Her eyes rolled. “Something tells me you’re going to explain.”
When he finally did smile, it was coy and smart and frustrating. Clía was suddenly filled with another wave of gratitude that she wouldn’t have to tie her life to his. “You don’t want them to know. If I were to place my bets, I would say you are leaving tomorrow. Maybe the next day. If you told them that tonight, there would be waterworks—extended goodbyes that would become too painful. You might even prolong your stay.”
She paused. He wasn’t supposed to beright. “When did you become insightful?”
“I always was. You just never noticed.” The words, meant in jest, pierced her. There was so much she’d never noticed about him. Things that would have driven her insane if they had married. Surprising quirks and qualities she had overlooked when preoccupied with the importance of the marriage and the alliance it brought. “Your actions, however, struck a familiar chord.” His words settled, and suddenly she realized.
The reason for his last-minute end to their betrothal plans—it wasn’t a callous decision. It was the result of his own dread. He wanted to put off the moment when he would crush the vision of the future she had held on to for so long. The awkwardness, pain, and anger that would follow. He hadn’t acknowledged her until their conversation, and once it was done, he fled immediately so that it wouldn’t drag on.
He had been afraid and reluctant, doubting his decisions as she was now.
“A carriage will arrive for me tomorrow morning. I’ll let everyone know at breakfast before I leave,” she confessed to the shadows.
“Niamh will miss you. I think she likes you more than she likes me.”
The joke was empty, but she recognized the attempt with a laugh. “That doesn’t say much about me.”
“And here I was trying to cheer you up.” The moonlight cast streaks of white in his hair as he shook his head. “Kían and Sárait will especially miss you. Sárait only got you back today, and I’m assuming she’s not leaving with you?”
Part of Clía had wanted Sárait to return with her, at least for a time—but before she could broach the subject, Sárait had casually mentioned that she planned on staying at Caisleán with Kían until she decided where she wanted to go next.
“I thought you were supposed to cheer me up,” Clía muttered.
“My main goal was to talk some sense into you,” he admitted. “I know you’re avoiding Ronan.”
“I’m going back inside.” She didn’t have the energy for this. When she came out here with him, she thought that she could finish repairing the damages the past months had dealt to their friendship. She wasn’t here to be lectured.
As she turned back toward the castle, a hand wrapped around her forearm, stopping her.
“The man loves you.” His voice was quiet but strong. Determined. “And Ithoughtyou felt the same. Why are you letting him go? Give me a reason, and if it’s good enough, then fine. I’ll leave you alone.”
The last thing she wanted to do was open the locked trunk of emotions and thoughts in her head.
When she turned back to Domhnall, she had planned to tell him some clever lie. Stop his questions and keep her heart firmly in her chest. But the green of his uncovered eye was soft. Understanding.
And she knew there was nothing she could offer him that would be satisfying. Not to her.
Her whole life, she always tried to be what other people wanted. When had she done something for herself? Why didn’t she deserve a life that was hers?
Ronan could say no, and while that would hurt, wouldn’t it be worse to be left wondering about opportunities missed?
Approval shone in Domhnall’s eye. “That’s what I thought.” It wasn’t smug or condescending. It was gentle and kind and knowing.
“I’ll talk to him in the morning.”
His resulting grin was boyish. “Good. I don’t like to see my friends suffer for no reason. And this means that now we can talk about the other thing I wanted to discuss. It’s more positive. Promise.” He fumbled in his pocket. “I have spoken with Draoi Griffin, and he agreed.”
Domhnall unfurled his hand, revealing a cloak pin. Intricate knots of gold coiled in a halo around a small dagger. The Caisleán Cósta insignia. Despite Kordislaen saying they had earned the title of curadh, they had never been given their own pins.
Her brow furrowed. “Is this... mine?”
Domhnall reached forward, brushing her hair out of theway of her current cloak pin. It was simple, something she had picked up in a market a few years ago. He removed it, dropping it into her hand. With that gone, he began pinning the insignia in place.
“Griffin thought it was only fitting you receive it,” he said, securing the dagger. “I think killing the previous chief of Caisleán shows you were trained well.”
She looked down at the pin—a symbol of decades of tradition and skill—and was filled with a warm sense of pride.
For the past few days, when she thought of going home, all she could think of was how different it would be. She would have to help prepare her kingdom for war, something they hadn’t seen in generations. And Ó Connor was gone. He wouldn’t be around to distract her at banquets or joke with her over a game of fidchell.
