Perrin straightened, released the tent pole, and forced his hands to stop their trembling. When Hal pushed through the entrance, Perrin immediately dropped his head in a bow, but not before he saw Ser Hal’s expression.
His jaw was set so tightly, Perrin could see the muscle jumping beneath the skin, which was Hal’s usual tell. Some stormy emotion raged in him. His eyes—those green eyes that could go from furious to pleased in a heartbeat—were flat and cold as river stones. He’d dressed hastily; his shirt was half-unlaced, his breeches loose at the waist, his hair still mussed from another man’s hands.
He looked betrayed, and Perrin had been the one to betray him.
“I’m sorry, Ser Halden,” Perrin said quietly. “I shouldn’t have—I should have stayed here. Should have given you privacy.”
Hal said nothing. His silence was harder to bear than anger; it pressed down on Perrin’s shoulders like a physical weight, demanding he explain, justify, apologise again for the unforgivable sin of witnessing his knight’s humiliation.
“I woke up, and you were gone,” Perrin continued, still not looking up. “I was concerned. Thought perhaps you’d taken ill, or—” The lie died on his tongue. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t pretend this was innocent concern rather than the jealous trailing of someone who had no right to jealousy. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, because what else could he say?Only the truth. “I guessed where you were and what was happening. I guessed, too, who he was. And you were right, I can’t be sure about it, and I didn’t know if he reallywasusing you, and it’s not that you’re not attractive, but I didn’t want you to wake up tomorrow with regret, and I?—”
“Stop.”
The word cracked like a whip. Perrin’s head came up automatically, years of obedience overriding his need to defend himself. Hal stood with his fists clenched at his sides, his whole body rigid with suppressed violence. But it wasn’t directed at Perrin. No, Perrin knew Hal’s rage and had weathered it often. This was. . .internal. Or aimed at the Nameless Knight. At the universe for putting him in a position where his squire had watched him be used and discarded like a training dummy.
“Don’t apologise,” Hal said, each word ground out through clenched teeth. “Don’t fucking apologise to me when I’m the one who—” He cut himself off, turned away, pressed both palms against the tent’s support pole as if he, too, needed something to hold him upright. His shoulders rose and fell with harsh breaths.
Perrin stayed quiet, letting Hal work through whatever he needed to work through. That was part of his job too: Knowing when to speak and when silence served better.
Tomorrow, Hal would face the Nameless Knight in the tournament finals. Tomorrow, he would need to be sharp, focused, capable of the precision that had carried him through so long undefeated. Tomorrow, he would need to be the best version of himself.
Tonight, he was a man coming apart at the seams.
Perrin’s mind shifted, practical instincts overriding hurt feelings. He’d seen Hal like this before—wound so tight he couldn’t think straight, his body vibrating with unusedviolence and energy and lacking a place to put it. Usually, it happened before important bouts, when the stakes were high, and the pressure mounted. Perrin had learned how to handle it, how to offer what Hal needed without making it obvious the knight was being managed.
But this was different. This wasn’t pre-bout nerves or the weight of expectation. This was rage and shame and self-loathing all tangled together, and beneath it—Perrin could see it in the set of Hal’s shoulders, in the way he held himself, and in the tenting of his breeches—arousal that hadn’t been fully satisfied. The Nameless Knight had gotten him worked up and then dismissed him, leaving him hanging with nowhere to put all that energy.
Hal would never sleep tonight. Gods, Perrin knew him: He would spend the hours until dawn replaying every moment in that tent, every word the Nameless Knight had said, every touch and taste and broken gasp. He would torture himself with it until his mind was too fractured to function properly.
And then tomorrow he would lose. Ser Halden would hand the championship to the man who’d used him.
Perrin couldn’t allow that.
He moved forward, closing the distance between them with careful steps. Hal didn’t turn, but his shoulders tensed further as Perrin came to stand just behind him. This close, Perrin could feel the heat radiating from him, could smell the sweat and sex that still clung to him. His stomach lurched.
“Ser Halden,” Perrin said softly. “Please look at me.”
For a moment, he thought Hal wouldn’t comply. Then, slowly, the knight turned. His jaw was gritted, and a gleam in his eye threatened tears, though beneath, his green eyes glazed with fury. But under that, too, was just a man. Theman Perrin cared for; a raw, wanting, utterly lost young man, just like Perrin himself.
Perrin met that gaze steadily. Let Hal see whatever he needed to see. Then, deliberately, he sank to his knees.
He decided, in himself, that this wasn’t submission. It wasn’t like those other times when Ser Halden had no other choice, and Perrin was only performing his duty. This was something Perrin wanted to do; to give Hal pleasure and release, and in a way, to set things right. This was an apology for witnessing his humiliation. This was a return to the proper dynamic. Perrin’s place was on his knees before his knight, and Ser Halden should use his squire. Perrin did this not out of duty, but out of love.
He tilted his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. Hal’s eyes tracked the movement, something dark and hungry flickering across his features. His mouth parted, but he said nothing.
So Perrin provided.
“You’ll lose your edge in tomorrow’s tilt if you don’t release this,” Perrin said. Boldly, he reached out and pressed his hands on either side of Hal’s groin, gently squeezing the firm quad muscle there. His voice was steady despite the way his heart hammered against his ribs. “You know you will. You’re wound too tight. Too far in your own head.”
Hal’s jaw worked. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Perrin?—”
“You need this.” Perrin kept his gaze locked on Hal’s face, refused to look away even as heat flooded his cheeks. “Let me help you. That’s my job, isn’t it? To make sure you’re ready for tomorrow.”
Maybe in part it was true. Yes, preparing Hal was his job. But this act was about Perrin claiming something for himself, about inserting himself into the space theNameless Knight had occupied. He would prove, even if only to himself, that he could give Hal what that aristocratic bastard had only pretended to offer.
Hal stared down at him. Then, finally, he exhaled, a long breath that seemed to carry some of the tension out with it. His hand came up, fingers threading through Perrin’s dark hair. The grip was gentle at first, almost tentative, as if he was giving Perrin one last chance to pull away. Perrin didn’t. Then Hal’s fingers tightened in a possessive grip, and his other hand came to rest against Perrin’s jaw.
Hal slipped his thumb into Perrin’s mouth, pressed against his tongue. Perrin closed his lips around it, and Hal nodded down at him. Very slowly, he slid the slick digit out and gazed down at Perrin with heavy eyes.
