NIGHT ROLLED UPON THEM AS THEY TRAVELED ALONG Adirt road in the woods. There was still another day of riding before they would reach the Ghostwood, where beasts from Tír Síoraí roamed. Ronan stopped them as they approached a clearing. It was small, but the trees would offer cover, making it hard for them to be caught unaware.
Everyone began setting up, hurrying to erect their tents andunroll supplies. Ronan had just finished his setup when he noticed Clíodhna—Clía—sitting on her unfurled bedroll and staring at the tops of the trees.
“Where’s your tent?” Ronan asked, crouching down to her level so that he wouldn’t tower over her.
“Why do you want to know?” She looked up at him, her eyes sharp, but when he raised a brow, she relented. “Last week, you promised not to judge me. If I tell you, you can’t mock me.”
Her face was turning pink, and he immediately had to know what could have such a woman embarrassed.
“I won’t,” he lied.
She eyed him, then sighed. “You will. You definitely will.”
A smile started to grow on his face, but he tamped it down once he realized it wouldn’t help his case. For some reason, in the moonlight, he wanted to joke with her again. So he promised. “I swear, I won’t make fun of you.”
She put her face in her hands and mumbled something he couldn’t make out.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” he asked, pulling her hands away. His calloused fingers wrapped around her soft skin with a mind of their own.
She pouted. Actually pouted. “I said, I didn’t bring a tent. I don’t even own one.”
A laugh bubbled up inside him, and it was a struggle not to let it out. But what finally ended his battle was her reaction to said struggle. Sheshovedhim. Like a child.
That ruined all the restraint he was delicately holding on to, and he started laughing outright. She stayed where she was,struggling to hide the smile on her lips, and his laughter eventually died out.
“I’m sorry. I really am. In my defense, I wasn’t going to laugh until you viciously attacked me.” He smirked and was rewarded with a small laugh from her. “Why didn’t you say anything when we were leaving Caisleán? You had to have noticed you were missing something kind of important.”
If Ronan had noticed, he would have helped her, but with all of the bags she packed, he had just assumed a tent was in one of them.
“I noticed but, at that point, I was too proud to do anything about it,” she admitted. “Everyone is waiting for me to mess up. They’re looking for me to stumble so they can stick their claws in and finish the job—I didn’t want to give them a reason. I thought I’d be able to play it off, sleep out here and act as if I planned it.”
Ronan looked around the clearing, at the surrounding woods that could hide any sort of threat. “You shouldn’t stay outside. My tent is rather large—big enough for two. You can stay in there.”
She hesitated. “Are you sure?”
Her reluctance was understood. They had known each other for only a short while, but Ronan had shared tents with warriors he knew even less on missions. He rose to his feet, holding his hand out to her as a peace offering. “You’re a warrior now, right? This is the life of a soldier.”
That seemed to convince her. She took his hand, letting him help her stand. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Clía.” He smiled at her, and it was as if he were suddenly lighter.
He dropped her hand. Clearly, he needed to lie down.
Ronan waited outside the tent, giving her some privacy as she prepared for bed. From across the camp, Domhnall sent him a questioning gesture. He simply shrugged in response. What was he supposed to do? Let the princess sleep in the dirt? Kordislaen had asked him to look out for her.
But Ronan couldn’t deny there was another motivation. He couldn’t help but want to help Clía. When he was first sent to the palace, he was often overwhelmed, not understanding the world he had been thrust into. He needed someone then, as she did now.
However, when Clía opened the tent for him to enter, he saw the reality of his decision. While the tent technicallywasbig enough for two, it wasn’t meant for it. And the two of them were both taller than most. They would fit... but it would be tight.
As he lay down, he wondered what she was thinking in that moment. Was she noticing how close they were? That they would be sleeping mere inches from each other?
In hindsight, maybe he should have offered to sleep outside.
No, the tent was warm, and he knew from experience how cold the nights could grow. Not to mention that strange curiosity, which seemed to rise whenever he was around the princess. This was a chance to see the version of Clía she kept for herself—her hair undone, powder wiped away.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that instead of her well-fitted traveling dress, she was draped in a loose chemise. She looked exactly the same, yet different in a way he couldn’t describe.
He shifted, turning around and stopping his thoughts. Why was he so fascinated by her? All he knew about this girl was that she was an Álainndoran royal and had almost been engaged to his closest friend. She wasn’t a puzzle for him to solve or a friend to worry about. He should be focusing on his mission.
