Or Itry. He catches my hand effortlessly within his gloved one. Contrary to the way my brother grabbed me, his hand is gentle, and I don’t fight him at all.
“I know,” he says, his voice full of contrition. “I was thinking that might be better.”
“It wouldn’t bebetter, Asher.”
“We’ve always known our lives would one day be divided. Even before...before.”
Before our mothers died. Before our lives were inextricably altered. But he hasn’t let go of my hand, and I don’t pull back either. Though he’s speaking of distance, all I can focus on is the urge to lace his fingers through mine and pull him closer. He so rarely lets me touch him anymore. I hold very still, trying to gauge what he is thinking, afraid to break the spell.
His thumb brushes over my knuckles.
My breath catches, but when I examine his face, it’s only regret I see etching his features, not desire.
“What if I never come back?” I say softly.
For a moment, he says nothing, and his thumb goes still. But then he shrugs. “I’m sure you will, with half a dozen Incendrian babies in tow.”
“Half a dozen!”
He continues as if I haven’t said a word. “They’ll all be quiet and docile and perfectly behaved, until the moment they come to visit their uncle Dane. They’ll put spiders in his bed and honey in his shoes, only he won’t be able to do anything about it, because their father would set him on fire.”
It should make me laugh, but it doesn’t—because the father of these imaginary children is a man who can cause blisters with a brush of his fingers. “I know what everyone expects, but there will be no babies.” A shudder rolls through me. “I’ll marry Maddox Kyronan to protect the kingdom, but I’m not letting him touch me.”
Asher takes another bite of his cookie. “Do you think everyone has to call him that?”
“Asher.”
“I just feel like it would be remarkably tedious.”
He’s trying to lighten the mood, but my mouth stays locked in a line.
So the smile fades from his. “I’m sorry about your father.”
I doubt that’s true.
My expression must shift, giving it away, because Asher offers half a shrug. “I’m sorry foryou.”
I sigh, twisting my fingers together. “You don’t need to be. He’s...he’s a stranger, Asher. I barely see him anymore.” I pause. “And now he’s forcing me to leave.”
Nowhismouth forms a line.
“What if Father dies, and the king feels he’s been tricked?” I say. “Then I’m trapped in Incendar.” I take a breath. “As his prisoner.”
Asher goes still as if considering that, his expression darkening dangerously. But maybe the mood has grown too heavy, because he blinks, then lets go of my hand and sits taller. He taps his jaw, just below the seven lines of ink across his cheek. “Here, punch me again. Show me how you’d really hit him.”
“Asher.”
He grins, and it lights up his face.
But then the door latch clicks, and he all butvanishes. He’s so quick that I’m not even sure which direction he went.
A wisp of a voice comes from the shadows, just before the door opens. “Cookie, Jory.”
I look down at my hand to see the rest of the cookie I haven’t eaten. I shove it under my covers just as Charlotte comes back into my chambers with another quilt.
“Youareawake,” she says softly. “None of us can sleep. I thought you might need another blanket.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised by this unexpected kindness. I remember the way Charlotte waited formyorder and ignored my brother. Maybe I should give her more credit. “I—yes. Thank you.”
