He couldn’t get free. His hands shook. A cry strangled in hisraw throat.
“Carver.” A gentle voice. Soft and soothing in the darkness. It was in complete contrast to his sheer panic. “You’re all right,” the soft voice continued. “It was a nightmare. It wasn’t real.”
He blinked rapidly in the darkness. Echoes of remembered pain sliced over his skin.
A nightmare.Not real.
Relief hit with the weight of a boulder. He sucked in air, suddenly dizzy.
The bed dipped. A cool hand touched his bare, trembling shoulder. Another gently peeled back the sheet twisted tightly around his legs until he was blessedly free.
He couldn’t stop shaking. Citrus and mint surrounded him, and he dragged in the familiar scent with every jagged breath.
“You’re all right,” she whispered. “You’re not there. You’re in Craethen. You’re with me, in our room at the palace in Zagrev. You’re safe.”
Amryn. She was here. Real.His.
He didn’t remember moving, but his arms were closing around her. He dragged her into his lap and buried his face in the curve of her shoulder and neck, his entire body shuddering against hers.
If she was startled by the fierceness of his hold, she didn’t show it. She held him just as tightly, her soft voice murmuring soothing words and sounds. Her fingers sifted through his hair like he was a small child in need of comfort.
His fingers only curled more tightly against her, refusing to let her go. He kept her close because he needed her to breathe. Needed to feel her body against his so he knew he wasn’t back there—thatthiswas his reality.
Gradually, his slamming heartbeat slowed. His breathing steadied. He forced the pressure in his grip to loosen so his fingers wouldn’t bruise her. But he did not let go.
Amryn continued to run her fingers through his hair.
He pressed his forehead against her shoulder. His throat felt ravaged, but he managed to whisper, “You didn’t touch me.”
Her fingertips grazed over his scalp. “When I realized you were caught in a nightmare, I slipped from the bed. I just kept calling your name.”
Exactly what he’d asked her to do. And he hadn’t lashed out and hurt her.
Some of the remaining tension left him. “Thank you,” he rasped.
Her mouth was near his ear as she whispered, “Will you tell me about it?”
No.It was his first, unstoppable thought. But shutting her out had never been the answer. It hadn’t spared her from pain. It hadcausedher pain. And he could not stand the thought of hurting her.
He pulled back, easing from her tight embrace. She watched him, her soft green eyes intent in the subtle moonlight. A curl had fallen against her cheek. He brushed it aside and tucked it behind her ear. He knew she noted the tremble in his hand. His lungs were locked in a vice, but he forced himself to speak anyway. “When I was in Harvari,” he said, his words slightly frayed, “I was captured.”
Her breath caught. But there was no surprise in her gaze.She’d known.
The knots in his stomach tightened. He exhaled slowly. “Saints, maybe everyone in the empire knows.”
“Jayveh told me,” Amryn whispered. “Soon after we arrived in Zagrev. She thought I knew, but . . .”
“You didn’t.”
She slowly shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. “I’m so sorry, Carver.”
He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. Because it wasn’t pity in her voice—it was compassion. He hadn’t realized how vast a difference there was between those two emotions until this moment. “Sometimes my nightmares are about the war,” he said. “Losing my men. Killing. The villages that were decimated in senseless battles. The bodies we had to bury, some of them so small . . .” His throat convulsed, cutting off his words.
Amryn kept holding him.
And, somehow, he held on. Refocused. “Most of my nightmares are about my imprisonment.” His voice was rougher than he wanted it to be as he said, “I was tortured.”
One of Amryn’s hands settled on his tightly coiled shoulder. Her forehead remained against his, both of them breathing together in the dark. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
