Our return to the Wilds is in the dead of night, which is a bit of a relief. We’re only welcomed with silence. No one is out and about to stare, to shout, to publicly chastise me for every single failure.
That will happen tomorrow, I’m sure.
I’m relieved to find Quint unharmed and waiting for us, again sitting on the porch of the house beside a lantern, writing in his little book. He stares at the wagon as we roll back into sight, and I can read in his expression that he senses how much has gone wrong. He’s always good at creating distractions in the face of a crisis, however, so I’m not surprised when he snaps his book shut, and instead of asking questions, he begins telling the guards which homes are now ours.
All of his duties in our absence were successful, of course.
I shouldn’t feel bitter and resentful about that, but it only serves to highlight everything I’ve done wrong. Since we were expecting to bring back more guards, he’s been able to secure and outfit two houses near the one we’ve been using—far more space than we really need.
But at least I can finally have some privacy. After tonight, I’m desperate for it.
“Saeth’s family can have a house to themselves,” I say. “Quint and Thorin can share the other. I’ll stay where we were.”
Francis is awkwardly dragging Sommer off the wagon, wincing as he does it. Nook is hovering near him, looking lost.
“You swear you can keep him confined, Francis?” I say.
He nods. “I’ll see if I can get some shackles from Marcus Orthrop and put him in my cellar for tonight.” He jerks his head at the boy. “Nook will help me. Then I’ll find someone to stitch up his arm.”
Nook looks surprised by this, but he nods quickly, then moves forward to join Francis. Maybe he needed a task.
“Take a crossbow,” I say. “If he tries to escape, shoot him.”
Nook blanches at that. So does Sommer. He’s still bound and gagged, but he shakes his head vigorously.
I have to look away. There’s still too much emotion in the air, and I just want to be behind the closed door of the house so I don’t have to face any of this anymore.
But I’m the king, and I don’t have that luxury. There’s no King’s Justice. There’s no one else.
“We’ll question you at daybreak, Sommer,” I say. “Then we’ll decide what to do with you.”
He swallows, then nods.
I turn for the steps and grab hold of the door. But before I cross the threshold, I remember something else, and I look back at Francis. “Make sure you give him a meal. He did this because he was starving.”
Then I close myself inside before I have to face anything—anyone—else.
The house is quiet and warm, a relief since I’ve been shivering in my wet clothes for the last hour. The nights aren’t cold, but a fire has been laid in the hearth anyway—surely Quint again, prepared for the weather—and there’s a hot kettle on the stove, too. Only one lantern is lit, and I know we should conserve the candles and oil, but I’m tense and rattled and I’ve had enough darkness. I light a few others.
I hang my cloak on a hook by the fire to dry, then add my sodden tunic beside it. I should bend to untie my boots next, but I catch sight of my hands in the light, and I realize it’s not just dirt in the creases of my knuckles. There are flecks of blood as well. I move to the washbasin in the corner and pump water from the well to scrub them clean.
As I watch the dirt and blood swirl free, all of Lennard’s accusations slam into my thoughts at once.
The instant they found proof, you ran.
They’re wrong. I know they are. I’ve never poisoned anyone. I’ve never turned on my people.
Maybe I’m a fool. I don’t know what proof they could have, but maybe they do have something. Maybe these traitors have worked against me so effectively that my own ignorance will be my downfall. Without information, there’s no way to know.
Not long ago, Arella was in the Wilds, telling the people that Prince Corrick’s ship was a farce, that it would never make it to Ostriary. I didn’t believe that either, but maybe it’s true.
Maybe all of this is futile.
I abandon the basin, then drop into a chair and press my hands into my eyes again.
Now it’s little Ruby’s voice in my thoughts. I saw you crying. Are you very sad?
I didn’t cry when my parents died. Then, I felt like I couldn’t dare. Honestly, I shouldn’t dare now. Everything was terrible. Everything is terrible.
But when our parents died, I had Corrick. Now, I have no one.
I miss my brother so much that it aches.
The door creaks open, and I jerk my arms down.
Quint.
My thoughts freeze.
He takes one look at me, sitting half dressed in the chair, still filthy with mud and blood and who knows what else, and he inhales to speak.
I point at the door. “Out.”
He closes his mouth, but his eyes narrow. He walks past me toward the stove, fetches an earthenware mug and a scoop of tea, then pours from the kettle.
“I said out.”
“I heard you.” He adds honey, too, then carries the mug to me.
I don’t touch it. “I want to be alone, Quint.”
