20. Chapter 20
Lunette
As I walked back to the table, my legs betrayed me, and I collapsed onto the chair.
My mind went blank in the way irrevocably broken things tend to become empty.
I sat there, barely breathing as soldiers from Darreth hammered the final nails into the doorframe while others worked on attaching hastily crafted shingles to the roof.
Each strike was a rancorous punctuation mark on the choice I’d made and now couldn’t undo.
I counted every thud. Each one was an opportunity I could’ve called out for him to wait.
For a few ragged breaths, I allowed myself to imagine doing it.
Scrambling to my feet, throwing open the half-mended door and calling his name in a voice that broke.
I imagined his head turning. His shadows stilling.
That careful, wounded mask he’d worn would crumble and I would be in his arms again.
But my body remained where it was, frozen and lifeless, while the final nails drove themselves between the life I had chosen to stay in and the one I had just rejected.
The rough clearing of a throat roused me from my dissociation. “Lady Lunette,” Nisien said, voice surprisingly deferential.
The golden prince stood just outside the threshold, helmet tucked beneath his arm, eyes holding mine with understanding and far too much sympathy.
He was handsome up close—too handsome to be covered in mail that looked like it had seen true battle.
The new door creaked when he pushed it open further, the hinges still stiff from fresh hanging.
Without saying a word, his gauntleted hands held out a leather pouch and a handwritten note stacked on top of writing supplies.
Payment.
I stood on shaky legs and took the stack.
Muffled inside the pouch, the coins clinked dully against one another with the brisk, indifferent cheerfulness of commerce.
I felt dirtier the longer I held them. It was habit that made me open my hand, but cowardice that made me keep it full.
The exact same cowardice that had kept me pinned to the floorboards when every instinct screamed at me to run outside, to throw pride away, and see if I could still leave with Owain.
For the first time, endurance felt less like virtue, and more like a prison I had locked myself in.
The thought was too large, too dangerous to examine closely.
If I looked at it directly, I’d have to examine the list of lies I told myself, and right now, they were the only things keeping me standing.
When Nisien spoke, all of the brightness that had been in his voice before faded.
“The pouch also holds one of Isca’s seals,” he said, the words falling gently into the silence. “She would be here now to tell you herself if we didn’t have to move her wagon out to move our troops. If you can, she wants you to write to her. The Crown will pay the postage.”
Duty complete, I expected to see Nisien’s shoulders relax as his boots hurried away across the wooden floorboards, but the prince took a measured breath instead. Then said, “I look forward to getting to know you better when we next meet.”
First, a queen had spoken to me as though my thoughts and feelings mattered. She’d even provided me with costly paper for our correspondence. Now a prince was acting as though my continued presence in his life was simply a matter of when, not whether.
I stared at him blankly to cover the hysterical laughter raging inside my head. Did he not see the holes in my roof or the state of my clothing? This prince seemed truly convinced I’d cross paths with him again.
But he didn’t fidget or quail under my stare. No. Prince Nisien smirked. “Go easy on Owain. He’s…a bit of an idiot, but one who always means well.”
I already knew the latter…which was precisely the problem boiling inside me.
Nisien’s charming demeanor couldn’t hide the intense probing of his blue eyes. It felt like he could see past my skin, past the armor of confidence I wore. He gave a single nod before his face relaxed into a look of shared sorrow. “Be well, Lady Lunette.”
I looked away first. I’d thought it would be easier to bear pity from someone who didn’t know me, but his gentle way with me proved me wrong.
The prince of Darreth turned and left my ramshackle cabin without another word.
I shut the door after him and rested my forehead against the wood. The new door smelled of raw wood and wagon tar. It didn’t squeak like the old one.
Outside, a horse gave a low, impatient snort. Leather creaked. Someone laughed, quickly hushed. I pressed my forehead harder to the door until the grain bit into my skin, as if pain might make me sensible.
I told myself not to listen—to busy my thoughts, to count my breaths, to do anything but strain for the sound of familiar footfalls.
But I only heard the retreating sounds of men talking to one another, horses snorting and stamping—sounds that had nothing to do with my life and everything to do with the man I’d just pushed out of it.
Go after him, some reckless part of me whispered.
My hand lifted to the latch. Then fell.
The hoofbeats began a few moments later. I counted those too, forehead still pressed to the door.
Eventually all went quiet in the clearing. Around me, the cabin was still and lifeless. The oppressive hush pressed in until there was nothing left but the sound of the wind rustling the roof. I turned to look at my cold, empty home.
He’s gone.
A soft scuttling broke the deafening silence.
Muffin crept out from wherever he’d hidden himself, claws scratching softly against the floor, green eyes wary.
His chir was tentative as he scurried toward me.
I dropped the coin sack and scooped him up before he could change his mind, burying my face in the warm, soft, and familiar fur at his neck.
He still smelled faintly of oakmoss, cedar, and dark tea—of Owain, because Muffin had sidled up to him seeking his affection at every opportunity.
The scent gave him back to me.
Muffin wriggled at my squeeze. At first, he was indignant then he twisted his narrow head to lick at my face with devoted determination.
That was when I broke—quietly at first, as though there was any chance I might still stop myself.
But then the sound that tore out of me was ugly and unrestrained—not something I’d ever want witnessed.
With a squeak of disapproval, Muffin began licking with renewed vigor, his tiny claws scratching against my collarbone, trying to make the tears go away.
The pile of armor is gone.
Such a ridiculous thing to notice. And yet my knees gave out all the same. I stumbled back and collapsed onto the bed with a sob.
The space it had occupied yawned empty in the corner. Bare floorboards stared back at me where artisan steel had once been stacked. I didn’t look away until my chest hurt from heaving. I hated how much room there was when I lay down, hated how the mattress didn’t dip beside me.
I hadn’t even known I’d gotten used to the weight of him. Apparently, my body had made notes my mind hadn’t.
I spent the evening like that—still in my clothes, having cried myself empty with Muffin nestled against my throat.
Tomorrow, I would check the wards. That would be the first thing, and then there would be another thing after that. There was always another thing. A fever. A roof. A birth. A broken bone.
I would be useful again by morning. It had to be enough. Work, endurance—it was all I had now.
Tomorrow would be better.
It had to be.