“And I need to go back to my room, because my previous shirt was relieved of its buttons.”
Her lips curved. “Tragic.”
“You’re not going to mourn the shirt?”
“I shall mourn the view,” she teased, then pushed the covers off and sat up—her chemise clinging in ways that made getting dressed feel like a sin.
“That’s not playing fair,” I groaned.
She threw a smile over her shoulder. “You began the game.”
And Saints help me, I hoped it would never end. Her parcel of gowns lay on the vanity chair. I stood and reached for one, handing it to her. She stepped into it, shimmied it up her body, and turned her back to me without a word, trusting. I worked the laces of the yellow dress—slow, careful pulls.
“Too tight?” I asked, my voice still low from sleep.
She shook her head, soft curls brushing her neck. “No. Just…right.”
I tied the final knot and let my hands fall to my sides. She moved to the vanity and reached for the brush, but I got there first and held out my hand. She hesitated, then gave it to me. Her hair slipped like silk through my fingers as I brushed through it. I’d never done this before—not for anyone—but my hands knew how to be gentle with her.
“You are dangerous, you know,” she said, voice a little hazy.
I huffed a quiet laugh. “Me?”
“You make me forget what I am saying mid-sentence.”
“Still not hearing the danger.”
She smiled wider as we walked from her room to mine. It was smaller and plainer, but she didn’t seem to mind. I grabbed aclean shirt from my satchel, tugging it over my head before reaching for the shaving kit.
Quinn perched on the edge of the bed, watching. “You do not have to shave,” she said.
I glanced at her in the mirror. “No?”
She tilted her head, a grin tugging at her lips. “I prefer when you are a bit roughened.”
A slow smile pulled across my face. “Understood.”
If she liked me a little wild, she could have me exactly that way. She could have whatever version of me she wanted.
“Mav,” she began, voice timid. “I must ask you something, and I need you to speak truth.”
My heart went into double time. “All right…”
“What made you break the oath you took as a knight?”
I knew this conversation would have to happen at some point. The words stuck in my throat. Instead of meeting her gaze, I looked out the window.
“We were at war with Orteaux,” I began, the memory rising bitter and acrid as smoke. “For generations, our kingdoms were bound by the Covenant of Benefaction—trade, protection, peace along the Merise Sea. Avandria grew greedy, kept raising tariffs until Orteaux could no longer pay without starving their own. When their queen refused the latest demand, we were sent to ‘restore order.’” I spat the words like poison. “What followed was sanctioned plunder dressed up as a military campaign.”
My fists clenched tighter. “Border towns burned first. Anywhere our crown believed Orteaux might be holding troops or supplies.”
The rest came out rough, halting. “My general gave me a direct order to torch a building he swore was filled with enemy combatants. No questions. No hesitation.” My jaw tightened until it ached. “I went in first, like I always did, and what Ifound…” Breath stuttered in my lungs. “They weren’t soldiers. Only women and children. Starving. Terrified.”
Forcing a swallow down my throat, I continued. “I ran back out. Told him they were no threat to us. Begged him to stop. He called me weak, a coward. Said compassion was a luxury we couldn’t afford.”
Quinn’s hand twitched against her skirts, but she didn’t interrupt.
“I refused,” I said, my voice breaking. “Wouldn’t do it. But he lit the torch himself.”
