Or...maybe he scared himself away.
The princess herself continues to stun me. So innocent, yet so...unflinchingwhen it comes to things that matter. I’ve been so hesitant to reveal the truth about my sister...and then she was so quietly gentle. She didn’t judge me for what happened with my people, and she’s ready to go take food from Astranza without even waiting for Dane to approve it. When we finally confessed our hidden truths to each other, she was ready to ride right into war that very moment. I said I wouldn’t ride back into her country without a regiment behind me, and she was so quick to correct me.
Behind us.
The falcon, always free, choosing to return to my hand.
Asher, by comparison, is the wolf willing to stand at her side, to do whatever she asks—even when it costs him something. Even when it costs himeverything.
I think of that day when he held me captive. One of the very first things I noticed was how he’d obviously never been a soldier—and if he were, I’d have to carefully build his confidence, because so much of his courage is a facade. So much of his true spirit has already been stolen away.
Though...clearly not all of it.
“Asher,” I say, and I keep my voice low.
For the longest time, he doesn’t move, though I know he’s not sleeping. I don’t think he’s going to look at me, but I won’t ask again. I don’t want to make it a battle of wills. Not now.
But then his eyes flick open, more gray than blue in the shadows. He still doesn’t meet my gaze.
“Can I touch you?” I say.
He says nothing, and I don’t want to push him—though sometimes I think he likes to be pushed. He’s just out of reach, so I shift toward him, watching his reaction, stopping when we’re close enough to share breath.
He goes tense, of course, and he seems prepared to launch himself out of the bed.
“You only have about four guards in this entire palace,” he says, like it’s a warning. “I could escape in five minutes.”
“Escape?” I say softly. “Do you still feel you’re a captive, Asher?”
Emotions play over his face as he considers that, and it steals some of his fire. “I don’t know what I am.”
I remember how he didn’t ask to be freed from the chain. I wonder if there was a part of him, deep inside, thatlikedit. If captivity meant safety, in an odd way. Being my prisoner meant no one else could take him.
He’s so tense that he could walk onto a battlefield right now. “Would a fight make you feel better?” I say, and a tiny light sparks in his gaze that tells me it would. “Should I get some swords and we can go to the training yard?”
He looks a bit startled, but then he laughs under his breath. “Honestly, I have no idea what to do with a sword.”
That’s so shocking that I press up on one elbow and look down at him. “What?”
He shrugs. “It’s not the most efficient weapon for an assassin.” He makes a face. “I haven’t held one in forever. They’re heavy—awkward—”
“Asher.” I run a hand down my face. Bleeding skies, and he’s going to let them take him to Mossnum. “Can you shoot an arrow?”
“Probably? It’s been a while.”
I stare at him. He’s finally looking at me, and some of the bracing tension has slipped out of his body. He’s not prepared to leap from the bed anymore. I find it amusing that a conversation about fighting is what finally drew him out.
There was a moment when he was lying with Jory that he allowed me to stroke his hair. They both seemed lazy and content, curled up like purring cats beside me. He’s not purring now, but he doesn’t look ready to claw up my arm, either.
I reach out and thread my fingers through his hair.
He stops breathing, but he doesn’t pull away. I do it another time, and then another, until he finally lets out a breath and his eyes close.
He’s really so beautiful. They both are. When Asher and Jory were kneeling between my spread legs, I had a moment where I thought it couldn’t possibly be real, that maybe I died at some point during the journey and this was the heavenlands.
I let go of his hair and run a hand down the curved muscles of his arm. When he shifts a little, his hand drifting the tiniest bit toward me, I say, “Will you let me hold you?”
I wait, and I’m rewarded when he responds, tucking his face in against my shoulder, aligning his body almost flush with mine. I can feel him breathe, the too-quick fluttering of his heart, and I shift my stroking to run along the slope of his back, mindful of his wounds. When he relaxes, he’s as responsive as the princess, and I begin to let my hand drift. His back, his arm, his rib cage, his throat. I brush a thumb over his nipple, and his eyes flick open, his breath catching the tiniest bit. His skin is so warm, his pulse beginning to hum.
