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He stepped over a fallen tree just beside his small fire and sank down on the weathered trunk, settling me on his thigh with painstaking care. So close to the flames, wrapped in three layers of heavy blankets, the cold of night didn’t stand a chance … but the crackling flames reminded me of Lyn’s rage more than anything, and no snug blanket could soften the memory of the fire lashing at his face.

‘You told me to find out what I wanted,’ I ground out, wrestling myself around to look him in the eyes. He didn’t move, didn’t raise his hand to defend himself. ‘And just when I figured out I want to be able to tell them without causing an outrage, you decide to piss every single one of them off to the point there will definitely be an outrage? You managed to infuriateLyn, for the bloody gods’ sakes! And why? Just to let them all know you’re still capable of handling a knife? Well, they know now! I hope it was fucking worth it, you … you …’

I faltered, unable to find a word that would properly express the depth of his foolishness. Still there was nothing but that dull, bone-deep weariness on his face, his wings and shoulders slumping with a rare resignation.

‘Well?’ I said sharply.

He rubbed his ink-marred fingers over his temple, then sighed and signed,I’m sorry.

I blinked at him.

You’re right.He stared at the fire as he signed the words, his gestures heavy and drained.I’ve been behaving like an absolute idiot, and you have all the reason in the world to be furious. I’m sorry. I really am.

‘You … What?’

He shrugged.Maybe you should punch me in the face a couple of times. Would probably be good for both of us.

‘Punchyou?’ I bit out a baffled laugh, eyes darting over his face to find some trace of mockery in the hard lines of his features, any little clue that he was just playing a game with me. ‘Is this some joke? Are you hoping I’ll be so charmed by your dramatic grovelling that I’ll spontaneously forget about—’

Em,he interrupted, releasing a silent groan.Do I look like I’m joking?

‘No, but …’

He watched me – shadows in his eyes, lines around his lips – and didn’t sign another word.

‘No,’ I mumbled again, my throat suddenly dry. There was something about the closeness of his face – about the flutter of his long lashes and the slight parting of his lips – that made it infuriatingly hard to remember why I’d been planning to shout at him for the next fifteen minutes. ‘No, but you never give in this easily. Shouldn’t you … you know, defend yourself a bit? Tell me it’s all just as much Tared’s fault, scoff a little about alves and their tempers, remind me you don’t need them anyway and you don’t have any reason to muzzle yourself because of their opinion?’

His grimace told me that last remark had hit home.Would it help if I did?

‘No,’ I said and rolled my eyes, ‘of course it wouldn’t, but helpfulness has hardly been a critical factor in your decisions today, has it, Your Highness?’

A wry smile flitted around the corners of his lips.Are you sure you don’t want to punch me?

‘Youarejoking!’

I’m not.The amusement slid off his face.You’re just so absurdly beautiful when you’re angry and telling me to do better. It’s your eyes, I think. Could swear they get greener whenever you’re glowering at me.

I glowered at him a little harder.

Em …

‘I am not susceptible to clever seduction right now, Creon,’ I tersely informed him, well aware that there would have been no need to say it if it had been entirely true. ‘You’re not going to talk your way out of nearly killing my friends by complimenting my eyes, especially because you know very well they are ditchwater-coloured at best. And even if you could … well …’

I faltered, no longer sure where I’d been going with that sentence.

Another ghost of a smile brushed over his lips – a tired, mirthless smile, and yet it strangely reminded me of that glorious true laugh of his, of the way his amusement broke out of him when he chased me around his bedroom because I’d stolen his breakfast or when he tickled me until I was pleading. An expression as comforting as a warm bath, but a little more daring, a little more reckless – an expression like the drowsy excitement of one glass of wine too many.

I parted my lips. Some sort of syllable came out – not a word I could recognise, and certainly not a sentence in any shape or form.

His smile broadened a fraction as he repeated,And even if I could?

‘I’m going to punch you,’ I managed.

Please do, he signed.

I flung my arms around his neck and crashed my mouth into his instead.

It was easier to kiss him angrily than to keep my head clear, and kissing angrily was a far more satisfying way to make my point than reiterating my grievances. His lips were warm. Warm and firm and sinfully ravenous as they parted to receive me, welcoming my fear and fury, inviting the graze of my teeth and the sting of my nails.