My heart squeezes. He thought of my needs even when dealing with everything else.
"Thank you," I say, voice tight.
After he leaves, I eat because I have to. Because my body is still healing and I know it, even when everything inside me would rather simply sit with the ache. When I'm finished, I stare into the fire. The flames blur slightly before I realize my eyes have filled with tears. I blink them back, irritated at myself.
I’ve already cried more in the past few days than I have in years. I have nothing left to cry about that I haven't already wept over, and yet here it is again… that aching sadness that doesn't have the decency to leave me alone.
I press my hand to my chest as if that will dull the pain deep within.
He lied to me,I remind myself. But then, I realize the other truth:He sent me dinner.
I don't know what to do with a man who has broken my trust and still, without ceremony or witness, makes certain I have eaten. Who writes annotations in the margins of history books on behalf of people who can't write their own. Who sleeps on the floor or outside the tent of a woman who won't share a bed with him, just so she’ll feel safe.
I’m still angry, and I think I may be upset for some time yet. But I am also desperately, inconveniently in love with him.
The fire crackles in the hearth as I lean back against the cushions and close my eyes. I don't know yet what I will do… or if the hurt will ever fully fade. But I think, perhaps, I’m beginning to understand the shape of who Auren is beneath it.
Another knock at the door pulls me from my thought, and I wonder if it’s the healer again or perhaps another servant as I call for them to enter.
Instead, Tarin steps inside.
“Forgive the intrusion,” he says. “I had hoped to speak with you.”
I nod. “Of course.”
He inclines his head and crosses the room, but instead of sitting beside me, he lowers himself into the chair opposite the sofa.
He studies me a moment before speaking. “When our parents died, Auren took the throne far younger than any king before him. He was not meant to rule so soon.” He pauses. “There were those who believed he would falter. Others who believed they should guide him. Some even tried to control him. But he proved them wrong.”
I wait patiently as he continues. “He has carried this kingdom through challenges that would have broken lesser men, choosing restraint where others would have chosen blood.”
His gaze lifts to mine. “He is a good king.”
Emotions swell in my chest. “Yes,” I say quietly. “I can see that.”
I think of the city and the way the people bowed. Of the way they looked at him, not with fear, but with certainty.
“I heard of what happened at the border, with the Ogres,” he says. “And Auren told me how you saved him and his warriors from the Mountain Goblins.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “I did what anyone would have done.”
His brows lift. “No. Not just anyone would have placed themselves between an Ogre and a child. Nor would they have walked into a Goblin camp knowing how easily they could be killed. And there are many who would hesitate to risk placing their hands on a rune stone after being told what it would do.”
I wince inwardly as I recall the lightning shock of the rune magic. “I didn’t think it would be that painful,” I mutter.
“Perhaps not. But that does not lessen what you did.” He leans in, studying me intently. “Auren told me what happened between you. And I want to know: Do you love him?”
I’m shocked by his blunt question. Before I can answer, he adds, “Because I know he loves you. So much so that there is nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice for you, including himself.”
A hollow ache opens inside me.
“So if you do not feel the same,” Tarin says, “let him go before you break him.”
His words are an arrow straight to my chest. I look down at my hands, twisting the fabric of my robe between my fingers. “When I met him, I thought he was a soldier.”
The memory rises, sharp and clear. “I fell in love with that man. The man who gave away his coin, slept on the floor, and kept saving me without ever making me feel small for needing it.”
My throat burns. “And when I learned the truth… it hurt.” Because it wasn’t just the crown. It was the trust. “I’m still hurt, but that isn’t the worst part.”