“No, you don’t. You must be freezing. Why haven’t you—”
“Don’t presume to tell me how I feel.”
“It’s not a presumption. You’re soaking wet and filthy.” He gestures at my bare arms. “Gooseflesh all over. You’ll catch your death of—”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”
He blinks in surprise, and I realize I’ve snapped, which I almost never do. I run a hand across my face. “Forgive me.” Then I sigh. All I’m doing lately is asking forgiveness, which I probably don’t deserve from anyone. “Please, Quint.” My chest tightens dangerously, and I glance at the door, then fix my eyes on the table. “Leave.”
A moment passes, but he lets out a breath and moves away. I’m surprised by the sudden pang in my heart when I realize he’s yielded.
But he doesn’t leave. He walks past the door to pick up the thin quilt from the end of the bed, and he returns to drop it over my shoulders.
Then he drops himself into the chair across from me. “No.”
I stare at him. I just faced outright rebellion in the forest, and I dealt with a revolution in the Royal Sector, but I don’t think anyone on my staff has ever sat down in front of me and said no. It’s so jarring that it chases the waiting emotion away from my eyes and a bit of the tightness out of my chest.
“I could have Thorin drag you out of here,” I say.
“As you like.” He nudges the mug toward me. “Drink, Your Majesty. You truly must be freezing.”
I want to throw it in his face. I hate that he challenges me like this, because it makes all my options seem petty. I could call Thorin in here, but for what? For giving me a blanket and telling me to drink a cup of tea? I really am cold. These soaked boots have turned my feet into blocks of ice.
I draw the blanket against me with one hand, then take a sip from the mug with the other.
“Stop looking so satisfied,” I say petulantly.
But he doesn’t, really. He’s just looking at me. His voice isn’t even patronizing. Simply kind.
I have to look away and take another sip.
The honey is very sweet, and the tea warms me from within, and I wholly resent that it does make me feel better.
“Thorin and Saeth gave me a brief accounting of what happened,” he says gravely. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Memories of the guards facing us in the clearing flash in my brain, and I shudder, then shake my head. “No.”
I expect him to argue about this too, but he doesn’t. His voice quiets further. “Are you hungry? There were rolls left from dinner earlier. Some honey and cheese as well.”
“You should give them to the guards.”
“I’ve already seen to the guards.”
Of course he has. I say nothing and stare into my mug.
Quint tsks and rises from the table, then fetches a basket with the food, returning to sit across from me again.
“You’re treating me like a child,” I say sharply.
“I’m not.”
Well, I’m tempted to act like one and throw this mug right into his lap. I fix him with a glare. “I really will call for Thorin, Quint.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. You will not.” He fixes me with a glare right back. “And I’m not treating you like a child. I’m treating you like a man who’s been through hell and could do with a bit of gentle care.”
Well then.
I huff a breath—then let it out in a rush. I have no idea what to say to that. No one talks to me like this. No one says things like this. My heart is tripping over itself as if it’s not sure what the right rhythm is.
“Did you argue with Cory this way?” I say. “I cannot imagine him putting up with it.”
“With Prince Corrick? Never.” Quint smiles, and there’s true fondness to it. His eyes glint with unshared memories. “I sometimes think the basis of our friendship was the fact that I was the sole person in the palace who never argued with him about anything at all.”
If we talk about my brother, it’s going to summon my emotion, and I’ve spent enough time crying tonight. “Then why on earth do you think it’s appropriate to argue with me?”
“If we were still in the palace, I probably wouldn’t dare.” The firelight bounces off his features, tracing gold along the red of his hair. “But last night, you grabbed my book, and you looked quite disappointed when I didn’t grab it back.”
Against my will, a flush crawls up my cheeks. Quint notices too much. I always forget that.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I say, and my voice is a little rough and worn.
Quint says nothing, instead choosing to unwrap the cloth covering the food. He withdraws a thick slice of bread and a knife, spreading cheese and drizzling honey in a way that shouldn’t be mesmerizing, but somehow is. I find myself transfixed by the movement of his hands, and if I weren’t so certain he would argue about it, I’d order him to leave again.
I force myself to speak. “Why wouldn’t you tell me the reason for the dates in your book?”
“I did tell you the reason.” He holds out the bread. “Eat, Your Majesty.”
There are no plates, so I have to take it from his hand. His fingers brush mine, and like last night, I feel a jolt right to my core, and the flush on my cheeks goes nowhere. My breath almost catches. I set down the tea and tug the blanket tighter because redness has probably spread down to my chest. I can’t meet his eyes.
