He would frankly much rather die than breach her trust.
He was just so grateful for the opportunity to hold her. Grateful he could provide some sort of comfortand shelter. If prison had taught him anything it was that sanity could only be found in the present moment. He focused on that rise and fall of her rib cage beneath his hands as she breathed.
“Forgive me. I think I cannot engage in spirited discourse. I think I shall fall asleep at once,” she murmured.
“Close your eyes,” he said softly. “You watched over me when I was ill. I will keep watch tonight, just in... case.” He hadn’t yet told her soldiers might very well be on the lookout for both of them.
“You will stay awake?” she objected to this sleepily.
“Absolutely,” he murmured. “I’ve a positive gift for staying awake.”
“Very well. I do not want to hurt you if I lean against you.”
“If you do not thrash, we will survive the night nicely.”
“I cannot promise anything.”
He gave a short laugh.
They both sighed as if finally, finally they had come home.
“Youarevery warm,” she murmured.
“Didn’t I tell you.”
“Mmm,” she said.
There was a little silence.
“Will you say things in your voice, please?”
“Will I say things in myvoice?” He was amused. His voice was graveled with emotion, presently.
“It is low and perhaps a little scratchy, but not in an unpleasant way. A bit like rough silk. Or a purr.”
He was charmed airless.
He was helpless against her weapons that weren’t weapons.
In a thousand ways, she would be the death of him, even as she’d saved him.
“What things shall I say?” he said evenly. But his voice had gone gruff.
“Mmm... do not say anything very interesting, for I shall want to listen hard to it. Perhaps you can tell me a story.” Now she was amused, as anyone would be, at the very idea of him inventing a story. “Nothing with a ghost, however.”
Had heevertold anyone a story? He supposed, in some ways, his whole life had been a story.
What story would he tell if he could? Where would he begin?
“Once upon a time,” he began, “there was a headstrong, proud, clever young woman with eyes the color of the sky at that time of day just between sundown and proper nightfall.”
That seemed the point, now, of remembering what the sky looked like: so that he could tell this story.
She turned with a start to look at him.
“Shhh, now. Close them.” She turned around again. “On the outside, she looked as soft as a petal. But inside this young woman beat the heart of a lion. And here is the thing about lions. Good men feel privileged to be in the presence of their fierce beauty. They will honor it by allowing the lion to be itself. But weak men will try to conquer it with brutality and tricks, or turn it into a trophy. These kinds of men can try, but they can never hope to break that lion’s spirit. And this young woman who had a heart of a lion prevailed, because just as these men cannot escape their natures, she cannot escape hers. She willalwaysprevail.”
He whispered those last words, vehemently.
