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“So you’d like this room?” I say to him.
His eyes snap to mine. “What?”
“Captain Blakemore asked me which room I’d like, and I told him I ought to wait for you to choose yours first.”
His eyes narrow the tiniest bit. “Did he.”
Much like his eyes, I can’t read his voice at all. “You’re the King’s Justice. I only thought it appropriate—”
“Lord, Tessa. I don’t care which room I have.”
He’s so uneasy. The worst part is that I don’t know what worries him the most. Leaving his brother? Going to Ostriary? Lochlan? Captain Blakemore?
The ship sways, and my stomach dips, and once again, I stumble. Corrick lightly catches my waist.
“We must be shoving off,” he says.
“Why is everyone else so sure-footed?” I say, aggrieved.
“Oh, I’m not,” he says. “I grabbed hold of you for balance.”
He’s teasing, but his voice is too grave for it to be funny. I swat him on the arm anyway, and he half smiles, but he doesn’t let go of me. A hand lifts to stroke a stray lock of hair back from my cheek.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he says softly. In his tone, I hear a dozen things unsaid: his longing, his hope … his fear. It reminds me of that moment with Harristan in my quarters.
Corrick quietly adds, “Harristan snuck into my carriage for the drive here.”
My eyebrows go up. “He did?”
Corrick nods.
I want to be surprised, but … I’m really not. I’m touched. One of my favorite things about the brothers is their endearing closeness. I wish they would allow others to see it. It’s the most humanizing thing about them.
“He confronted Captain Blakemore and demanded my safe return,” Corrick says. “I thought the guards might have a fit.”
That makes me smile, but it’s fleeting, because I can hear the worry in his voice. “Harristan is afraid.”
I expect Corrick to say something bold, like,The king fears nothing.
He doesn’t. “We all are, Tessa.”
I want to touch him, but I hesitate, because I’m so used to guarding my emotions when I’m with him in public. But we’re alone. We’re out of the palace. What he’s risking—what they’rebothrisking—is profound. I wonder what the king said to him before watching his brother climb onto a ship to an unknown country. I wonder if I can ask.
Maybe I don’t have to. The emotion is right there in his gaze.
I reach out and put a hand to his cheek.
He takes a breath, then closes his eyes. His hands are still on my waist, but he’s not steadying me anymore—he’sholdingme, which is altogether different. Something about it reminds me of our days in the workshop, when we were listening to the sector alarms blare and we were worried about the night patrol.
I sigh and lean into his strength. “I’m glad you’re here, too.”
His eyes open to find mine, and his hands shift, his thumbs skirting along my abdomen. It’s such a tiny movement, but my heart kicks.
I’m not sure if I make a sound or take a breath or if there’s just a spark in the air, but Corrick’s blue eyes seem to darken a shade, and then his mouth is on mine.
At first he’s slow, controlled, gauging my response. After weeks of chaste walks and courtly manners and light kisses at sundown, I nearly melt right into his arms. When I yield to his touch, he grows more sure, his lips chasing mine, and I feel the bare edge of his teeth, then the brush of his tongue. He tastes like peppermint—or maybeItaste like peppermint, sharp and sweet. He pulls me closer, until I’m all but flush against him, and a bolt of warmth shoots through my belly. The only time he’s ever kissed me like this was in the Wilds. In the workshop. He keeps so much of himself hidden thatI somehow forgot he could be like this, all wildfire attraction and unbound passion.
His hand shifts higher, growing more daring, until his thumb brushes across the bodice of my dress, lighting a fire in my belly and stealing every clear thought from my head. I shiver and make a tiny sound, and that’s all the encouragement he needs to tug the laces a bit looser. His mouth finds my neck, and his fingers slip past the laces of my bodice to trace the swell of skin.