I simply do not understand how he can be so infuriating in one moment, then leave me longing for the tiniest touch in the next.
If anyone wanted to shoot me right now, I’d be an easy target.
I fight for words again. “You didn’t really tell me the reason.”
“It’s nothing. Simple recordkeeping.”
That pricks at me, and I frown. “Please, Quint,” I say quietly. “Don’t lie to me.”
He holds my gaze steadily, and I’m ready for him to contradict me, but he sighs. “Well now. You genuinely mean that.” He pauses. “It truly is simple recordkeeping. But the meaning is . . . very personal. And rather dear to me.” Now his cheeks have grown red, and his eyes skip away. “I’d prefer to keep it to myself. For now. If it pleases you, Your Majesty.”
It doesn’t. Not at all. But how can I refuse that?
I make a frustrated sound. “You are so vexing,” I say, then eat the bread.
His eyebrows go up. “Am I?”
My heart is stuttering again, my eyes lingering on the way the light dances across his features. But now my fingers are sticky from the honey and cheese, combining with the dirt that still clings to my arms. Grateful for an excuse to leave the table, I thrust myself out of the chair and move to the washbasin again.
I plunge my hands under the water when it runs, then splash some over my face. It’s ice cold against the warmth on my cheeks, but I don’t care.
When I straighten, he’s right there, holding out a towel.
Lord.He’s so infuriating. So kind. Both! I snatch the fabric right out of his hands and drag it across my face.
Then I snap it at him.
He catches it and holds fast, which takes me by surprise. This time, we do tussle, just for a second, and the blanket falls off my shoulders. I try to jerk the towel free, but Quint must not be prepared for the sharp motion. He stumbles right into me.
When his hands land on my bare chest, it’s more than a jolt. It’s a lit match. A bonfire. An inferno. His eyes are full of stars, and his hands are so warm, and even though there are a million feelings I should keep buried, a million things I should be doing, I’ve simply run out of strength to care.
I seize the lapels of his jacket, and I press my mouth to his.
If he’s surprised, it doesn’t show. I’m the one who’s surprised, because I was ready for there to be an edge to his response, a belligerence, but instead there’s a . . . a gentleness. A contentment, like this moment was a foregone conclusion.
His hands slide along the bare skin of my chest, one finding its way behind my neck, the other shifting to take hold of my waist. No one has ever held me, and my entire body is responding in a manner I’m not ready for, easing against him, my breath deepening. His lips part just as his fingers slip along the bare skin of my lower back, and when I feel the brush of his tongue against my own, my whole body jumps. I give a little gasp and draw back.
He lets me go at once.
My pulse is racing. I need to slow my breathing or I’m going to start coughing. I run a hand over the back of my neck and shudder. His hair is turning gold and his eyes won’t stop sparkling, and every part of my body wants to feel him against me again.
“So vexing,” I whisper. I feel like I can’t gain control of my thoughts. “Quint, I . . .” I have no idea what to say. I have to press my hands together in front of my face. “I don’t . . . I just . . . It’s . . . it’s been years since I’ve done that.”
He looks at me like I’ve said the sky is blue. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he says quietly. “Obviously.”
I suck in a sharp breath, and I suddenly want to pull back farther. “Obviously?” I demand.
He startles. “What? Oh! No. Not obvious in that way. But if I may say, it’s rather charming that you would think I could tell—”
“Quint.” I run a hand down my face. He’s truly going to be the death of me. “What was obvious?”
“That it simply must have been years, because if you were slipping paramours into your chambers, you never would have been able to keep it a secret in the palace.”
He’s right about that. “I’ve never snuck anyone into the palace.”
“I must say, half the staff would likely be surprised to discover that you’ve ever fancied romance at all, because—Wait, did you say ‘never into the palace’?” His eyebrows go up. “Well, now my curiosity is piqued.”
I blush against my will. “It was a long time ago.”
He studies me for a moment. “How long?” he says. “Or is that question too bold?”
I cut him a narrow glance. “Oh, so now you’re worried about boldness.”
“Just now?” he says. “Perhaps a bit.”
There’s no real teasing in his voice, no flirtation, but this reminds me of when we were sitting on the porch last night. Debating semantics. The way I snatched his book, how I was disappointed when he didn’t grab it back. We’re standing very close, and I can feel his warmth. My eyes flick to his mouth, the curve of his lip. There’s a part of me that longs to touch him again, and I don’t think it would be unwelcome—but I’m not entirely certain. It’s rare that I ever touch anyone at all, and certainly not like . . . this.
