“What are you talking about?” I bite out. I wring my hands together because otherwise I’ll strangle him.
“You spent ages in the woods,” he snarls. “What if something happened? What if more rebels are nearby? I didn’t save your ass from freezing just so you can keep endangering yourself.”
“Why didn’t you just come find me, then?”
“I was about to. I wasn’t sure if you’d be … indecent.”
I roll my eyes, turning to hide my flush. I refuse to be drawn into another bickering match with him. I scoop up the food he left out.
“Let’s go, then. I’ll eat as we walk.”
Tides help me, this is only day one.
Snow begins to fall as we trudge between densely packed trees, the light flurry quickly thickening. Heavy flakes thread through my hair and cling to my lashes. My fingers ache from the cold. I blow hot air over the tips, though it doesn’t help much.
At least the snow will cover our tracks.
Zevayr glances back. He’s been single-minded about covering ground, but his gaze snags on my chapped, reddened hands. His brows knit together. “You didn’t think to pack gloves?” he asks, his deep voice laced with dry amusement.
He slows beside me, peeling off his own. The gloves hang between us, like a truce begging to be broken.
“Ididpack gloves,” I hiss. “They were probably in one of the other carriages that exploded. Didn’t you think to check after you tied me up?”
His jaw ticks. He shakes the gloves again, sharper this time.
“No, thank you,” I snap, even as my fingers scream.
His gaze pins me in place.
“Remember when I said I’d only touch you if you were being an idiot?” I flinch. His voice is low. Dangerous. “Don’t make me hold you down and put them on for you.”
My pulse skips. My palm itches with the desire to slap him again.
“Unless youwantme to hold you down and…” His voice drops lower. “You don’t want me finishing that sentence, Mayah.”
I snatch the gloves from his hand, cramming my fingers inside.
“I sure hope your brother has better manners than you,” I mutter, trying to ignore the lingering warmth and slight dampness inside the fur-lined gloves. My fingers curl into the residual heat from his large hands, and it feels far more intimate than it should.
Zevayr snorts, striding ahead. His shadow stretches long across the snow. I follow, hating how small my steps feel beside his.
The fire crackles pleasantly, warming my fingers—though they’ve been warm all day. Zevayr refused to take back the gloves, no matter how hard I insisted. My legs ache, and exhaustion seeps through every inch of me. We walked until the sun dipped behind the trees, stopping only when visibility became an issue.
“Why didn’t your brother come for the ceremony?” I ask despite my better judgment. I can almost tolerate him when he’s silent.
Zevayr doesn’t respond immediately. He tosses the remains of our dinner—a pitiful hare he’d caught earlier—into the snow.
“Too dangerous. Not worth the risk for the crown prince to venture into … hostile territory.” He finally sits across from me. Firelight catches in his dark hair.
I open my mouth again, but he cuts me off. “Get some sleep. It’ll be another long day tomorrow.”
“It’s my turn to take first watch,” I protest, even as fatigue weighs heavy on my eyelids.
He gives me a long look, one that seems to sayI know you’re full of shit. I bristle.
Zevayr exhales sharply. “Tomorrow we’ll alternate. Rest.Please.” He stretches the word, jaw tight, like it burns his tongue. It’s clear he’s not a man accustomed to saying it.
I debate arguing further but decide against it.
