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The worst part, the part that tightens my throat and burns my eyes, is that I understand why. I do. The rational corner of my mind, which still functions despite the emotional storm tearing through the rest of me, can see the tactical sense. Because I did the same by not telling him I’m King Edric’s daughter.

But understanding doesn’t lessen the hurt.

I toss the gear bag inside our tent, straighten my spine, and force my voice to come out steady. “Come here. I need to finish removing your armor.”

Silence stretches between us as I wait for him to approach. Eventually, I look up to find that Agnar hasn’t moved.

The stoic, battle-hardened general stands in the center of the tent, wearing most of his armor and studying me with an unreadable expression. “Esme⁠—”

“I said come here.” The words come out sharper than I intended.

Miracle of miracles, he does as I bid.

I strip the shoulder pieces off and drop them on the ground instead of laying them carefully on the armor rack the way I usually do. I’m doing everything out of order, but I don’t care. Nothing makes sense anyway, so why try to follow the old ways? His ways. The things he taught me when I thought we understood each other.

This has to be my penance for being a terrible daughter.

I kneel. It doesn’t feel erotic this time, just pathetically submissive.

I reach for the buckles on the greaves, my hands shaking so much that the leather strap slips through my fingers twice before I get it undone.

I’ve spent my whole life being dismissed. I’m used to being overlooked, told in a thousand small ways that I don’t measure up to the person I should be. And then Agnar showed up and looked at me like I was someone worth seeing.

He told me I was worth protecting.

I swallow down the tears burning the back of my throat. He lied. None of it was real, and it’s ridiculous to cry over a performance. By the gods, I want to anyway, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

I remove the second greave and toss it aside with a clang.

“I couldn’t tell you.” He sounds so far above me, he may as well be with the gods now. “You have to understand that.”

“I said I understand.” I don’t look up. If I do, I’ll cry. ”You don’t need to explain.”

He watches me serve him. What would happen if I hit him in the dick with his own armor? Would he react then? “Yes, I do. I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you my last name. If anyone knew who I really was, I could compromise my kingdom’s security. The King and Queen of Tirene trusted me to be discreet.”

I free the first cuisse, then the second, baring Agnar’s legs except for the thin cloth of his undergarments. I should stand up. Should move on to the breastplate.

Instead, I stay kneeling, staring at the space where armor was. At Agnar’s muscle and old scars. How many of those came from the War of the Gods? Which ones did he get while liberating Aclaris?

“And despite all that…” He takes a breath that swells through his body all the way down to his toes. “I’m still here. Still helping you get that artifact. Because I believe in what you’re doing. Because the Withering and the Hollow Ones are real, and if we don’t stop this, the Hushing Sickness could spread far beyond Meridia.”

My throat starts to close. “Very heroic.”

“Esme.” His hands appear in my line of sight, reaching for me as I dodge him. “Please look at me.”

I don’t want to. I’m not ready to see the face of the man I’ve grown to depend on because that will make this all too real.

But I do. I tilt my head back and meet his eyes.

The impact of his gaze hits like a physical blow. His blue eyes darken with either guilt or desire…or both. His face draws tight, his jaw clenched, a muscle jumping beneath the skin.

He looks wrecked.

Good. At least I’m not the only one.

His hands find my elbows. Grip them. Then he lifts me to my feet with an effortless strength that should come as no surprise. “I’m sorry.”

I want to cling to the cold fury that’s sustained me ever since Barnaby opened his mouth. It’s difficult, though, when he’s holding me close and gazing at me like I’m something precious.