Jax swears, then sighs. He pushes the glass away by a few inches.
I want to apologize again. I want to take away all the reasons these memories will hurt, because I know what he means—maybe too well. I want to shoot arrows and feel the heat of the forge and learn how he pulls a useful shape out of a block of iron.
But not just that. For the first time, I wantmore.
I want to teach him to fight so his father never dares to lay a hand on him. I want him to press my hand to his cheek again. I want—I want to feel—
My thoughts stumble to a stop. Like the day I told Rhen I don’t like to linger in the courtyard, my emotions are such a tangled mess. I keep thinking of what Noah said, how I keep people at a distance. I can’t even argue the point. I spent weeks avoiding Grey in the Crystal Palace—and then I rode right past the turn for Briarlock when Jake and I were heading for Emberfall. Even now, my chest is tight, and there’s a part of me that wants to draw back. I don’t know what’s wrong with me that fighting and swordplay feelsafe, but sharing a quiet moment feels terrifying.
Please stop leaving me with memories that will only hurt later.
I turn the words around in my head and examine them from all angles, until I see them from the clearest one: the first three words.Please stop leaving.
I reach out and touch his hair again. My fingers barely graze his jaw, and I wonder if he’s going to pull away, but he doesn’t move. His eyes are intent on mine.
I follow that strand to the end, then do it again. He’s so still, his breathing slow and even. Outside of training and sparring, I never touch anyone else. I rarely allow anyone else to touchme. This is hardlytouchinganyway. This is … I’m not sure what this is.
I know I don’t want to stop.
When I do it a third time, a strand winds around my finger and nearly tangles, tugging gently before going loose, and Jax lets out a breath.
He gives me a rueful look. “You’re going to make this memory hurt more than the others.”
I draw back, but he catches my hand, his thumb gentle against my palm. “I don’t think I’ll mind the pain of this one.”
That makes me blush and smile, and I duck my head. “I’ve never—well.” I shrug a little, then chance a glance up. “I don’t know much about …” His eyes are so intent, and now it’s my turn to look away and stumble over my words. “Ah, that is to say, I have very little experience in … incourtship, if that’s what thisis—”
“With a commoner?”
“With anyone.”
His eyebrows go up. “Really.”
“You don’t have to looksoshocked.”
He grins, and it’s truly amazing how transformative it is for his face. He wears his worries so plainly, but when he smiles, his eyes practically gleam.
I need to stop drinking wine. Or maybe I need to drinkmorewine.
Especially when he says, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, so forgive me for finding that hard to believe.”
“I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
“Well.” His smile broadens. “Admittedly, I rarely leave the forge.”
I laugh outright. He turns his hand so our fingers are loosely intertwined, but just for a moment before he lets go.
“I have little experience withcourtshipeither,” he says, lightly mocking my so-serious tone.
“Not … Callyn?”
He shrugs. “We grew up together. Cal is like a sister.”
“She is very fond of you,” I say, and mean it.
His smile fades, and a dark look slides through his gaze. Something has happened between him and Callyn. I wonder if he’ll tell me—or if I can ask. We’re still dancing around truths, but we seem to have tightened the dance floor.
I take a sip of wine that nearly turns into a gulp when I realize Jax is watching the movement.
