I didn’t cry when my parents died. Then, I felt like I couldn’t dare. Honestly, I shouldn’t darenow. Everything was terrible. Everythingisterrible.
But when our parents died, I had Corrick. Now, I have no one.
I miss my brother so much that it aches.
The door creaks open, and I jerk my arms down.
Quint.
My thoughts freeze.
He takes one look at me, sitting half dressed in the chair, still filthy with mud and blood and who knows what else, and he inhales to speak.
I point at the door. “Out.”
He closes his mouth, but his eyes narrow. He walks past me toward the stove, fetches an earthenware mug and a scoop of tea, then pours from the kettle.
“I saidout.”
“I heard you.” He adds honey, too, then carries the mug to me.
I don’t touch it. “I want to be alone, Quint.”
“No, you don’t. You must be freezing. Why haven’t you—”
“Don’t presume to tell me how I feel.”
“It’s not a presumption. You’re soaking wet and filthy.” He gestures at my bare arms. “Gooseflesh all over. You’ll catch your death of—”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”
He blinks in surprise, and I realize I’ve snapped, which I almostneverdo. I run a hand across my face. “Forgive me.” Then I sigh. All I’m doing lately is asking forgiveness, which I probably don’t deserve from anyone. “Please, Quint.” My chest tightensdangerously, and I glance at the door, then fix my eyes on the table. “Leave.”
A moment passes, but he lets out a breath and moves away. I’m surprised by the sudden pang in my heart when I realize he’s yielded.
But hedoesn’tleave. He walks past the door to pick up the thin quilt from the end of the bed, and he returns to drop it over my shoulders.
Then he drops himself into the chair across from me. “No.”
I stare at him. I just faced outright rebellion in the forest, and I dealt with a revolution in the Royal Sector, but I don’t think anyone on my staff has ever sat down in front of me and saidno. It’s so jarring that it chases the waiting emotion away from my eyes and a bit of the tightness out of my chest.
“I could have Thorin drag you out of here,” I say.
“As you like.” He nudges the mug toward me. “Drink, Your Majesty. You truly must be freezing.”
I want to throw it in his face. I hate that he challenges me like this, because it makes all my options seem petty. I could call Thorin in here, but for what? For giving me a blanket and telling me to drink a cup of tea? I really am cold. These soaked boots have turned my feet into blocks of ice.
I draw the blanket against me with one hand, then take a sip from the mug with the other.
“Stop looking so satisfied,” I say petulantly.
But he doesn’t, really. He’s just looking at me. His voice isn’t even patronizing. Simply kind.
I have to look away and take another sip.
The honey is very sweet, and the tea warms me from within, and I wholly resent that it does make me feel better.
“Thorin and Saeth gave me a brief accounting of what happened,” he says gravely. “Do you want to talk about it?”