So I keep my hands to myself, my heart tripping again. “I used to sneak out,” I say. “Years ago. Before I was king.”
Quint must sense my reticence, because he draws back a little, giving me space. Firelight finds his eyes again.
“It really wasn’t obvious?” I say, and immediately regret it. I have to glance away.
“No, Your Majesty.” He doesn’t laugh, which is a mercy. “Not obvious at all.”
“You said the staff would be surprised to discover I fancied romance.” I hesitate. “But not you?”
“I wondered at first.” He shrugs. “You were so stoic. So reserved. There’s never been any mention of courtship—official or otherwise. No dalliances. No companionship whatsoever. Nothing. Prince Corrick is a gentleman, and devoted to Tessa, but even he has eyes. But you . . . you never seemed to look, never made a passing comment, never lingered. Not with anyone. Which is fine, of course.”
“What changed?” I prompt, because now I’m curious.
“Delegate Plum visited from Mosswell with his husband,” Quint says. “Two years ago. They were sitting in the gardens while the porters unloaded their carriage. You paused to watch them. It was only for a moment, but it was the first time I’ve ever seen you look . . . longing.”
I frown. I remember that. Their visit had taken me by surprise, because we hadn’t been informed that the consul had chosen a new delegate. And there they were, just sitting in the garden in the sunlight, holding hands.
“After that,” Quint says, “I started to pay attention. You might not comment or linger, but sometimes men would pass. You would notice.”
“Even I have eyes,” I say.
He smiles—but I don’t.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Quint says.
“You haven’t.” But I move away to sit on the edge of the bed, and I tug at the laces of my boots. I’ve never talked about any of this with anyone, so it’s weird to reveal any of it now. At the same time, it almost feels as if Quint knows—as if he’s figured most of this out on his own. “When I was a boy,” I say, “I was very sick. There was a time when my parents were worried I wouldn’t survive to adulthood.”
“Corrick has told me those years were very difficult.”
I shrug a little, then pull my boots free. “Once I made it into adolescence, I still fell ill often, though not as badly as when I was a child, so my parents would tell me that I should marry young. Create an heir as soon as possible.” I give Quint a knowing look. “But by then, I was already aware that there was going to be a minor problem with that.”
He stares back at me. “You didn’t tell them.”
I shake my head. “No. They had no idea. And I’m not going to swindle a girl into a false marriage.”
“It’s not uncommon.”
“It’s still a spectacle. I won’t do it.”
“You think they would’ve objected to your intentions?”
I frown. It’s something I’ve always wondered, and they died before I found the courage to discuss it. “I don’t know. My illness was disappointing enough. I could hear it in every whisper. No one wants a weak king. It was a constant worry. I wasn’t sure how they’d react to the news that I had no desire to create an heir either.” I pause. “I also wasn’t sure how Corrick would feel, knowing that the pressures of the Crown, the duty of continuing the line of succession—it would eventually fall to him. He was already looking for ways to escape the palace, and this is just another trap.”
Quint’s eyebrows go up. “So he has no idea either?”
“He’s never asked, and I’ve certainly never told him. You might know better than I would.”
“Prince Corrick all but idolizes you. I’ve only ever heard him say that you have no patience for casual flirtation. Honestly, I believe he thinks you’re guarding your heart—and so he guards his. It’s very likely the reason he’s never courted anyone himself until now.”
I never really considered that.
Quint watches me, but he hasn’t moved from where we were by the washbasin. The distance between us now feels like a mile. I’ve said far too much. He knows more than anyone. And even though it’s all rather useless information, I feel bare. Vulnerable. Exposed.
On a night when I already felt vulnerable and exposed.
The worst part is that I regret this distance. I regret that I moved away. I’m already replaying the slow movement of his fingers across my skin, and I’m worried it’s a memory I’m going to have to hold for another few years before anything like it ever happens again.
Because what he said was true: I do guard my heart along with everything else. I’m the king, and my entire night was just ruined because of an act of betrayal. My entire life has been one long string of betrayals chased by pity. The poor king who can barely hold his kingdom together. I have no idea how to trust that anything is genuine.
Quint is studying me. “I have upset you,” he says.
“No,” I say. But that’s a lie, and gooseflesh has sprung up across my arms again. The heady emotion from a few minutes ago is a distant memory, and too many worries are crowding back into my thoughts.
“You pity me,” I say.
“No, Your Majesty.”
