I held my breath as he came to a stop behind me. His fingers found the first tie, slower than they needed to be. The brush of his knuckles against my spine sent a shiver through me, though this time it had nothing to do with the cold.
Excitement and fear warred within me—two sides of the same flame. His nearness set every nerve alight, yet I was equally afraid of what it might reveal. I was tempted to lean back, to feel him fully, but some fragile instinct kept me motionless. After so long being touched only out of ownership or obligation, true wanting felt foreign.
When the final length was tightened, I turned to face him. Our gazes collided. His hands hovered in the air, uncertain without a task.
On instinct—or perhaps folly—I reached for him. My fingers closed gently around his wrists, guiding them to rest at my waist.
Mav startled at the contact, a sharp inhale cutting through the quiet.
Neither of us moved for several heartbeats. His palms were wide and warm against me, his breath uneven as his gaze dropped—first to my mouth, then lower, then back to my eyes with a hunger he did not bother to hide. The tether thrummedbetween us, alive and urgent with longing, the emotion strong enough to send heat rushing through my veins.
Every warning, every reason to resist blurred until all that remained was this aching, consuming want.
Mav is my ally, my tether for this awakening. Nothing more.
The words rattled through me in a chorus I did not believe. We hardly knew each other. Yet, the weight of his hands on me bore a certain inarguable rightness. One could be grateful for his protection and loyalty, as well as his…broad shoulders, strong arms, and infuriating smirk?—
No. This is madness.
“Mav,” I breathed, though I hardly knew if the word was plea or warning.
His hands tightened, drawing me nearer. He bent his head, his forehead nearly brushing mine. His lips parted.
A sharp knock extinguished the heat between us.
“Quinn? Mav?” Branrir called, muffled through the door. “We’re heading down to eat.”
I stumbled backward. Mav exhaled a ragged curse and scrubbed a hand over his face, glaring at the door as if he intended to set Branrir aflame.
“Yes, we shall join you momentarily,” I managed, breathless.
“Splendid. I’ll let the others know.” Branrir’s footsteps receded down the hall.
Neither Mav nor I could bear to look at one another as we exited the room.
We were ushered to a small table in the back corner ofThe Wandering Root’sdining room, near a window blurred with the ongoing rain. Vesper promptly claimed the stool closest to the fire and stretched himself out with a yawn.
The food arrived in a glorious parade: thick cuts of roasted meat seasoned with unfamiliar herbs, boiled root vegetables slick with oil and salt. I did not recognize half of what I tasted, but it was all rich and comforting.
Thistle submerged a slice of dark bread into her bowl and moaned dramatically. “If I die tonight,” she said, “bury me with this gravy.”
Mav, seated beside me, gave her a tired smile. “Noted. I’ll ask Shubre for the recipe to include in your funeral rites.”
Vesper cracked an eye open from the hearth. “If anyone’s dying tonight, it’s me. I’ve drowned.”
“You’re dry now,” Branrir said.
“I’llneverbe dry again,” Vesper whined.
Branrir cleared his throat and unrolled the map, pinning the corners down with various dishes. His fingers traced the route we’d taken.
“We’re here,” he said, tapping a cluster of tangled lines. “One day’s ride south of Aurillion. We can make it to the city and to the castle in time if the weather clears. Now we just need to figure out how to get an invitation.”
A spark of something bright flickered in my chest. Hope, perhaps, or a sense of purpose. It had been so long since I had seen the capital. A lifetime. Several, depending on how one counted. I opened my mouth to say as much—when a voice, rough and gravelly, cut through from the next table.
“Good luck with that.”
We all looked up at once.
