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He looked at Tarley, awareness hitting him in the chest. “My father thinks that–” he said and offered her a grin that he knew he didn’t feel. Pulling away, he moved to right the camp, maybe understanding her default of being busy.

“What do you mean?”

The fire had died to coals. They stood facing one another in the dark, and Lachlan knew he couldn’t tell her everything, but he trusted her enough to share the truth that mattered. “My father arranged my marriage without asking my permission.”

“You ran away?”

“You could say that–” he hedged.

“But–”

“He didn’t trust me enough to ask me.”

“That doesn’t mean anything about whether you’re useful or not.”

“What if I deserved it? His mistrust because of who I was.”

She paused, considering, if that was what her silence meant. “Are you that same man?”

“It would be hard to nearly die and remain the same, I think.”

He wondered if she’d smiled, because her shadow shifted, her head tilting down, which she often did when she was fighting one. She grabbed hold of his hand and wrapped her arm around his as they walked toward the tent. “I suppose the only thing to do, then, is live your second chance different.”

She released her hold on him and ducked into the tent. Lachlan followed, and they moved through their routine—undressing and slipping between the blankets, pressing against one another for warmth— and she chattered, which he’d learned she did sometimes when she was uncomfortable or nervous.

The stillness of the night infiltrated the tent as Lachlan laid there, pondering the night’s events, how raw and exposed he felt.

Tarley was right. He had a second chance, and perhaps he hadn’t deserved one, but she had made sure he had one. That meant rising to the challenge to be the man his father needed him to be. A man worthy to be the king of Jast.

“Are you going to tell me where you’re really from?” Tarley asked, cutting into the silence.

“Someday,” he said, tightening his arms around her. “In the meantime, I prefer a bit of mystery.”

“Even if I’m putting myself in danger by helping you?”

He sobered, recalling the moment he’d seen Gan in the camp, the moment Gan had stared at her like she was something to take, and the subsequent thought that still startled Lachlan.Mine.“Trust this, Tarley, I will protect you with my life.”

13

Thoughts swirled in Tarley’s brain as she drew the blanket tighter around her. The kiss. The awful events with Gan. The kiss. Lachlan’s vow to protect her. The kiss. It was why she was now laying outside in the loam staring up at the starry sky instead of curled up with him. She shivered but didn’t get up to return to the tent. Not yet.

It had been a day since they’d kissed, a day since he’d shared about feeling useless. Things were slightly strained between them. Ollie’s teasing had tapered off to barely a trickle, as if he were in his thoughts.

Her body felt coiled and ready to spring when he was near. Every time she looked at him, she couldn’t keep her gaze from his mouth, the kiss on her mind. Oh stars, that kiss. The heat of it. The fear of the moment and extended longing, a powerful elixir. She wanted to kiss him again, except she reminded herself Ollie wasn’t being completely honest with her, and she didn’t know how to reconcile that with her sensibilities.

All his incongruencies, added one upon another, screamed she needed to pay attention. Like his boots. Like not knowing about collectors and hunters. Like his accent. Like his manners, that were impeccable. Granted her father and brother weren’t disgusting like some of the men she’d served at the inn. Her mother wouldn’t have tolerated it, having taught all her children to have manners befitting “a prince and princesses.” Like he used words to assuage, charm, and cajole. She just couldn’t put all the pieces of the riddle together to solve it.

That kiss, though. She’d felt it in the marrow of her bones as if a magical spell had been cast between them, melting her insides so all she could feel was him and the sensations he created within her.

Yes, she would kiss him again regardless of not knowing everything about him, replaying that moment when he’d kissed her over and over in her mind.

But it was also why she’d retreated from their tented cocoon to find perspective in the stars. She shivered, looking up at the sky through the treetops, their dark outline framing the sky. She wasn’t being wise, out in the cold of the night with the remnant of Gan’s appearance a loud echo, but after two more nights laying with Ollie thinking about that kiss and listening until his breathing evened out with sleep, her own evaded her. Rather than disturb him, she got up. She knew Ollie would have insisted on remaining together, especially after what happened with Gan, and she wouldn’t have blamed him, but he needed his sleep to continue healing for energy to return to Sevens.

Tarley would be lying to herself if she said she was looking forward to going back. Days ago, she’d thought that would be the answer to her lack of focus, but somewhere between then and now, there’d been a shift in her wants when it came to Ollie.

She’d known he was handsome when she’d found him, and in the adrenalin of trying to save him, hadn’t spent time thinking about it. Now, though, after allowing herself the luxury of getting to know him despite her best efforts to keep him at arm’s length, she was tired of trying. Her own thoughts made her blush, imagining his hands on her, his mouth. And though she didn’t have identifiable feelings for him—unless one counted frustration—she was certainly attracted to him. He made her smile—or want to. They talked and worked together. He was kind and respectful.

Allowing her mind or her body to take her toward experiencing the physical aspects people shared terrified her. That loss of control frightened her. But that kiss. Ollie had taken it, only it hadn’t been as if he’d stolen from her. She’d felt as if maybe she hadn’t been the only one at a loss. That he’d given as much as he’d taken. She’d enjoyed it.