Noah said nothing, which was its own answer.
“It’s always the lass these days. Ye cannae sit still, ye finish yer work in three hours, ye stand at windows in the dark?—”
“I think she matters a lot to me, even more than she should.”
Elliot was too stunned to speak for a moment.
“Say that again,” Elliot said carefully.
Noah turned from the window.
He knew he looked like a man who had just heard himself say something aloud for the first time and was trying to determine if it was true.
“I think she matters to me,” Noah tried again, slowly. “I daenae ken when it happened. I daenae have a single moment I can point to. It was just, everythin’. All of it buildin’ up without me noticin’ until tonight I sat down to work and couldnae think about anythin’ else.”
“Anythin’ else?” Elliot asked.
“But her,” Noah said plainly. “The way she argues. The way she is with Esther. The way she looks at me like she’s decided I’m worth her time and then keeps bein’ surprised by it.” He moved to the desk, hands flat on the surface.
“Aye,” Elliot said. “I ken.”
“Ye ken.”
“The whole castle kens. I’ve kent since the forest road, but ye didnae want to listen.” Elliot leaned back. “What are ye goin’ to do about it?”
“Noah.” Elliot leaned forward. “Ye’ve spent ten years fixin’ yer father’s messes and yer brother’s messes and every problem this clan has ever put in front of ye. Every decision ye’ve made has been for someone else.” He paused. “When’s the last time ye wanted somethin’ for yerself?”
“That’s nae the point.”
“That’s exactly the point.” Elliot stood. “She looks at ye the same way, for what it’s worth. Has since the start. She’s just considerably more stubborn about it.”
He headed for the door. At the threshold, he paused. “It willnae pass, Noah. Ye ken that already. Ye’re just hopin’ I’ll agree with ye so ye daenae have to do anythin’ about it.” He shrugged. “I willnae agree with ye.”
He left, and Noah heard him whistling all the way down the corridor until the sound faded to nothing.
He sat with the quiet for a moment.
The truth was, he couldn't forget. Not the tower, not the library, not the way she'd kissed him back with no hesitation and then spent the following days treating him with the careful, polite distance of someone trying to convince herself it hadn't happened. He had been the one to reach for her. Both times. And both times she had met him there, fully, and then retreated before either of them could name what it meant.
He understood it. He didn't like it, but he understood it.
She was afraid of wanting something she didn't believe she was allowed to have. He'd seen it in her since the beginning — the way she made herself smaller than she was, the way she gave andgave and asked for nothing, the way she looked faintly startled every time he treated her as if she mattered.
Someone had taught her that. He had his suspicions about who.
He stood, moved to the window, and looked out at the dark.
He had kissed her. He had meant it. And she had meant it too — he was certain of that much. What remained was getting her to stop running from it long enough to say so.
He left the study.
The corridor outside his chambers was dark, with torches burning low, and the castle deep in its nighttime quiet. He’d almost reached his door when Esther’s opened.
Ava stepped outside with a candle, her hair loose and her shawl slipping off one shoulder. She carefully closed the door with the precise pressure she had learned over weeks, then turned and saw him.
“Noah,” she said, startled, slightly breathless.
“Ava.” He kept walking toward her. “How is she?”
