“Ye look like ye’ve been struck,” Amelia said quietly.
Enya drew a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I’m fine.”
Amelia hummed, unconvinced. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the doorway Harald had used, then back to Enya’s face.
“Come, me lady,” Amelia said quietly, already turning. “Ye look like ye might tip over.”
Enya allowed herself to be guided, the two of them slipping away from the hall and into the quieter corridors beyond. The stone walls closed in around them, muting the sounds of celebration as they climbed the stairs together.
Enya’s room was cool and dim when Amelia shut the door behind them. The familiar space steadied her at once. Ameliaturned, watching Enya with a stillness that made the hairs along Enya’s arms lift.
When she finally spoke, her mouth barely moved. “Ye’re in trouble.”
Enya’s lips parted as she huffed softly through her nose, eyes fixed on the floor as if it might offer refuge. One corner of her mouth twitched, brittle. “I dinnae ken what ye mean.”
Amelia pushed off the door at last. As she crossed the room, her expression softened. She stopped directly in front of Enya, arms folding loosely, head tipping just enough to look her full in the face.
“Aye,” she said, one brow lifting. “Ye dae.”
Enya leaned back a fraction, chin rising on instinct, spine straightening as though she’d been challenged. “I’m fine.”
Amelia’s mouth curved, her eyes flickering briefly to Enya’s hands, clenched too tight in her skirts, before returning to her face.
“I’ve kent ye since we were both small enough tae hide under tables,” she said quietly. Her gaze lingered, intent and unflinching. “I ken the difference between fine and pretendin’.”
Enya’s jaw tightened. A muscle jumped there, betraying her before she could stop it. She turned her face slightly away, staring at the wall, blinking once too fast.
Amelia lowered herself onto the bed beside Enya, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer, but her eyes sharpened. “I see the way ye watch him,” her lips pressed together briefly, as though choosing her words with care. “Like ye’re braced fer impact. Like ye’re daring him tae hurt ye first.”
Enya’s throat worked. She swallowed hard and finally turned back, eyes bright with something she refused to let fall.
“That daesnae mean I care,” she said, the words clipped, precise, her mouth set in a line she’d practiced for years.
Amelia searched her face for a long moment. Then she nodded once. “It means ye dae,” she said simply. “Even if ye’re afraid tae say it.”
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Enya exhaled. “It changes naething. I’m here wi’ a mission.”
Amelia’s expression softened further. “It could.”
Enya looked back up sharply, the word tearing from her throat before she could even weigh it. “Nay.”
“Ye dinnae have tae dae this,” Amelia said, her voice dropping into a register of soft, dangerous compassion. “Whatever it is ye think ye owe yer braither, whatever promise ye’re carrying... ye could stop. Right now. We could find another way.”
Enya stood abruptly, the chair scraping a harsh, mourning sound against the floor. She crossed to the window, her fingers bracing against the stone sill so hard the grit bit into her skin. She stared out into the fading light, watching the shadows swallow the courtyard, and for a terrifying second, she let herself imagine it.
Stop.
The word felt like a cool draft in a burning room. She could stay here. She could let the mission wither. She could sink into the warmth of the hall, into the confusing, electric pull of Harald’spresence, and forget the life of a shadow. She could be a wife instead of a weapon.
But then she saw Finley’s face in her mind—the desperate, hollow look of him the last time they’d spoken. The weight of his life hung around her neck like a millstone, cold and relentless.
“I cannae,” she whispered, the air in her lungs feeling thin and brittle.
“Why?”
Enya swallowed, her throat tight with a grief she hadn’t given herself permission to feel.
