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Hawthorn sighed. “You might not miss a few months, Jules, but I would. If they were your months.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I’ve always known I would watch you die,” he said. “I’ve liked the idea less and less as the years have gone by. I’d trade many a year to give you an extra month, and still consider I’d got the better end of the deal.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, grasping at the back. Once done, he reached into the inside pocket of his doublet and retrieved a small, leather-bound notebook. She’d seen him writing in it before and never given it much thought. “I know you don’t like goodbyes,” he said, “but I’m hoping you’ll accept this.”
He pressed it into her hands, the leather warmed by his body.
She forced a smile. “What’s this? A secret diary? A written declaration of your undying affections?”
“Something like that,” he admitted, not smiling. “Or the best I can manage in the time we have left.”
Frowning, Juliana moved to open it. Hawthorn’s hand shot out, pinning it closed.
“Not here,” he insisted. “Only when we’re apart, and I never have to face you again.”
“Face me? You make me sound like some monster to be vanquished.”
“In some ways, you are,” he admitted. “In others—”
The carriage gave a sudden lurch. Juliana gripped the side of her seat as Hawthorn toppled against her, the notebook flying out of her hands.
“Sorry,” came her father’s voice. “We’re descending.”
Hawthorn didn’t speak. He didn’t move, either. One hand was braced against the backrest, the other gripping the edge of the seat beneath Juliana.
She didn’t speak, either. It was like her voice had been snipped away.
“Juliana,” Hawthorn whispered, almost hungrily. Her name sounded strange on his tongue, rough and soft, a serrated blade slicing through silk. The syllables rang painfully, like it cost something to speak them, like he found his voice unworthy of the task.
She had never heard her name uttered in such a fashion, and doubted she ever would again. The years ahead of her were collapsing, folding inwards on this moment, these stolen seconds that would never be theirs again.
She wanted to whisper his name, but sound had vanished from her world.
Everything vanished the moment his mouth fell to hers.
Juliana was sure she’d slipped into a dream. This wasn’t happening. There was no way Hawthorn was kissing her, Hawthorn who she used to hate—
But didn’t anymore. Hadn’t hated for a very long time.
His lips explored hers with expert attention, his breath against her mouth, his hands roaming up her back. Her fingers slid almost unconsciously around his neck, drifting to his thick hair, grabbing at it, athim,pulling him closer.
More, more.
He tasted exactly like she’d imagined—ember and woodsmoke, rich wine, velvet given scent. His mouth was soft and hungry and his kisses made her belly rumble. It was like being struck by lightning, sensation everywhere at once, from her claiming fingers to the tips of her toes. With reverence and desperation he kissed her, half saviour, half storm. Did he kiss everyone this way? How were they ever content to release him?
His name whispered up inside her like a prayer.Hawthorn, Hawthorn.She used it so rarely, and now she wanted to sing it, but she couldn’t bear to break her mouth away from his.
The carriage swept downwards, juddering to a halt, and they sprung away from each other just as Maytree spoke. “We’re here,” she announced.
Hawthorn’s eyes had not left Juliana. She could still feel his hands on her, the press of those perfect lips against her mouth. “Apparently so.”
Juliana shifted upright, regaining her composure as the Queen reappeared, dropping into the carriage.
“We shouldn’t dally,” she rushed, barely glancing at Juliana as she gathered her things. “There’s some supplies in the back for you for the return journey… Unless, of course, you wanted to come with us?”
“Mother!” Hawthorn chided. “You can’t ask her that! If she comes with us, she won’t be able to return—”
