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“And…?”

Of course that wouldn’t be enough. He met her gaze, forcing his features calm. “That was a long time ago.”

Josephine raised a brow. “And yet it clearly still affects one of my elders.”

“Oh, so you’ve decided she’s one ofyourelders?”

“I am in the process of deciding, Prince of Weald, and I would like to know exactly what I’m walking into, or if thishistoryof yours is going to cause problems for me as we proceed.”

Alder stared at her. He couldn’t seem to stop staring, and he suddenly remembered she was waiting for an answer.

“Well…?” she pressed like any respectable tyrant.

Alder groaned. He dragged a hand over his face and rubbed his temple.

“Is it really so bad?” she asked, somewhat soberly.

“It depends on which of us you ask…” he murmured.

“Sorry?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Nothing. Just…” Alder had nevernotwanted to admit the truth more in his entire life. “The crux of the matter is that I went along with it for a while, only to appease my mother, though I had no intention of following through or settling down. Celia, however, had given me her heart?—”

“Is thatallshe gave you?”

Alder winced as he said, “No.”

How Alder hated the quiet that followed.

“I see,” Josephine said at last in an irritatingly neutral tone. “Is this an example of the terms in which you left Weald for the war?”

Alder pressed his lips so firmly together that his teeth carved into the backs of them. “Yes.”

Josephine regarded him a long moment, those damnable thoughts hidden, and then she sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…Your past is none of my business, but it does affect my present.”

Alder laughed darkly. “It affects mine too.”

Her expression turned curious.

“Celia will never forgive me,” he continued. “I’ve no false notion that she will, but she loves her kingdom and her kin, and I know she’ll put her hatred toward me aside if it means liberating her people. She won’t be an issue for you.” Except for potentially awkward interchanges, especially if she suspected how Alder felt about Josephine, but of course he kept this to himself.

They stood quietly again, and for the first time in Alder’s life, he found himself rendered speechless. He knew he had no right to want or expect anything more from Josephine, and if he’d been a gentleman, he would have excused himself. He would give her space to rest, space from him.

“I have something for you,” he said instead, reaching into his back pocket to retrieve a little leather-bound book. “I found this in Abecka’s office while we were sorting through her things and thought you might like to have it. And yes, before you ask, Priestess Nistarra already gave me permission.”

Josephine’s guard fell, and she appraised the little book with open wonder. “What is it?”

“A book of old kith stories and poetry. It belongs to your grandfather.”

Josephine stared at the book. She didn’t appear to be breathing. Alder flipped open to the page at the beginning that said, in elementary script, “Property of Jakobián Alistair Risorro Molto the Third,” like a child still coming to terms with his full name.

A little gasp escaped her as she took the book from Alder’s hands. Her fingers brushed his, and the sensation jolted right through his body. She flipped through the pages, poring over all the script that her grandfather had scribbled into the margins. “Oh, sacred saints…” she whispered with a joy that bathed him in her sunlight.

“There used to be a number of these in circulation,” Alder said quietly, watching her. “I can’t remember the last time I saw one.”

“Thank you for this,” she said in a trembling voice, and she looked up at Alder as if he had just given her the world.

Right then, he wanted to.