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“Reginald.” A hand slapped down between his shoulder blades, hard. “Come on. Pull yourself together, man.” That was Connor, yes, but all the teasing had bled out of his voice. He sounded commanding, now, like the generals Reggie had served under in the war. Oddly, it helped.

He squeezed his eyes shut, dropped his face into his hands, and tried to get his breath back.

There is no rope. The mantra had become habitual, by now. There is no rope and you’re not dead. You lived. You lived, you lived, you got away.

The hand stayed, rubbing soothing circles across the top of his spine, and that helped, too. Reggie’s throat slowly opened back up; his breaths came easier.

The camp moved around them, distant murmurs and good-natured calls, but it all seemed distant, muted. The heat of the fire pressed close, and Reggie felt sweat slide down his spine, right beneath Connor’s hand. It had been months since anyone besides his mother or valet had touched him, and even then, he’d flinched away. His skin twitched now, an all over shudder, like a horse with flies.

Connor’s movements stilled. “I know you’re always on about me needing to wash my hair,” he joked, “but I didn’t think I was that repulsive.”

“Don’t,” Reggie croaked out, lifting a hand. “Just…don’t.”

Connor’s hand withdrew. “Oh,” he said, softly, like he’d realized something.

Reggie dragged his head up – exhausted, suddenly – and glared at him the best he could. He wanted to show his teeth, felt like an animal backed into a corner.

But Connor was undeterred. His face had gone gentle, the fire carving shadows beneath his eyes, and in the hollows of his cheeks. He looked like an entirely different person – he looked pitying, and that was terrible. “The Sels are renowned for their cruelty. They hanged you, yeah…but that wasn’t all they did, was it?”

“Shut up,” Reggie hissed, and turned his face away.

Connor said, “A pretty golden lordling falls in their laps, they’re going to have a bit of fun before they break out the noose, yeah?”

Reggie wanted to storm off, but knew his legs wouldn’t hold him.

“How many were there?”

Swallowing hurt, the memory of the rope digging into his Adam’s apple. “I lost count.” His eyes stung. “Stop talking to me. I hate you.”

But Connor, the bastard, murmured, “No, no, you’re all right,” looped an arm around his shoulders and dragged him into the warmth and strength of his side.

Reggie tensed…but Connor did nothing but hold him, and he was so tired, his head was starting to throb, and it wasn’t long before he subsided.

If the firelight caught the glimmer of tears on his cheeks, Connor was tactful enough not to mention them.