“You canhavethe bakery,” I cry. Then I notice that she really does look very pale. “Your Majesty— do you need to sit down?”
“I’m fine, Callyn.” She rests a hand over her abdomen. “I haven’t been sleeping lately.”
The king brushes a kiss along her forehead and murmurs something I can’t hear.
“Why wouldn’t you take residence at Ironrose?” says Alek. “Surely you could be better protected.”
“Perhaps,” says the queen. “But after everything that happened, I would rather be somewhere private for a time.” Her expression turns a bit pained, and she looks up at the king. “I think . . . I think . . . we shouldn’t spend too much time in the sun.”
“Of course,” he says gently. They turn back toward the palace.
I stare at them, confused— and worried. Is she ill? But then I think of the other moments we’ve sat together over the last few months, when she wouldn’t eat, or she only sipped at her tea, or she claimed tobe feeling off. I think of the child they lost, and how it drove them apart— and, once the king was gone, how desperately she wanted him back.
I remember when I first met them, how I was so intimidated by their roles, but once the royalty was stripped away, they were really just a young family struggling with grief and loss and doing their best to move past it.
Queen Lia Mara is leaning against the king now, walking slowly back toward the palace. Her hand is still over her abdomen.
To help, she said.
“Oh,” I whisper.
“But why?” Alek calls, completely clueless. “Surely you would be safer at Ironrose—”
The queen turns, her expression aggrieved. But instead of snapping at him, she throws up on the king’s boots.
The king catches her hair, drawing it back from her face in a practiced motion. He doesn’t seem surprised at all. But he looks back at Alek, who’s stopped short, his expression shocked.
“That’s why, Alek,” he says dryly. “That’s why.”
CHAPTER 44
JAX
For days, I wait for Tycho to ask for his armor. I expect him to strap on his gear, saddle up Mercy, and ride back to the Crystal Palace to accept whatever orders the king may have. I’d follow him, of course, but I’m ready for it.
But days pass, and he doesn’t ask.
We tend the animals in the barn, and we shoot arrows in the woods, and we ride the horses on lazy loops through Briarlock. I can feel his lingering sadness, as if something has been ripped away— but I don’t pry. Noah hasn’t left, but he gives us space when we need it, and offers company when we want it. I learn why Tycho is so devoted to him, and why he was such a confidant when he was younger.
At night, Tycho and I lie awake in the shadows and talk, our fingers wound together. Sometimes we kiss, sometimes we do more, but mostly we simply exist together, with no pressure to do or be anyoneor anywhereelse. Just Tycho— and just Jax.
When Lord Jacob eventually comes to fetch Noah at the end of the second week, he brings a cat in a wicker hamper.
“Salam!” Tycho exclaims in surprise, pulling the orange tabby free.
“He scratched the hell out of me,” Jacob says.
Noah cuffs him on the shoulder. “But it was yourpleasure,” he says pointedly.
“Anything for T.”
They stay for a few hours, and we share a meal and conversation, telling stories around a campfire that make me laugh, but only pull a smile from Tycho. When they leave, I wonder if this will spark Tycho’s desire to return to duty— but it doesn’t.
Instead, he pulls me into the house and spends an hour making me forget my own name.
When we wake in the morning, his cat is in the bed, curled against my shoulder, purring loudly.
“Traitor,” Tycho whispers to him, and I smile.
