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“You lived in a forest.”
“One only came inside once. I killed it before my father could come home and see…”
“Does he know about this phobia of yours?”
She nodded, ever so slowly, like a child confessing a secret she was afraid of. “He said I needed to face my fear so he used to catch them and bring them home for me to kill. If… if I know they’re coming… I’m not usually too bad. I can prepare myself, put on a mask, but when they sneak up on me…” Her bottom lip quivered.
He had the strangest, most bizarre desire to put his arms around her, even when he was only half-sure she wasn’t making the whole thing up. Jules wasn’t scared of anything, or certainly not something as simple as asnake.
But he knew that she would hate that, that she preferred anger over fear.
He summoned a smile. “This is now my favourite thing that I know about you.”
“I will end you—“
“Even if I have a snake around my neck?”
“I’m a very good shot!” She launched forward, grabbing him by the shirt. “Swear. Swear to me. Swear you won’t reveal this to anyone.”
“It’s just a—“
“Swear it, Prince!”
“I swear,” he said. “Nothing but the threat of death or pain shall make me reveal your secret fear to anyone.”
Jules breathed a horrible, shuddering sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
Hawthorn swallowed. There was something about seeing Jules this way—shaking and trembling with fear, raw and vulnerable—that unnerved him. He took no real pleasure in knowing her weakness, when a few years ago he would like to have it pinned and framed like an insect.
“Gratitude doesn’t suit you,” he said instead.
“I promise never to thank you for anything again.”
“Liar.”
“No, that one I can keep.” She glanced ahead. “Come on. We’re not far.”
Two hours later, the Autumn Gate finally appeared. Juliana took a moment to pause against a tree, her face pale despite the exercise. She shook slightly on her feet.
“Are you all right?” Hawthorn asked.
“Fine,” she said, though her voice wobbled slightly, her grip on the bark tightening.
She’d eaten little more than one complete meal in two days, had barely slept, and been walking for hours. He was struggling to stay upright himself—on more food, more sleep, and the benefits of a faerie body.
He did not want to imagine how Juliana was feeling.
So he didn’t.
“We’re so close,” she said, her voice hoarse as she staggered forward. “Let’s not dawdle.”
Offer her your arm,said a voice inside him, the one reserved for flirting with beautiful people he was trying to impress.
But he didn’t want to impress her. He wanted to help her.
And he was equally sure she’d threaten to cut off his arm if he offered it.
“Of course,” he said, adjusting his gait to meet her pace. A few more minutes on the road wouldn’t hurt.
