He folds the parchment once, then again, and looks at me instead of Odrin. “I am needed.”
I nod, though my throat tightens. “Go.”
His hand reaches across the table, closing over mine once more. “I would stay if I could.” The words are soft, meant for me alone.
“I know.” I try for lightness and almost find it. “Besides, if you lingered, we would not eat.”
A corner of his mouth curves, helpless and warm. He rises and comes around the table. I stand to meet him without thinking. He liftsmy hand and presses his mouth to my knuckles, then to my forehead, lingering there as if he can leave a promise upon my skin.
“Tomorrow,” he murmurs against my brow. “Find me after the council breaks.”
“Tomorrow,” I answer.
He steps back, the distance feeling larger than the few paces that separate us. At the door, he pauses, as though memorizing me in that light, then is gone with Odrin, the echo of their steps fading into the long hush of the hall.
I sink back into my chair. The candles gutter lower, throwing small seas of light across wine and plate. I trace the rim of my goblet and think of all the dinners we have already shared like this, hands nearly touching across wood and flame. I carry it differently now, wanting held at bay by duty instead of doubt.
The silence he leaves behind hums—faintly, like a chord struck in stone—slipping through hidden corridors and listening walls, reminding me that this palace is awake and that I am no longer invisible within it.
Soria appears at the threshold, quiet as ever. “Shall I see you back, dear?”
“Please.”
We walk deeper into the private royal halls, far from the route we took to arrive. The palace feels different at this hour, its edges softened. The library and its hidden sanctum lie farther behind with every turn, yet something from that dark place tugs at me, steady as a tide. I draw the shawl closer, as if its warmth might guard against the odd chill that sets in as we move away from that call.
In my chamber, I lay the shawl across the foot of the bed and stand a moment in the quiet. Night presses gentle at the windows. I can still feel the shape of his kiss at my brow, the weight of his hand closing over mine.
Soria helps me out of the gown and into my shift for sleep. As her hands loosen the braid, as the bodice slips free, I catch my reflection and wonder how the woman in the mirror—the one who fled the village in favor of a life in the wild—has found herself in such a place. And moreso, how I feel less a stranger in these halls than I ever did in my old life before it all.
I slide beneath the covers and pull them to my collarbone, breathing in the faint primrose that clings to the linen.
Somewhere in the westward hush of the halls, a draft moves through stone. I tell myself it is only night settling. Tomorrow, I will see for myself.
Sleep comes slowly, not for lack of peace, but because longing and contentment have twined together, and I am learning the strange sweetness of feeling both at once.
Chapter Fifteen
Asplintering sting rips through my ribs as I fight to draw in breath. Gods, this may well be the end of me.
“…and that’s when the Duke realized he’d been arguing with his own reflection for half the night.”
Ace slapped the table with a triumphant grin, utterly unrepentant for the way he’d undone me. My laugh breaks free, sharp and helpless, stealing the air from my lungs until I clutch my side. Dust spins madly in the shaft of morning light as if even the library itself had joined his revelry.
“Please—stop me before I ever drink that much wine!” I plead through the remnants of laughter, pressing a hand to my chest as though I could cage the breath it has stolen. I needed this. Even with the ache in my ribs, it was a breath of fresh air—enough to drown out the murmurs that seemed to coil my name from the shadows.
Well… almost enough.
“Now that would be a sight. But of course, m’lady, I vow to protect you—even from your own merriment.” His mock formality cracks into warmth, and yet the sudden thread of concern is real. “I won’t let you get into such a state. But tell me—have you been sleeping?”
“Just what every maiden longs to hear: you look tired.” I gasp in mock injury. Attempting to mirror his dramatics, I let my wrist fall to my brow and collapse against the chair back. “Sir, you wound me.”
He chuckles, the sound low and knowing. Somehow he always finds the knife’s edge between jest and sincerity, teasing without losing the gravity that lingers beneath. His brow arches as if daring me to answer honestly, coaxing truth even from behind a veil of play.
I measure my words, searching for the truth for my own sake as much as his. “I would have thought so, but the disordered state of the bedding would suggest otherwise.”
I didn’t know his brow could arch higher, but yet it does.
“I do not know what you are implying with that look, Sir Ace, but my bed was my own last night. Merely my thoughts keeping me company in the dark, defending an honor I know in secret was far from pure in recent nights.”
