These words fall into the darkness like a stone into a pond.
“But the king has magic,” Jax says. “He couldn’t protect you?”
“He didn’t know how to use it then.” I pause. “He bears the same scars.” I take a long breath, run a hand down my face, and roll onto my stomach before I can lose my nerve. “You can see.”
Now it’s his turn to freeze.
He’s absolutely silent, but I can see the moment his gaze shifts from mine to my back. My head rests on my forearms, and I watch the tiny movement of his eyes as he traces the lines.
When he reaches out a hand, I tense, but I force myself to remain still.
His hand stops before reaching me, though. “Can I touch you?”
The question takes me by surprise. It’s four simple words, almost ridiculous words, considering we’re lying beside each other. But maybe that’s what allows me to nod. It’s the patience. The waiting. A request instead of a demand.
He doesn’t touch the scars, which is what I expected. His hand drifts along my shoulder, down across my biceps, following my forearm until he reaches my face and lets his fingers run through my hair before he does it again. And again.
By the fourth time, the tension has eased out of my body, and my eyes flicker closed. I want to stay awake, to keep talking, to listen to the easy rumble of his voice. There’s still a tremor of worry in the back of my thoughts, that this will lead to more before I’m ready for it, but his hand never strays from the chaste path along my arm. My thoughts begin to drift and loosen.
When the stroking stops, I wonder if he’s begun to fall asleep, too, but the bed shifts, just the slightest bit, and my eyes barely open to find the tiniest smile on his face, his arm reaching over my head.
Jax barely has a hand on the blade before I pin him to the bed, trapping his wrist.
He gasps in surprise, but then he laughs, full out.
“You’re dangerous,” I say ruefully.
“I was curious about how serious you were.”
“Well, now I’m very serious about not sleeping.”
He frowns. “You’re not really, are you?”
“No.” I wince. “Maybe? Not because of you,” I add. “But Alek.Anyone.” I flex my fingers. “It’s very different to be on the road without my rings.”
“You mean, you’re just like the rest of us?”
That gives me pause, and it reminds me of the day I healed his hand. “Yes,” I admit.
He glances at his hand with the knife, which is still trapped against the mattress. “You clearly don’t need them.”
I wonder if that’s true. Maybe I’ve grown too reliant on magic, and I’ve forgotten how to rely onmyself.
“Maybe not.” I hesitate and think of the moment Alek thrust that dagger under my ribs—or the battle with Nakiis in the arena. I frown. “But … sometimes I take risks I otherwise wouldn’t.”
“Sometimes risks remind us of what we have to lose.” He flexes his wrists under my grip. “More of your soldier training?”
I nod.
“Show me how to get free.”
I smile and squeeze his left wrist. “Slide this one straight overhead. It’ll break my balance. If you do it fast, you can push off with your foot and flip me—”
He flips me onto my back so quickly that it takes me by surprise. He really is stronger than he knows. I think it takeshimby surprise, because he’s wide-eyed and staring down at me.
“I told you the army could use you,” I say. “Now you’re in a position to punch me in the face or cut my throat.”
He smiles and lets go of my wrist to set the knife back on the ledge, but then he leans down close, his hands braced beside my shoulders, his hair tickling my skin. But there’s a part of this that’s making my heart skip in a way that’s wary and uncertain. I wish I had my armor back.