But he does. I think of everything he’s said since he came into the house, his comment about a man needing gentle care, and on the tail of everything else that’s happened, it suddenly all feels patronizing. My shoulders tighten, and I fold my arms against my abdomen. “That kiss was a mistake. I did not—I do not—need tending in this way, Quint.”
He stiffens, then sighs and runs a hand across his jaw. “Honestly,” he mutters. “And you say I am vexing.”
“What?”
“You kissed me!”
I glance at the door and then back at him. “And I will thank you to keep your voice down,” I growl.
He makes a frustrated sound that’s not unlike the one I made earlier. “Do you somehow believe I accepted your romantic overture as if it were part of my role as Palace Master? Is that what is happening here?”
I glare at him. We’re back where we started. “Enough.”
“Should I have been engaging these services for every passing diplomat? Perhaps I was not informed of the full scope of my duties.”
“Stop it.”
“You stop it,” he snaps. “You don’t even realize the harms you’re causing.”
I’ve never heard Quint snap before, and most definitely not at me. I draw myself up, rising to my feet. “Just who do you think you are speaking to?”
“I know very well who I’m speaking to. I know exactly who I’m speaking to, because I might be the only person who knows you better than your own brother.” He doesn’t back down, and I realize he’s well and truly angry. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes narrowed. “Because much like Prince Corrick, you seem determined to hide everything you want and everything you need, because you’re terrified of showing one shred of vulnerability to anyone, when really, it doesn’t matter. You suffer needlessly. Every one of us still hurts the same, still loves the same, still bleeds the same. Every one of us still dies the same. So you spend years of your life alone—years, Your Majesty, obviously—relying on the smallest moments of connection to survive, until tonight, when you finally relent and allow yourself a moment of happiness for one second.” His eyes are so fierce they could cut steel. “And then you cheapen it by calling it an act of pity, you insult me by treating me like a whore, and then you hurt me by calling it a mistake.”
All the breath has left my lungs. I’m staring at him. His words are wrapped up in anger and fury—but worse, they’re full of pain, too.
Right this instant, I am the one causing a betrayal.
“Forgive me for not leaving when you asked,” he says. He turns and goes for the door.
I’m away from the bed in a heartbeat, and I catch his arm just before he pulls the latch.
“Stop,” I say, and my voice is quiet, my grip gentle. This isn’t an order or a demand. “Please.”
His eyes are locked on the wood, but he stops. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
I cannot believe my night has gone so wrong in so many directions. “Quint. Please. Forgive me. I . . .” I hesitate. “I did not mean to offend you.”
“You did not offend me.”
The ice in his voice makes me flinch. “I did not mean to hurt you.”
He goes still.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I am. “I’m sorry.”
I feel like I should touch him, should soften this in some way, but a lifetime of burying emotion has my free hand fixed and rigid at my side. I don’t even know if he’d want me to. “I apologize. Truly. My intent was not to cause harm. And certainly not to treat you like—” I’m blushing again, because I can’t quite believe he said this last part. “To treat you like a whore.”
He’s looking at me now, but his expression is still cool, and I don’t know if I’ve been forgiven. I have no idea how to undo this, and maybe I shouldn’t want to. Maybe this is better. This night could be forgotten, locked away like so many other memories.
But I think of the way he fetched the quilt. Or made the tea. The way he’s been at my side for a million little moments.
The way I was broken and hurting and I tried to send him away—but he sat down and said no.
The way his hands felt against my skin.
I have to close my eyes and run a hand across my face. My voice is very soft. “Ah, but you are vexing,” I say. “Because I wanted to kiss you. I want to kiss you again.” My cheeks are surely on fire, and I have to keep my eyes closed, or I’ll never be able to say all this. “But, Quint, you must understand. I have seen you at court. You know everyone in the Royal Sector. You’re very pleasing to look at, and I doubt you have any shortage of suitors. My words—my words were more because I do not want you to feel . . . to feel obligated to me. To yield simply because I am your king. Just as I won’t bind a woman into some kind of marriage of convenience, I have no illusions that a man might not accept a romantic advance just because I wear a—”
“Oh, hush,” says Quint, and then he steps forward to kiss me.
My fingers automatically curl into his jacket, because his hands have landed on my face and I simply can’t bear the thought of him letting go. But my thoughts are my enemy, and as soon as I feel the brush of his tongue again, I pull away. “But—there is still the matter of pity—”
“Honestly,” he says. “Do you hear yourself? Shall I find you a mirror? I simply cannot decide if this is arrogance or stupidity, because you cannot in one breath claim to be afraid of someone yielding to your crown, and in the next worry that I’m only kissing you because I pity you.”
