Chapter 31
MAV
I’d never liked mornings, until now. Quinn was still in my arms, tucked against my chest like she was meant to be there.
Her breath feathered at my collarbone. One of her legs was tangled with mine, the curve of her hip pressed flush to me.
Every few minutes, her fingers shifted against my ribs, as though even in sleep, she didn’t want to let go.
I could’ve stayed this way forever.
A sharp knock on the door interrupted the quiet.
“Breakfast will be served in thirty minutes,” called a painfully shrill voice from the hall.
Quinn groaned. I chuckled and started to move, but she tugged me back down.
Her lips brushed the edge of my throat. “Surely you do not need the whole thirty minutes to get ready.”
“I figured you did,” I murmured, grinning into her hair.
She leaned back and glared at me, but there was no heat behind it—only sleep-fuzzed defiance.
“Of course you’re naturally stunning,” I added quickly, brushing my fingertips over the curve of her waist. “I only meant you’d need time to negotiate all those layers and laces.”
She sighed, head dropping back to my chest. “I fear you are correct.”
“And I need to go back to my room, because my previous shirt was relieved of its buttons.”
Her lips curved. “Tragic.”
“You’re not going to mourn the shirt?”
“I shall mourn the view,” she teased, then pushed the covers off and sat up—her chemise clinging in ways that made getting dressed feel like a sin.
“That’s not playing fair,” I groaned.
She threw a smile over her shoulder. “You began the game.”
And Saints help me, I hoped it would never end. Her parcel of gowns lay on the vanity chair. I stood and reached for one, handing it to her. She stepped into it, shimmied it up her body, and turned her back to me without a word, trusting. I worked the laces of the yellow dress—slow, careful pulls.
“Too tight?” I asked, my voice still low from sleep.
She shook her head, soft curls brushing her neck. “No. Just…right.”
I tied the final knot and let my hands fall to my sides.
She moved to the vanity and reached for the brush, but I got there first and held out my hand.
She hesitated, then gave it to me. Her hair slipped like silk through my fingers as I brushed through it.
I’d never done this before—not for anyone—but my hands knew how to be gentle with her.
“You are dangerous, you know,” she said, voice a little hazy.
I huffed a quiet laugh. “Me?”
“You make me forget what I am saying mid-sentence.”
“Still not hearing the danger.”
She smiled wider as we walked from her room to mine. It was smaller and plainer, but she didn’t seem to mind. I grabbed a clean shirt from my satchel, tugging it over my head before reaching for the shaving kit.
Quinn perched on the edge of the bed, watching. “You do not have to shave,” she said.
I glanced at her in the mirror. “No?”
She tilted her head, a grin tugging at her lips. “I prefer when you are a bit roughened.”
A slow smile pulled across my face. “Understood.”
If she liked me a little wild, she could have me exactly that way. She could have whatever version of me she wanted.
“Mav,” she began, voice timid. “I must ask you something, and I need you to speak truth.”
My heart went into double time. “All right…”
“What made you break the oath you took as a knight?”
I knew this conversation would have to happen at some point. The words stuck in my throat. Instead of meeting her gaze, I looked out the window.
“We were at war with Orteaux,” I began, the memory rising bitter and acrid as smoke.
“For generations, our kingdoms were bound by the Covenant of Benefaction—trade, protection, peace along the Merise Sea. Avandria grew greedy, kept raising tariffs until Orteaux could no longer pay without starving their own. When their queen refused the latest demand, we were sent to ‘restore order.’” I spat the words like poison.
“What followed was sanctioned plunder dressed up as a military campaign.”
My fists clenched tighter. “Border towns burned first. Anywhere our crown believed Orteaux might be holding troops or supplies.”
The rest came out rough, halting. “My general gave me a direct order to torch a building he swore was filled with enemy combatants. No questions. No hesitation.” My jaw tightened until it ached.
“I went in first, like I always did, and what I found…” Breath stuttered in my lungs.
“They weren’t soldiers. Only women and children. Starving. Terrified.”
Forcing a swallow down my throat, I continued. “I ran back out. Told him they were no threat to us. Begged him to stop. He called me weak, a coward. Said compassion was a luxury we couldn’t afford.”
Quinn’s hand twitched against her skirts, but she didn’t interrupt.
“I refused,” I said, my voice breaking. “Wouldn’t do it. But he lit the torch himself.”
