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I couldn’t help myself. I glanced toward the closed room, aching, missing.

“Aire is not in there anymore,” Briar said.

“I’m that obvious?” I asked.

“It’s my duty to know my people. It’s also my pleasure.”

“Where is he?”

Her lips curved into a sober but genial smile. “Take a turn with me.”

Ten minutes later, we wandered through the orchard, the scene of last night’s calamity. The fragrance of sweet fruit wafted around us, while a bodyguard strolled a few feet behind.

The old Aspen would have basked in this glory and then bragged about it for months. Now I just concentrated on putting one booted foot in front of the other.

For starters, chit-chat. She asked me about the compact axes they’d confiscated after Lyrik was injured. As I told her about designing weapons, my newfound muscles relaxed. We ambled around trunks and bushels, the breeze rustling our clothes.

Would I ever get used to these crazy goosebumps? Did I want to?

Princess Briar remained quiet. She seemed to ration her thoughts and choose her words mindfully.

The princess told me that she and Poet would speak to the queen about a tamer form of punishment. If my theory about the treehouse colony proved correct, it would boost my chances as well. So would Nicu’s endorsement.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” I said. “About Nicu.”

Her chest rose and fell. “Poet and I still think of him as our little boy springing into leaf beds—as well as into danger. We have a history of protecting him from a world of branded fools while managing his ailments. We’ve grown too used to that job, I’m afraid. When it comes to him, our love knows no restraint.

“But Nicu is grown and responsible for the choices he’s able to make. That is his right. We owe it to him. If his disappearance has made anything plain to us, it’s that. So please don’t apologize.”

Her pointed features loosened with amusement. “It’s no wonder, he inherited rebellion from us, in his own wonderful way.”

“He’s my friend.”

“He deserves thousands of those.” She shrugged. “That isn’t to say Mother and I won’t rake Sir Aire over the coals for breaching our trust.”

I must have looked freakish, because she touched my shoulder. “We shall be fair. Being our most loyal and credible knight means the defiance cut deeper, however we know he joined Nicu out of love—and to keep him safe. Aire’s devotion is everlasting, however unlikely it might seem.”

She gave me an inquiring look. I recalled her empathy in the throne room when I’d spilled my heart onto the floor in front of everyone. Maybe she’d known that feeling, having her love on display at the worst possible time.

I thought of her and the jester, how often they’d reached for each other in the short time I’d known them—in the treehouse colony, in the throne room, in the sitting room. Covert touches, mindless touches, intentional touches, bold touches.

That was love.

I tucked a crimped lock behind my ear. “I have no clue what Aire feels.”

“I think you do.”

“Okay, why are you being so nice to me?”

Yep. I wanted to smack my own bitchy, improper self. I fumbled to ask her pardon, because I was grateful to her, but it took more than a candid question to faze this woman.

She stopped and faced me. “I know about the lies on your tongue, but I don’t sense villainy in your heart. I’ve witnessed the cruelest, coldest of leaders change their ways. I know what redemption looks like. And like that same example, perhaps we might find a truce and become unexpected friends—once I’ve sufficiently penalized you.”

We chuckled in spite of ourselves. When the mirth ebbed, she said, “Stealing the acorn was wrong, but I think you know that now. I confess, I would have done the same for my mother—for anyone I love.

“Most people would, including Aire. He has a noble soul. He wears his emotions so freely, and he feels so acutely that betrayal strikes far worse—but only because he cares that much. I’m certain he understands your reasons. If you doubt it, why not ask him now?”

My head snapped toward her. Following her gaze, my pulse jumped.