Catherine lowered her hands slowly, letting out a long breath. “Thank ye,” she murmured.
But Alyson was watching her too now — gentler than Sofia, but no less perceptive. “He’s a good man, Catherine,” she saidquietly. “A bit hard on the surface, aye, but good. I see how he looks at ye.”
Catherine froze.
Alyson smiled faintly at her expression. “Ye think we didnae notice? We did. And I ken ye’ve had a rough time of it lately, but maybe that’s nae all that keeps ye awake.”
Catherine stood abruptly, the movement sharper than she intended. “Enough,” she said, though her voice wasn’t angry, only strained. “Please. I dinnae want tae speak of him.”
Sofia frowned. “We were only?—”
“I ken,” Catherine interrupted, her tone softening. “But truly, I’m tired. Me head’s too full. I just… need some quiet.”
The sisters exchanged a glance but said no more. Sofia rose first, her expression softening as she leaned in and kissed Catherine’s cheek, a gesture so gentle it made something in Catherine’s chest tighten.
“Sleep, Cat,” she whispered. “Ye’ve done enough thinkin’ fer the day.”
“She’s right,” Alyson murmured, her voice the kind that always seemed to steady a room. “Rest, love. Tomorrow’ll look better after a bit o’ sleep.”
Catherine smiled faintly, though the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sleep well, both o’ ye.”
They smiled back, that wordless kind of sisterly understanding passing between them. It wasn’t pity, not exactly. It was love, threaded with quiet knowing.
Then she left the room, and went to her chamber.
Catherine stood there a long moment, staring into the soft glow of the fire that had been lit by the servants for her.
Then she opened the door and stepped into the corridor. The air outside was cooler, sharper. A draft moved through the stone halls, carrying the faint scent of rain and torch smoke. Her footsteps were soundless against the floor as she hesitated just beyond the doorway, the weight of her decision settling on her like a secret.
She should have been content. She was near those she loved. She should have felt gratitude for it. But peace eluded her; her thoughts ran wild, circling the same memory until it was sharp enough to draw blood.
She tried to recall how she’d felt before him, how clear the world had seemed when her only concerns were duty and survival. But the thought slipped through her like water, because every time she thought of his hand catching her wrist, or his lips at her throat, or the way he’d looked at her in the hall when she’d thrown his words back at him, something inside her stilled and trembled all at once.
Her chest tightened. She could still turn back. She could climb into bed, pull the covers to her chin, and let the night pass in restless thoughts. That would be the sensible thing.
But she was tired of being sensible.
She leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to steady her breath. The stone was cool beneath her palm. She could almost hear her own heartbeat echoing down the corridor, quick and traitorous.
What would she even say to him? That she couldn’t sleep? That his voice wouldn’t leave her alone? That she kept replaying the look in his eyes, that quiet struggle between desire and discipline, until it drove her half mad?
No. She’d keep it simple. She’d find some practical excuse, something safe and harmless. Ask about the repairs, perhaps, or the patrol routes. Nothing that would reveal the truth.
She drew in a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and started down the corridor.
The torches along the walls flickered as she passed, each one bending in the draft, making the shadows move like figures turning to watch her. Her slippers made no sound. The further she walked, the louder her heartbeat seemed to grow, until it was all she could hear.
By the time she reached the end of the corridor, she could see the faint glow spilling from beneath his door and her pulse stuttered. It was late, but the thought of leaving now felt worse than the thought of being seen.
She hesitated only a moment longer before lifting her hand.
Then she knocked.
No answer.
The sound vanished into the stone, small and soft, and for a heartbeat she thought perhaps he had already gone to bed. The thought should have brought relief. It didn’t. It made something restless in her chest twist harder, until the silence itself began to feel like mockery.
She knocked again, louder this time. Still nothing.
