“I don’t believe that’s true.”
“I’m trying—” His voice cracks like he’s swallowing tears. “I’m trying so hard to do the right thing, but I can’t seem to manage it.”
“I know,” I say softly. The devastation on his beautiful face is obvious.
“I’ll protect you the best I can,” Emmett says, and I know he means money. I hate that he knows I need it. I can picture it now, being swept away to a far-off country house, not kept like a mistress, but kept like a secret. Queen Mor will continue ruling, and all will be as it has been. Only Emmett and I will know the truth of what could have been.
I can’t bear to talk about it anymore. “Please change out of those wet clothes. It hurts to look at you like this.” And it does. Ithurtsin an aching sort of way I can’t ignore anymore.
Emmett tears his gaze from mine and finally slides out of his wet boots. I turn away to stare at the fire but hear his clothes fall to the floor in succession.
Wrapped in another blanket, he joins me again by the fire. The color is already returning to his lips, and I am relieved to see it.
He arranges his clothes next to mine to dry, and now all we can do is wait. The storm outside shows no signs of slowing down, and judging by the band that has now struck up downstairs, neither does the party below us.
“I’m sorry about your father,” I say to him. What Eduart said has been weighing on me all day, and I have a desperate need to talk about something other than the two of us.
“It would be easier if I was mad at him, I think,” Emmett says. “But I’m just sad. It’s strange, loving someone you don’t know. It’s even stranger knowing that they live just down the hall. I have these... memories of him. I remember reading books on his lap and him teaching me to skip stones on the pond behind our house.”
“Did he ever try to contact you beyond the hidden messages in the library?”
Emmett shakes his head. “The terms of her bargain seem to forbid it. No letters. He can’t even pass messages using someone else; their voice goes suddenly mute. Nearly gave my old governess a heart attack the first time it happened. It’s one of my earliest memories.”
“Are you still close to your governess?”
Emmett shifts uncomfortably. “I was. She died just over a year ago. I think she would have liked you. You’re tough like she was.”
I shake my head. I’m stubborn, which is different and not nearly as admirable. “I don’t think I’m tough.”
Emmett just chuckles. “Well, she would have seen what I see.”
“I would have liked to meet her,” I say. I have a feeling that the list of people Emmett loves is small. He keeps them tucked away, close to his chest.
“She was a walking contradiction. Tougher on me than anyone, but the closest I ever got to parental love. I was a lonely child, spent all my time on the floor, making up stories with my toy soldiers. She loved the ballet, so I loved the ballet; we went every chance we got. It was the only time I ever left the palace grounds.”
This room feels removed from reality, a bubble of only two.
“That’s actually where I met Faith,” Emmett continues. “It was last summer, after my governess died, and I was sitting in the audience alone. Faith took pity on me.”
The warmth in my chest dissipates into something cold and petty. “That sounds just like Faith, so beatific. A saint, really,” I say sarcastically.
“Are you jealous?” Emmett raises a brow, and I think of his earlier confession, the tenderness in it. I don’t feel tender at all, I feelscared of this well of emotion I can’t control.
I paste a smile on my face. “That’s hilarious. You should try comedy more often.”
Eventually our clothes dry enough that I’m able to slip back into my chemise and drawers. The thin cotton doesn’t offer much in the way of modesty, so I keep the blanket draped over my shoulders. Emmett pulls on his half-damp breeches and goes downstairs to get us some dinner. The sun has long since gone down, but the storm is still raging.
He comes back up with a tray of cold cuts, crusty bread, hothouse peaches, and watered-down ale. “I turned down the mysterious stew,” he says, laying the tray on the small card table by the window.
“What if mysterious stew is my favorite food?”
“Then we’ll have to refine your tastes before you become a princess.”
We eat in ravenous silence, and Emmett places our now-empty tray out in the hallway. The party downstairs has quieted some, though the storm has not done the same.
“We ought to try to get some sleep,” Emmett says. “I want to be off at first light. We can think of our excuse on the way back to camp.”
“Agreed.” The panic-induced nausea has mostly retreated. My life may very well be ruined, but today has been so long, I’m too exhausted to truly consider it. I’ll save the worry for tomorrow.
