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“You know I served as a hired squire and that—”

“Clara.” He placed the goblet back on the table. “I know nothing other than the carefully selected bits you’ve chosen to reveal to me. I don’t know where you were born. Or why you are posing as a boy. I don’t know why you’re terrified to reveal yourself or what your intentions are after we leave Kenshire.”

“My intentions?”

“You aren’t coming back to Brockburg, are you?”

To hear it said aloud. . .

Clara sighed. “You don’t know that.”

“I know you’re considering it. Each time I mention returning, you hardly speak.”

“What does it matter, Alex?” He hadn’t answered before, and she could see he was not inclined to do so now.

“What if I was born a servant, raised in a noble household, learning enough to emulate my superior’s mannerisms. What then? Would you feel free to be with me? For one night? For a fortnight? Until you tired of me?”

She could tell she was angering him, but Clara did not care.

“Or what if I am the illegitimate child of the king? A lost princess? Then you will be forced by some honorbound—”

“Clara, that’s enough.”

“Nay, Alex. You’re asking me to share more of myself than I am able. And with someone who does so little sharing himself.”

“I’ve held back nothing from you,” he said.

“Except for the real reason we’re on this journey.”

He ground his teeth, his jaw moving back and forth as his eyes narrowed.

“You already know I am looking for my mother.”

“Why?”

He was not the only one who could ask difficult questions.

“What do you hope to learn by finding her?” she pressed.

Clara knew she pushed too far, but she had begun to care for this man. And even though she was angry at him. . . though she couldn’t exactly say why. . . she wished to save him from being hurt.

“What do you hope to gain from this journey?”

“I already told you. I want to know why she left us. ”

“And then what?”

She could tell it wasn’t a question he was prepared for. “What if she tells you something you don’t wish to hear?”

He grabbed his cup and drank deeply. “I expect as much.”

That’s when she realized. Alex hated his mother. He was not merely curious about why she’d left. Nor was he simply upset that she had abandoned them. It was an unsettling emotion from a man who appeared to hate no one, save his enemies. From a man who always smiled. His face bore out the intensity of his feelings, and Clara wanted to put her arms around him.

Instead, she waited.

And decided to trust him, as she hoped he would trust her, while she did so.

“I was born a baron’s daughter.”