“Nim,” Tristan’s voice rasped. He swallowed audibly and then continued, “I love you, Nim. I… I mean we, my beast and I….” He paused to swallow again. “Fuck it.”
Tor had never seen his stern friend look so unnerved. Angry, lethal, brutal, even devastated—yes. But unnerved, no.
Nim stepped closer, her body pressed against Tristan’s as she cupped her hand on his cheek. Her wings flared out behind her, the firelight gleaming against the silvery leather. “Yes.”
Tristan grunted. “I haven’t asked you yet.”
“Yes,” Nim said, voice soft but clear in the quiet room. “To anything you ask.”
Tristan turned his head into Nim’s palm and closed his eyes, his scales flickering as they flattened. His eyes opened, and he took her free hand in his. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes.” Nim’s voice was firm, committed, and ringing with her deep joy, and Tor had to blink against the heated prickle in his own eyes.
Fuck it all.
Tristan slipped a ring onto her hand and then surged up to wrap Nim in his arms as she giggled and not very subtly wiped her eyes on his shirt. Around them, their friends called out their congratulations, laughing and wrapping them in hugs and sharing their joy.
Val dragged Nim out of Tristan’s arms to whirl her in a circle while she shrieked, and then dropped her back in Tristan’s arms and clapped him on the back.
The room was overflowing with compliments and excitement, and Tor knew he should step forward and add his own. Knew that they deserved every moment of happiness they had together. Nim and Tristan were perfect for each other. They had fought to be together.
But even so, their happiness stupidly, awfully, stabbed him right in the heart. Right in the tender place where he still dreamed of Keely. He paused, breathing down the shaft of jealousy that he knew was totally unacceptable. Unkind and unworthy of him, and unworthy of Tristan and Nim.
But mostly, he paused because of Keely. When Tristan lifted Nim, Keely had stepped back, her face drawn and her eyes gleaming suspiciously. The woman who never cried had subtly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
When everyone else had rushed forward, Keely had walked away, across the room. When Val spun Nim, Keely reached for the door. And when everyone else was focused on Nim and Tristan, she slipped through and disappeared.
The door closing behind Keely broke him from his daze, and he started to move. It was too much. He couldn’t bear that she felt she had to leave her friends. She was a fighter. A warrior. He had to remind her.
He had stayed away, but it had been wrong. Maybe his words would make things worse, but he had to try. He had to say something. Had to tell her how much she meant to everyone—to him—and how cold the world was without her fire.
Crossing the room took forever. Alanna and Lucilla were both determined to bring him into their celebration. He congratulated Nim and Tristan, shook Val’s hand, and did his best to share in their excitement. And by the time he was finally out the door, the corridor was empty.
Tor strode through the palace, nodding distractedly at the new guards, hardly noticing the banners and flags still flying since the queen’s coronation. He saluted the Blue at the entrance to the queen’s private wing, where Keely had also been given rooms, and leaped up the stairs two at a time before marching down the long corridor to her room and banging on the door.
His fist thudded against the wood but there was no answer, no noise from inside at all. Was she even there? He banged again, listening to the hollow echo.
Where could she have gone? She loved to walk the battlements, but would she have gone there in the dark? In the rain? Maybe. He could start there. He was turning to go when the door opened behind him.
He spun slowly, not knowing what to expect. But whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this. Not this tired-looking woman, with her drawn face and suspicious wetness in her eyes, an array of packed trunks and satchels littering the floor behind her.
As he watched, she straightened her spine and rolled back her shoulders. “What do you want?”
“I want to know what just happened.”
She lifted her chin. “Nothing happened.”
Gods. Nothing. Like the nothing he’d given Mathos. Like the nothing he’d given her, day after day.
He gripped the edges of the doorframe, feeling the wood creak beneath his weight. “I know that something is wrong. And I feel… responsible. Won’t you… gods. Please, Keely, let me help.”
She bit her lower lip. The movement so small and yet so evocative; it wrapped a fist around his heart and squeezed.
She wiped her hands down her face, releasing her lip, and sighed. “Why?”
He leaned forward, forcing himself to keep hold of the frame, forcing himself not to take her into his arms, knowing that wasn’t what she wanted. “Why what?”
“Why do you want to help after all this time of pretending that I don’t exist?”
