You’re so much more than pleasing to look at. You’re brilliant. You’re flawless. You’re exquisite. Have you not noticed the effort it takes to summon words when I look at you?
But the words stall on my tongue, proving exactly that.
“I wish I could have met you when I was escaping the palace as Sullivan,” I say instead.
His eyes flare in surprise, but then he smiles mischievously. “Instead of your stable boy?”
That makes me blush. “Well.”
But I say nothing more, because I’m imagining it now: meeting Quint years ago, finding him toiling over books and records in some mill somewhere. He would’ve been chattering endlessly to everyone, I’m sure, somehow managing to preserve his core of kindness despite the way his family treated him. Red hair and sparkling eyes and just enough wild defiance to drive me crazy.
I remember what I was like before my parents were killed, before I was forced to rule a kingdom that seemed determined to tear itself apart. I very likely would have fallen for him on the spot.
I don’t know what he sees in my face, but the mischief slips out of his eyes. “Why do you wish you could have met me as Sullivan?”
Because if I’d met you then, I don’t think I ever would’ve gone back.
I can’t say the words. It would’ve meant leaving the palace. Leaving my brother. And nothing would’ve changed. My parents would still be dead. Kandala still would’ve fallen to the fevers. The consuls would still be running roughshod over the people.
And it would all be my fault anyway, just in a different way.
The impact of it strikes me harder than I expect, tightening my throat before I’m ready, and I can’t even answer.
Quint must see a flicker of my distress, because he rescues me—as usual. “Wait. Let’s imagine it together. I presume with your love for horses thatyouwould’ve played the role of the stable boy. What reason could you have had for visiting the mill?” He taps at his lip, thinking.
He truly is the kindest man I’ve ever met. I cannot believe anyone ever made him feel useless. I stare into his eyes. “I spied the captivating young man writing ledgers, and I was transfixed.”
“Captivating! I really must write these down. And then what would you have done?”
I slip my hands to his waist and pull him against me. I’m pleased to earn a gasp from his throat when my fingers find his skin.
I lean close, speaking low. “Here. Let me show you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Harristan
Quint sleeps, but I don’t. I toss and turn fitfully for hours, eventually giving up sometime long after midnight, when I slip out of bed. I pull on my trousers and a tunic in silence, freezing in place when he stirs and rolls over—but then he goes back to sleep.
I grab my boots from near the hearth and carry them to the door. I’ll lace them up outside so I don’t risk waking him further. I don’t really know what I’m doing or where I’m going, but I can’t lie in bed and worry any longer, and it seems unfair to keep anyoneelsefrom sleep.
But when I draw close to the door, I hear voices outside, speaking very low. I stop, straining to hear, but the voices are too quiet to make out what they’re saying. I can’t even tell if one of the voices belongs to Thorin or Saeth.
Nothing about the tone seems to indicate danger, but I’m frozen in place again. The memory of the traitorous guards is still toofresh. My heart pulses hard against my rib cage, urging me to make a decision.
Maybe Ishouldwake Quint.
No, this is so foolish. If someone meant me harm, they’d be breaking down the door. I put my hand on the latch and draw the door open.
Thorin was sitting on the top step, his back against the post, a crossbow on the boards beside him. He springs to his feet when he sees me. “Your Majesty.”
Alice, the young woman who brings us food, was sitting against the other post, and she scrambles to her feet as well. Her eyes are wide, her cheeks bright pink in the moonlight, and she skitters back a few steps. An array of playing cards were laid out on the boards between them, but they’ve scattered into the darkness from the flurry of movement. Alice always looks a bit terrified of us all, but just now, she looks prepared to bolt.
“Forgive me—” Thorin begins.
I lift a finger to my lips and shake my head, then pull the door shut as silently as I’m able. “Master Quint is still sleeping,” I say quietly.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” My guard is very deliberately not looking at the young lady waiting in the shadows. It’s possible his cheeks are turning pink, too, and I don’t think I have ever in my life seen Thorin blush. I glance from him to the cards, and then to Alice.
