It wouldn’t be the first time he’d thrown me off my guard today. Minutes after our combative reunion, I walked away unscathed and with my head elevated. Only when I stepped intothe castle did I sprint to the nearest stairwell and collapse in a bout of nausea, my fingers shaking for a solid ten minutes.
Hence, my late arrival to the roundtable. A first in my pristine record.
Drawing a surprised intake of breath, I crossed my arms. “Well, you’re consistent, following me from another revel. Did you forget something out here?”
Catching himself in the act, Aire smothered his grin. “Not me,” he replied, sauntering nearer. “You did.”
I frowned in puzzlement. Hesitating, he extended one hand, where a package wafted of sweet and sour aromas.
Cranberry tarts. Three of them.
Aire had noticed me leave without sampling the fare. He also remembered I liked bringing Mama treats from the revels.
My insides softened. I curled my fingers around the tarts. “Thank you.”
“Never thank me,” he murmured.
“Meh. I’m too starved to hold back gratitude. I could eat one of these in a single gulp.”
“Please don’t,” he begged. “Jeryn is too many leagues away, and I have no practice in resuscitation.”
“Not a problem. Nature blessed me at birth with an immunity against choking. It may not look like it, but I have an elastic throat and a special ability to swallow lots of things that normally shouldn’t be swallowed whole.”
The knight went still. His features leveled on me in the darkness, caught between too many reactions to choose from. Scandalized, flustered, and something with a boiling point.
To atone for the blunder, I feigned conviction. “If I don’t thank you, I’ll owe you.”
“I see,” he conceded, playing along. “Then by all means, my lady. I know how you loathe being indebted to people.”
Despite myself, I let out a small chuckle, then sobered at his ensemble. After our training match, I must have been too focused on the roundtable and my predicament to register his change of clothes. Or maybe I had avoided taking a closer look.
A slate jacket and a matching vest edged in dark trim. The slumped neckline, which flashed his collarbone. Leather pants like Poet’s, except dyed in a charcoal shade.
Muscled silhouette. Tousled ashy hair.
Fuck me hard. This mouthwatering soldier cleaned up nicely.
“I’m sorry,” Aire intoned.
My attention jumped from the impeccable clothes to his features. “For what?”
The knight held my gaze, regret flooding his words. “For my brutish behavior in the training yard. For my rudeness during the meeting.” His irises dimmed, tearing a hole in my resolve. “For the way I left you.”
That night so long ago, when he turned away. That moment when he didn’t look back.
Except that had been my fault. I’d been the hurtful one that evening, not him. It didn’t matter that I had no choice.
Even so, his apology crushed my chest. This man trusted me. Everyone in the clan did.
As for the training yard and the roundtable, Aire was no more infallible than any human being. But when he made mistakes, he took responsibility and owned up to them.
Compared to my betrayal, I had no right to say it. But this warrior looked out for people, and he deserved for someone to look out for him in whatever way they could.
I swallowed. “I’m the one who should be sorry. For what I said that night.” Aire shook his head, about to object when I unstrapped the axe and presented the blade’s rim. “I’ve kept my edge.”
His features brightened. “The whetstone.”
“It’s my favorite gift. I never thanked you like I should have.”
