But he does. I think of everything he’s said since he came into the house, his comment about a man needing gentle care, and on the tail of everything else that’s happened, it suddenly all feels patronizing. My shoulders tighten, and I fold my arms against my abdomen. “That kiss was a mistake. I did not—Ido not—need tending inthisway, Quint.”
He stiffens, then sighs and runs a hand across his jaw. “Honestly,” he mutters. “And you sayIam vexing.”
“What?”
“Youkissedme!”
I glance at the door and then back at him. “And I will thank you to keep your voice down,” I growl.
He makes a frustrated sound that’s not unlike the one I made earlier. “Do you somehow believe I accepted your romantic overture as if it were part of my role as Palace Master? Is that what is happening here?”
I glare at him. We’re back where we started. “Enough.”
“Should I have been engaging these services for every passing diplomat? Perhaps I was not informed of the full scope of my duties.”
“Stop it.”
“Youstop it,” he snaps. “You don’t even realize the harms you’re causing.”
I’ve never heard Quint snap before, and most definitely not at me. I draw myself up, rising to my feet. “Just who do you think you are speaking to?”
“I know very well who I’m speaking to. I knowexactlywho I’m speaking to, because I might be the only person who knows you better than your own brother.” He doesn’t back down, and I realize he’s well and truly angry. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes narrowed. “Because much like Prince Corrick, you seem determined to hide everything you want and everything you need, because you’re terrified of showing one shred of vulnerability to anyone, when really, it doesn’t matter. You sufferneedlessly. Every one of us still hurts the same, still loves the same, still bleeds the same. Every one of us stilldiesthe same. So you spend years of your life alone—years, Your Majesty,obviously—relying on the smallest moments of connection to survive, until tonight, when you finally relent and allow yourself a moment of happiness for one second.” His eyes are so fierce they could cut steel. “And then you cheapen it by calling it an act of pity, you insult me by treating me like a whore, and then you hurt me by calling it a mistake.”
All the breath has left my lungs. I’m staring at him. His words are wrapped up in anger and fury—but worse, they’re full of pain, too.
Right this instant, Iamthe one causing a betrayal.
“Forgive me for not leaving when you asked,” he says. He turns and goes for the door.
I’m away from the bed in a heartbeat, and I catch his arm just before he pulls the latch.
“Stop,” I say, and my voice is quiet, my grip gentle. This isn’t an order or a demand. “Please.”
His eyes are locked on the wood, but he stops. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
I cannot believe my night has gone so wrong in so many directions. “Quint. Please. Forgive me. I . . .” I hesitate. “I did not mean to offend you.”
“You did notoffendme.”
The ice in his voice makes me flinch. “I did not mean tohurtyou.”
He goes still.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I am. “I’msorry.”
I feel like I should touch him, should soften this in some way, but a lifetime of burying emotion has my free hand fixed and rigid at my side. I don’t even know if he’d want me to. “I apologize. Truly. My intent was not to cause harm. Andcertainlynot to treat you like—” I’m blushing again, because I can’t quite believe he said this last part. “To treat you like awhore.”
He’s looking at me now, but his expression is still cool, and I don’t know if I’ve been forgiven. I have no idea how to undo this, and maybe I shouldn’t want to. Maybe this is better. This night could be forgotten, locked away like so many other memories.
But I think of the way he fetched the quilt. Or made the tea. The way he’s been at my side for a million little moments.
The way I was broken and hurting and I tried to send him away—but he sat down and saidno.
The way his hands felt against my skin.
I have to close my eyes and run a hand across my face. My voice is very soft. “Ah, but youarevexing,” I say. “Because Iwantedto kiss you. I want to kiss youagain.” My cheeks are surely on fire, and I have to keep my eyes closed, or I’ll never be able to say all this. “But, Quint, you must understand. I have seen you at court. You know everyone in the Royal Sector. You’re very pleasing to look at, and I doubt you haveanyshortage of suitors. My words—my words were more because I do not want you to feel . . . ?to feelobligatedto me. To yield simply because I am your king. Just as I won’t bind a woman into some kind of marriage of convenience, I haveno illusions that a man might not accept a romantic advance just because I wear a—”
“Oh,hush,” says Quint, and then he steps forward to kissme.
