failure… you.”
“Me?” His brow furrowed further. “How am I one of your weaknesses?”
“I don’t know,” she said, a tear sliding down her cheek. “And it isn’t fair. Because Ihateyou, Hawthorn. I really, really hate you…”
Her head started to lull, and he realised, with a heavy heart, how ashamed she’d be to know what she’d just told him in the morning.
Also, she stripped in front of him. He fancied she might claw out his eyes tomorrow if she remembered.
“Juliana,” he whispered, “can you remove your wards?”
Obediently, Juliana did. Off came the ribbon tied to her ankle, the clasp on her dress, her necklace of berries. More impressively, she took out a strand of hair at the back of her head and yanked out the three berries she’d threaded there.