“I believe we’ve crossed far beyond the point where you’ve grown too bold.”
“I must be repaying some kind of penance, because I’ve been lusting after you for two years, yet on the day you finally kiss me, I am forced to have a ten-minute discussion each time we share breath.”
“Quint.” I stare at him in wonder. “You have not been lusting after me for two years.”
“You’re right.” He leans against the wall, conceding. “Lusting has been far longer than that. Falling for you has been the shorter time, but as I said, there was no indication my affections would be returned.” He straightens, affecting a stern disposition. “So. Very. Stoic.”
“Are you mocking me?” I feel like I’ve completely lost any sort of control of this conversation.
“Just a little.” He gestures toward the door. “Shall we call for Thorin?”
In spite of everything, that makes me smile.
Quint presses his hands over his heart. “That!” he says. “That smile is what I’ve been longing for.” His gaze turns a bit wicked. “Lusting after. Falling for.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He goes still. For an instant, I think I’ve wounded him again, and I regret it. But then he heaves an impressive sigh and says, “Oh, dear lord, fine, I will tell you. I can prove it. The dates? The dates in my book that you’re so curious about?”
I frown. “What do the dates have to do with any—”
He puts a hand over my mouth, and I’m shocked at the audacity until he traces a thumb along my lip, and it sends a pulse of warmth right to my core. “The first date,” he says, “was so long ago that it isn’t even in this book. I’d been working in my role for three months, and you were so stern, so severe—”
“So stoic,” I intone behind his hand.
“Well—yes. In truth, I was a bit afraid of you. When the former Palace Master retired, I was shocked when I was promoted from apprentice.”
I gently pull his hand down. “You have Corrick to thank for that.”
“I know that now. But then, it was so unexpected, and I was desperate to impress the king. You were so imposingly regal, so resplendent at court, so very magnificent on the throne—”
I flick my eyes skyward. “All right, that’s quite enough.”
“Oh, but you are!” he declares. “But you always seemed so angry. So cold. You never smiled, never laughed. I thought perhaps I’d be miserable in my duties. The first time I saw you smile, I thought, ‘I should write down the date because this will likely never happen again.’ So I did. Then it did happen again, a month later, and I wrote that down, too. And then again, six weeks after that. It became a . . . a habit. An offhand preoccupation. But because I was paying such close attention, I discovered that you weren’t angry and cold, but sad. You care about the people of Kandala so much. You miss your parents so very much. You love your brother so very, very much.” He presses his hand to the center of my chest. “Every time you smile, it’s a reminder of how much of that you lock away. And that’s what I was falling for.”
I put a hand over his and hold it there.
“No more talking,” I say roughly, because as usual, he’s spun me past irritation and captured me with devotion. If he keeps going, there’s a chance I’ll reveal any secret, swear to any oath, and offer him the entire kingdom.
I take hold of his lapel and pull him forward. His hands settle on my chest, and his eyes spark with light, but our mouths barely meet before I stop him again.
“I need to be clear about something else,” I whisper against his lips.
“Oh, I knew it,” he cries. “My penance, for certain.”
I burst out laughing. “Forgive me.” I draw back, suddenly shy again. “It’s unimportant.”
He smiles, but his eyes hold mine. “I’m teasing. Tell me.” His voice is more patient. “Please.”
“It really has been years,” I say. “And even then, that was all . . . ah, mostly boyish fumbling. Part of my reticence has always been that people have certain . . . certain expectations of their king. If . . . if you expect me to be well versed in . . . in . . . well, in anything—” I break off, my breath stuttering. One of his hands has settled on my waist, but the other is drifting along my skin again, tracing a line down the center of my chest. His eyes are so intent on mine, and his tongue slips out to wet his lips.
I have to choke out words. “Well. You spoke of arrogance, but I’m not, truly. Or . . . I don’t mean to be.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He moves in closer, then leans in to press a kiss to my neck. That hand at my waist tightens its grip. His other hand slips lower, his fingers tracing a slow circle around my navel.
My breathing turns rough. “I should be clear that my experience is—Ah, I don’t want you to find me lacking—”
His hand strokes firmly over the front of my trousers, pulling a gasp from my throat.
“Do I seem concerned?” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear.
He’s completely stolen my ability to speak. I shake my head fiercely.
“Good.” His fingers slip to the cord keeping my trousers knotted in place, and he gives it a tug. “As I said half an hour ago, these are filthy and damp, and you must be freezing.” His teeth graze the skin of my neck. “So let’s have them off.”
