Sure you do. You “know” it would be better not to slide your fingers into her hair and tilt her head just enough that—
He ignored the beast, dropped his hand, and stepped back. It cost him, but he did it. Because he did know better.
He’d always known she was beautiful, but it had taken time for him to see past his blinkers, to appreciate how brave and clever she was. How kind. She would be a magnificent queen.
And he was a Tarasque mercenary with almost certainly a very short future; who had lost the only home he’d ever had through his own incompetence. There was nothing he could offer her. And he wouldn’t know how to offer it, even if he had anything. She needed someone who would be with her forever, and that was never going to be him.
He pulled her cloak together and closed the buttons under her chin while she watched him with big eyes, then he gestured for her to lie down along the side and slightly underneath of the fallen log.
He didn’t have a coat, but he could feel his scales forming a thick armor to keep him warm, and he glanced down at Lucilla as she burrowed into the hole they’d made, worried that she would be nervous about the beast.
She lay still, watching him with dark eyes, but she didn’t seem bothered. His beast turned over with a strangely relieved grunt.
“Can I join you, Princess?”
She rolled her eyes in response, and he sat down beside her, used the pile of leaves and dirt they’d created to spread a covering over both of their legs and torsos, and then lay down, pulling the last few handfuls of leaves with him.
If they were lucky, the Blues would keep to the paths, and anyone who wandered off at exactly the right place would see nothing more than a fallen log.
If they were really lucky, the dogs would have lost their scent, or never had it in the first place, or be completely confused by the stink of pig manure all around.
The soldiers would be coming through the fields covered in it too, hopefully their tracks would blend together… except where he and Lucilla had turned off the path. That was their weak spot. Gods.
He twisted his face until he could see a small patch of sky through the dense branches above them. It was gray with clouds, but it was still the sky. It was enough to allow him to take a long, slow breath and force his body to relax. There was nothing they could do now except wait.
He hurt more than he could remember ever hurting before. Now that they weren’t moving, simply lying on the cold, wet ground, he could feel every one of his injuries, and the aftereffects of so many hours without sleep.
He had always healed quickly—all Tarasque did—and the swelling was already starting to go down around his eye. His ribs still ached, but perhaps a few hours of forced rest would help. But his shoulder was a concern. The whole area felt hot. The rough bandage he’d made from his shirt felt as if it was cutting into the wound, and it was a struggle to use his hand effectively. He’d almost fallen from the trees when he’d tried to put his weight on it.
If he was able to get it clean and properly bandaged and then sleep for the day, it would be fine. But none of that was going to happen. His priority was the queen.
The horns blew across the field, and now they could hear the hooves thundering in the distance. Commands were called, and a whistle blew.
Dornar would want them to search in a grid, calling out as they cleared each area. The Lord High Chancellor knew that they were on foot and injured; he would aim to get ahead of them and then form a net to drag them back in.
Mathos glanced sideways at Lucilla and found her watching him with those big, dark eyes. He had tried to avoid crowding against her, but now he could see that she was shivering, her body trembling as she pressed her lips together in silence.
“What is it?” he asked in a low whisper. “What do you need?”
“I’m afraid.”
He stared at her for a moment. He hadn’t expected her to admit it, to be so open with him, and he hated that she was afraid. “You’re going to be okay. Whatever happens, the Hawks will find you.”
She didn’t answer for a long moment. “Will you hold me?” she asked eventually, so quietly that he almost missed it.
He shuffled closer, thankful he’d positioned them with his good arm against her, and wiggled his hand through the tight space under her shoulder. She rolled slightly and settled her head onto his chest, letting him hold her against him, and breathed out a long, slow sigh.
Hooves thundered closer. The guards were in the woods, storming down the paths that he and Lucilla had been on just a short while before. They would overshoot and then work their way back. That’s what he would do, anyway.
Lucilla tensed, and then slowly softened as the minutes passed. They could hear the men calling out their search patterns several miles past where they were hidden. Dogs bayed from the direction of the fields.
They were in the eye of the storm now. Couldn’t go forward, couldn’t go back.
Lucilla pushed herself even closer to him, clinging to his side, and he couldn’t help himself; he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.
A minute passed, and he thought he’d gotten away with it. Until she raised her eyes to his.
“Mathos?” she murmured.
