“She was.”

It’s no wonder he wants nothing to do with magic. It’s no wonder Rhen fears it so deeply. The sorrow hangs over this room as heavily as the exhaustion. “It was not the magic that made her terrible, Grey.”

He runs a hand over his face, and for the barest moment, I see a flicker of vulnerability in his expression. He hides it well, under this veneer of the terrifying guardsman, but he’s hardly older than I am. We’re both trapped by duty and circumstance, both trying to do what we can to protect our people.

“What will you do when we reach the mountain pass?” I say to him.

He raises his eyebrows in question.

“Will you accompany me into Syhl Shallow?”

When I first offered this solution, my goals were squarely in order: to prove to my mother that I can be as effective as my sister, in my own way. I would bring the heir to Emberfall right up to the steps of the palace, and for once, I would be the lauded sister. But now, after spending days in the woods with this man, I am unsure what answer I am hoping for.

At Nolla Verin’s side, he would be great. I have no doubt. He has a streak of vicious practicality that would match hers, I think. I like his streak of gentle vulnerability so much more. If he stands with my sister, I doubt I’ll ever see it again.

Grey studies me. “After what has happened here … I cannot stay in Emberfall.”

The words jab at my heart, and I straighten, chasing the pain away. “My mother is prepared to assist you in claiming your throne.”

“She will be disappointed.”

“She will be very convincing.”

His gaze sharpens. “What does that mean?”

“She will offer you silver. Any lands of your choosing. Military force. Command of her entire army, if you wish it. She is very driven to claim access to the waterways of Emberfall.” I pause. “She will offer you my sister—if Nolla Verin does not offer herself first.”

“None of those things will sway me, Lia Mara.”

I think of that moment in the woods when the night was so quiet around us and his thumb traced across my lip. Stupid man.

“My sister is very beautiful,” I say. “You should not refuse blindly.”

His eyes are dark and intent on mine. “I am not refusing blindly.”

My cheeks warm, and I look away. My eyes skip across his broad shoulders, down to the corded muscles of his forearms. I caught glimpses of him in battle, when the soldiers and townspeople clashed, and for the first time, I understand why Rhen’s guards had to drag him into the castle courtyard in chains.

It must have cost him something great to allow that to be done to him.

When I lift my gaze, Grey is watching me, and my blush deepens.

“Forgive me,” I say.

His eyes spark with something like mischief, but a little darker, a little warmer. “If you must ask for forgiveness, then I should as well.” He glances away then, a stain of pink on his cheeks. “Now you see why I have no head for wine, to be so forward without it.”

The great warrior, blushing over a bit of wordplay. I smile—but my own exhaustion catches up with me, and I have to stifle a yawn.

“You should sleep,” Grey says softly.

I do not want to sleep. Every day that passes will bring us closer to Mother’s palace, and an end to … whatever is between us.

Because of that looming end, I cannot ask him to stay.

I don’t know if he’s misreading my silence, but he rises from the chair and deftly buckles his sword into place. “I will leave you to your rest,” he says.

He’s by the door when I say, “Grey?”

“My lady?”

He’s never called me that, and it sends a spark through me. I know it is a simple mark of respect, but now, between us, it feels intensely personal. My lady.

I stop in front of him. The door is open, so I speak softly. “I have not yet thanked you for saving my life.”

His voice is equally quiet. “You saved yourself.”

My cheeks warm again. “Do you think the soldiers will return?”

“I do. And soon.”

I shiver, thinking of that man’s blade against my throat. When I swallow, I can feel the sting and the burn. I press a hand to my neck involuntarily.

Grey’s eyes are heavy and dark in the shadowed doorway. “I will guard your door.”

“I should not trouble you to—”

“I may not want to be king, but I know how to be a guard.” He brushes a finger along my jaw. “Fear not. No one will touch you again.”

Now I shiver for an entirely different reason.

I have so many things I want to say—so many things I don’t know how to say.

Before I can figure any of it out, Grey reaches for the door handle and pulls it closed between us.

CHAPTER THIRTY

GREY

We’re given breakfast at daybreak, so much food that we can hardly eat half. The finest horses the town has to offer wait to carry us wherever we want to go. Everyone we encounter is deferential. Ladies curtsy and men bow when we pass, and we leave a trail of whispers in our wake.

All of it makes me decidedly uncomfortable. I am nothing to these people. I am fleeing Emberfall, not saving it. Every time someone calls me Your Highness, I flinch and expect to see Rhen.

I’m tired and irritable by the time we’re on horseback, and I’m not the only one. Lack of sleep has done no one any good, but if Dustan and his men plan to circle back, we need to be quick and we need to be cautious. We gallop straight west from Blind Hollow, though it will add half a day of travel to the mountain pass. The heat of the sun presses down, but we ride on, desperate to get some distance between us and the town. Iisak soars high above, until he looks less like a creature out of a fairy tale, and more like a black hawk riding an air current.

When the sun blazes directly overhead, I slow my horse to a walk, and the others follow suit. The animal’s neck and flanks are damp with sweat, so I turn into the tree line to head for the creek. When I dismount and give the horse its head, its muzzle plunges into the icy water.

“We will rest for half an hour,” I say. I crouch on the bank and run a handful of water over the back of my neck.

Nearby, Tycho all but falls to his knees on the muddy bank. His cheeks are red, and he splashes water over his head before drinking it. A few yards downstream, Lia Mara is doing the same. I watch the water trickle over her neck, the end of her braid trailing in the water. Her cheeks are pink, too, tendrils of hair stuck to her forehead.

“Grey.”

I straighten to find Jacob beside me. His shirt is damp, his dark hair thick with sweat. His eyes are worn and irritated. “Half an hour?” he demands.

“We should hardly stop that long.”

“Everyone is exhausted. We got like two hours’ sleep, and we’ve been riding hard all morning.” He pauses, his voice lowering. “Maybe the others won’t say anything to you, but I will.”

He might have saved my life last night, but I hold no illusions about it being done for my benefit. He needs me to get him home—and he’s been needling me since the morning I woke chained in the wagon. I take a step, closing the distance between us. My voice is equally low. “If you can’t manage the pace, stay behind.”