Finally, he spoke.
“You’ve never had sex. At all.”
She went rigid. The blood drained from her face, fingers tightening into the wood beneath her. Quentin held his breath.
She swiped the flagon from his fingers and drank deeply.
Gods, his blood was roaring, every instinct in him raging. Heknewthat was a bad idea. He hadn’t been able to help himself, and now his mind was filled with far,fartoo many ideas.
The things he could show her. The things he couldteachher…
He shifted, grimacing slightly at the way his pants had become just a little too tight. Fuck, he needed to get a grip?—
“I won’t have you judging me.” Delaynie glared down at him, a queen on her throne.
“What?”
“You won’t judge me for my choices. I know you want to. Don’t even try to do it.”
Quentin blinked in shock. “Del—” He swallowed. “Delaynie, I wouldneverjudge you for that.” He grinned, willing his blood to calm. “But I must admit, I’m a little curious.”
She sniffed, looking away. “Why? You guessed it. You can’t be that surprised.”
“Just because I had a suspicion doesn’t mean I can’t be surprised that it’s true.” She glanced back at him shyly, and he forged on. “Why? You never got…curious?”
Her blush was back, and she gave a small shrug. Some of the usual strength to her posture had deflated, like she was sinking in on herself.
He hated that.
“I guess it was just…never a priority before. I wasn’t a Lady of the Court, but I might as well have been. And my father made sure I stayed far away from the Marked.”
Quentin winced. “That was probably for the best. We weren’t a good group for a lady to be spending time with.” Especially not in those years before Mariah had arrived. Gods, they’d been a hot-headed band of horny idiots.
She smiled. “I guess with everything, it was just never something that happened for me. Or was even very interested in.”
They fell silent, the dying fire giving a few weak crackles and pops. The darkness was creeping in, their small oil lanterns fighting to fend it off.
“And now?” Quentin finally murmured, barely more than a whisper. The glowing light caught the reds in Delaynie’s hair.
“Now?” she squeaked weakly.
Fuck, he had no control tonight. There was no stopping him. He didn’t move closer; he only lifted his chin, catching her full stare. “Is it something you’re interested in now?”
She inhaled sharply. Opened her mouth, like she was about to answer. “I?—”
A log in the fire fell and they both jumped. The tension of the moment snapped, like a cut cord, and Delaynie straightened. That familiar coldness slid back into place over her expression.
“It’s late. I should get to bed.”
Quentin exhaled heavily. “All right.” He nodded at the tent. “You sleep first. I’ll stay up until the fire goes out.”
It was what they’d agreed, upon realizing their wagon was also to be their tent. They would take turns in the shelter, unless it either grew incredibly cold or incredibly rainy.
What Delaynie didn’t know was that unless she invited him in, he would never sleep in that wagon. It was hers, for as long as they were on that road.
Like fuck he’d let her sleep out in the open like that.
Delaynie padded to the wagon, pulling back the canvas flap. She glanced over her shoulder, some of her ice melting a little in her eyes. “Goodnight, Quentin.”