The memory ripped through me, vivid and merciless. The screaming. The heat. The moment the roof groaned and gave way.
“I tried,” I rasped, shaking my head. “Saints help me, I tried. I went back in over and over again. I pulled out as many as I could before the whole place came crashing down. I can still smell the smoke every time I close my eyes.”
Finally, I forced myself to meet her gaze. The tears gathering there scared me in a way no battlefield ever had.
“That’s why I was stripped of my knighthood,” I said.
“Not because I misunderstood an order or failed to obey, but because I chose to openly defy him. They marked me as a traitor for helping the people they’d deemed enemies.
None of it mattered. I couldn’t be the kind of man who followed orders at the cost of his soul. ”
The words emptied me. My shoulders sagged, the fight gone from my posture.
“When I returned home, my commanding officer’s official report was that I had defected, harbored sympathies for the enemy, and was disloyal.
I left Verdelune, the only home I’d ever known, for Oronder—a city where no one knew my name or reputation. ”
Silence stretched between us. My throat burned.
Saints, what have I done? Why did I tell her all of it?
The air felt too thin, my pulse too loud in my ears. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to run or beg her to say something, anything, that would make the apprehension stop clawing at my ribs.
Quinn drew in a sharp breath, tears spilling over and down her cheeks. “The great stain on your name,” she whispered, “the shame you have carried all this time…is that you refused to commit a monstrous act?”
I blinked at her, stunned. “Quinn, I—”
She interrupted me with a gentle kiss.
“If that is what breaking an oath looks like, abandon every vow.” She reached up and held my face in her hands. “Break every oath you ever take if it means choosing what is right over what is easy.”
My breath went ragged, my chest too tight to hold everything I felt. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple,” she said. “You saved them. You saved yourself. There is no shame in this, Mav. Only honor.”
I hadn’t realized my hands were shaking until I covered hers, trapping her touch against my face. Worried I might lose it if I didn’t hold on.
“I don’t know why you look at me that way,” I said hoarsely. “You deserve so much better than…me. I’m disgraced, Quinn. I’ve no place in polite society, no wealth to my name. I’ll spend the rest of my days chopping wood to keep a roof over my head—”
“Enough,” she interrupted, her voice quiet but stern. “Firstly, you are a good man, and you deserve far more than what you settle for.” Mischief curved her lips. “Secondly…watching you chop wood has quickly become one of my favorite pastimes.”
A surprised laugh escaped me before I could stop it. She started to pull her hands away, but I kept hold of them, my heart beating hard enough that I was certain she could feel it.
“Quinn, I…” The rest of the sentence tangled somewhere behind my ribs.
She lifted those beautiful, impossibly blue eyes to mine. “Yes?”
Although every part of me ached to tell her what she meant to me, I bit it back. There was too much at stake—too much depending on her focus—to risk distracting her now.
“We should head to breakfast.”
The moment passed. I told myself it was better this way—silence was safer than rejection, safer than hope. Silence could shield what words might shatter. As she passed through the door I held open for her, a cold fog of certainty settled over me.
If I never fully gave her my heart, there was less chance of her breaking it.
The rest of our group waited near the base of the guest tower stairs.
Branrir gave us a slow once-over, one brow raised.
Thistle grinned as though she’d won a bet.
Vesper rolled his eyes from Thistle’s shoulder.
Quinn walked beside me, and I was tempted to take her hand, but I wasn’t sure how forward I could be in public.
A servant emerged from a side door. “This way, if you please.”
We followed the servant into yet another corridor. This one was narrower, but still lined wall-to-wall with more tributes to Edric’s ego.
Thistle nudged Branrir with her elbow, voice pitched low. “What do you suppose they serve for breakfast in a place like this?”
“I’d wager eggs poached in the king’s reflection,” I muttered. “Or fruit carved into the shape of his jawline.”
Vesper snorted, tail flicking. “Whatever we’re having, I hope it drowns out the scent of his awful cologne. My nostrils are burning just thinking about it.”
Branrir, ever the practical one, remained unshaken. “I imagine breakfast will be indulgent, but not incomprehensible.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m preparing for everything to be the breakfast version of this corridor.”
The others chuckled softly, but beneath the humor, the tether throbbed with apprehension.
The doors groaned open.
The breakfast hall matched the absurdity of the rest of the castle.