His eyes were frantic, scanning her with a terrifying intensity—searching for a tear in her dress, a bruise on her wrist, a drop of blood that would give him a target for his rage.
“I looked... I went tae yer room and it was empty. I thought—” He stopped, his voice catching. He didn't say he thought she’d been taken,but he didn't have to.
Enya’s chest seized. She had expected him to tower over her with the cold suspicion of a Laird. She was not prepared for this raw, reckless terror. It made her feel like a monster.
“I needed air,” she said. The lie tasted like dirt. It was thin and pathetic against the backdrop of his fear.
Harald’s gaze flicked to Amelia. The girl had gone the color of salt, her mouth a tight, panicked line. She looked guilty enough to hang, her eyes darting toward the floor.
“Air,” Harald repeated. The word was hollow.
He looked back at Enya, and the first spark of suspicion began to flicker in the wreckage of his relief. He wasn't a fool; he could smell the woods on her, could see the way her heart was trying to kick its way out of her chest.
Enya felt the corridor tilt. The walls felt like they were leaning in, eavesdropping. If she stayed there, the stone would soak up her shame; the guards would see her break. She could feel the truth clawing at the back of her throat, a scream she was fighting to keep silent.
“Take me somewhere private,” she said, her voice coming out in a desperate, breathless rush.
Harald stilled. His entire body went rigid. “What?”
“Please,” Enya whispered, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her cloak. “I’d like us tae talk. Alone.”
Amelia’s fingers dug into Enya’s sleeve, a silent, frantic warning. Enya did not look at her. If she met Amelia’s eyes, she would crumble into pieces right there on the cold floor.
She kept her gaze locked on Harald’s, pleading with him to take her away from the prying eyes of the keep.
Harald’s gaze held hers for a long, agonizing beat. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but the tension in his jaw remained like a coiled spring.
He gave a single, sharp nod. “This way.”
He turned, and the way he walked close to her felt less like a companion and more like a silent shield protecting her even as he prepared to interrogate her.
Amelia stayed rooted to the spot, hands clenched in her skirts, watching them with the gut-wrenching helplessness of someone who had carried a friend to the edge of a cliff and had to watch her jump.
Harald took the stairs fast, his boots heavy on the stone, as if speed could outrun the dread pooling in her gut. He led her down a narrower, shadowed corridor and into his chamber.
The room was clean, warm, and painfully intimate. A heavy bed sat against the far wall; a table, cluttered with maps and a half-burnt candle; his cloak was draped over a chair, and his boots were set neatly beneath it. The fire in the hearth was a dying heap of coals, glowing a bruised, angry red under the ash.
He stepped inside and waited for her to follow. When she did, he shut the door.
The click of the latch felt like the loudest sound Enya had ever heard. It felt like the locking of a cage.
Enya stood just inside the door, her hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles felt like they might burst through the skin. Her whole body was screamingly aware of him—of the heatradiating from his frame, the air he displaced, the way the room seemed to shrink until there was only his heartbeat and her fear.
Harald did not move closer. He stood like a monolith of shadow, watching her with a terrifying focus, as if he were checking for hidden wounds or hidden daggers.
“Tell me,” he said at last. The command was soft, but carried weight . “What is it?”
Enya’s mouth went dry. The truth was a jagged thing in her throat. “If I dae, ye’ll hate me.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I’ll decide what I feel after ye speak. Nae before.”
The absolute, terrifying steadiness of him nearly broke her. He was offering her a fairness she didn’t deserve, a chance to speak before he judged. It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever given her, and it made what she had to say ten times more painful.
Enya let out a high-pitched laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Aye. That sounds like ye. Always so damn measured.”
Harald’s mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile haunting his lips for a fleeting second, but it never reached his eyes. “Enya. Speak.”
Her name in his voice did something violent to her composure. It was an invitation, not an order. Heat surged behind her eyes, and she blinked hard, fighting back tears the way she had refused them since childhood.
