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A ship.
A shiver wracked her, but she forced that particular fear away. She had more immediate concerns than stepping back on a ship. Besides, they wouldn’t make it to Porynth in time to catch that ship. They were locked in a cell, with no idea how long Henri would keep them there. And even if they were released soon, Grayson needed time to heal. They couldn’t leave right away, which meant the ship would be long gone. They—
The lock for the door grated.
Grayson jerked awake at the sound and instantly rolled. Breath hissed out of him, agony fracturing the sound, but he didn’t stop moving until he was crouched in front of her, angled toward the door. The muscles in his shoulders bunched, his body coiled for a fight.
Mia’s heart pounded. She braced a hand on Grayson’s back as the door swung open.
Tyrell stepped in, not bothering to close the door behind him. The lamp in the cell had burned low, and the torches in the corridor behind him were blinding. “Father wants you in the courtyard,” he said without preamble, his tone clipped.
“What about Mia?” Grayson’s voice was guttural, roughened by sleep and a little slurred—probably because he was trying not to move his mouth too much.
Tyrell’s lips thinned, his eyes darting to Mia as he answered his brother. “She can remain in your room, or wherever she chooses to be within the castle.”
Grayson said nothing, but Mia stood, her eyes on Tyrell. “He can’t go anywhere. He needs to rest.”
“Orders have been given.” Tyrell looked to Grayson. “I don’t know where we’re going, but Father said we’d be back by nightfall.”
“We?” Grayson asked in a low growl.
“Peter, Carter, and the both of us.” Tyrell paused, then added, “Mia will be safe. Fletcher will guard her, and I can put some of my men on her as well.”
Grayson pushed to his feet. Mia was quick to grasp his hand, though he was surprisingly steady. He squeezed her fingers as he faced Tyrell. “We don’t need an escort.”
Tyrell snorted. “Perhaps you shouldn’t dismiss me until you know you can make it up the stairs.”
Mia’s heart rate quickened as Grayson stiffened beside her. “I don’t need anything from you.”
Tyrell’s eyes narrowed. He looked nothing like the Tyrell she’d befriended these past months. Even after their fight, when things were uncertain between them, he’d never felt so distant and cold. And Grayson . . . the animosity emanating from him was understandable, but so potent it was strangling.
Mia took a small step forward, still holding Grayson’s hand.
The two brothers looked at her, and her cheeks warmed. Being the sole focus of both Tyrell and Grayson Kaelin was unnerving. “There’s no need to fight,” she said, hating how quiet her voice was. “Please.”
Adding that word seemed to have a special effect on them—they listened.
Tyrell led the way out of the cell, and Grayson moved just slightly in front of her, their hands still joined.
No one said anything as they trekked up the stairs and through the quiet halls of the castle. They passed several servants and guards, all of whom stared at Grayson. One maid even gasped.
Grayson tensed. He believed his scars made him lesser; that they made him ugly.
Mia hated his scars, but only because of the pain they represented. Grayson was beautiful to her—he always would be. She wanted to attack anyone who ever made him feel any different.
She scowled at the maid, and the woman hurried away.
When they reached Grayson’s room, they all paused at the door. It took a moment for Mia to remember she was the one with a key. She released Grayson’s hand and dipped her fingers into her pocket, overly conscious of the fact that Grayson and Tyrell were both watching her. It made every movement feel stiff and awkward.
Once she’d fitted the key in the lock, Tyrell spoke over her head. “I’ll get Fletcher and be back for you.”
“Fine,” Grayson said—also over her head. “But I don’t want your men guarding her.”
Tyrell’s jaw flexed. “Mia’s safety is more important than your pride.”
Grayson’s brows lowered dangerously.
Mia twisted the door open and faced them. “Please don’t fight.”
