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Rook mumbled a distracted, “Hm?” and peered over his shoulder. “Oh, hm. Yes.” He grabbed the clothes and blindly handed them over.

I unfurled the clothes and scowled. “What’s this?” I held a slinky olive gown. The quality of the fabric—a soft silk—was stunning. I savoured it between my fingers, but the cut—there was no modesty in it. “You couldn’t find trousers?”

“I don’t know.” Rook turned so I saw the side of his face. “I just grabbed whatever I could from the first room I came to.”

His smirk suggested otherwise.

I brought the silk to my cheek. I’d only ever heard stories of the silk farmers from far away and the ladies who wore the most intricate gowns. In a million lifetimes, I never thought I’d wear a silk gown.

“Well, it’s hideous,” I lied.

Rook muttered something about “ungrateful” and crossed his arms. As I admired the way Rook’s shoulders looked from behind, I kept coming back to one thought: He’d saved my life.

A reasonable part of me knew it was a selfish thing.

Rook was lonely, and if I were gone, he would be alone once more.

But again, my thoughts circled back to… he saved my life.

“It’s a good thing you aren’t afraid of the water,” I said, wiggling the dress over my hips. “Or else I’d be cold and dead by now.” The dress clung to me like a second skin, and I felt dreadfully exposed.

“I’m terrified of that pond,” Rook admitted.

“You are?”

The back of his head bobbed. “Can’t swim to save my life.” I slid a pair of slippers on; they were so soft. Rook asked, “Are you clothed?”

“Mhm.”

Rook turned around. He admired me and I fidgeted, smoothing the dress.

Why was I uncomfortable now, when only moments ago I’d been naked and brave?

Hoping to divert Rook’s attention, I said, “Thank you…for saving me.” My diversion didn’t work at all.

While Rook nodded his welcome, he would not—perhaps could not —look away.

Why did my cheeks burn so?

Rook pushed a hand through his hair. Unbound from all the scuffling, it fell in a dark mess around his face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way.”

Wary of his answer, I asked, “What way?”

“Afraid.”

Silence settled between us. Though I’d been collecting Rook’s weaknesses like fireflies in a tiny jar, this admission struck me.

I wished I might unhear it. Certainly, my mind could.

But my heart swallowed it whole, devoured the words and their intention.

Rook stepped closer. His eyes flitted to my lips, and he murmured, “Your lips are still blue.”

Rook’s lips were perfect, supple things…

The fire popped, and we tensed. Rook laughed anxiously and rubbed my arms. “May I?” He leaned forward, and I didn’t resist as he wrapped around me.

His hand nestled at the crook of my neck and held me.

As if I couldn’t stop them, my arms curled around Rook’s waist.

Rook’s chin settled in my hair.

Tread carefully , my mind warned. Play your part too well, and he may never let you leave this place. I ignored the warning, instead listening to Rook’s fluttering heartbeats. I closed my eyes and was reminded of beating wings, of a bird taking flight.

Tread carefully.

In Rook’s arms, it didn’t take long for me to warm.

***

“Would you like me to draw you a bath?”

“No.” I hiked up my hem and continued up the stairs. “We should get back to reading.”

“Are you sure?” Rook’s voice floated after me. “I don’t want you to push yourself. You’ve had a challenging day.”

“I just got wet!” I cried. “I’m perfectly fine!”

“The Lady of the Lake nearly killed you,” Rook mumbled.

I ignored him and climbed into the foyer.

Rook rushed around, blocking my path. “Would you like to take another walk? We must keep your temperature up; I don’t want you to catch a cold.

” I gave Rook a stare I usually reserved for Lottie.

He conceded and stepped aside. Continuing into the library, I wondered:

Why was Rook so intent on delaying our lessons?

At the writing desk, I went to pull my chair back, but Rook was there, already sliding it from beneath the desk. He motioned for me to sit, and after a wary glance, I did. Rook took his place across from me. A book lay between us; I opened it and pushed it toward him.

Pushing it back, Rook said, “Can you read to me?”

“No. I want you to try.”

“Please,” Rook said. “Read to me.” There was something…different about his manner. Though I couldn’t put my finger on it, I felt it in my stomach. “I like hearing you,” he encouraged. “It helps me learn.”

“Fine.” Raising one finger, I said, “A single page. Then you’re taking over.

” I picked up the book, a historical tale from hundreds of years ago, and cleared my throat.

“Long ago, there was a corrupt queen who held dominion over her people, and her daughter.” Above the book, I caught sight of Rook.

His chin rested in his palm, staring at me.

Doing my best to ignore him, I backtracked.

“And her d-daughter,” I stuttered, unable to focus.

I closed the book on my thumb and said, “Can you stop looking at me?”

Rook laughed and waved at the room. “Where else would you have me look?”

“I don’t care,” I mumbled and reopened the book. As I started reading again, Rook’s gaze drifted to the windows. It became very clear that, though Rook’s body was present, his mind was elsewhere. “Rook,” I started. “Are you listening?”

“Are you hungry?” he deflected.

“No—Rook!” I snapped. “Can you focus?”

Rook’s eyes adopted a mischievous squint. He leapt up and said, “I must do laundry.”

“You what?!”

“Laundry. Did you see your clothes? We must clean the pond scum. If it sets, you’ll never get it out.” Rook headed toward the door. I stared after him, jaw slack. “I could use your help,” he called.

***

Just off the pond, a stream trickled through the ancient trees of the castle wood.

Beneath the canopy, amongst the bird song and hum of insects, I leaned against a proud oak.

Though the stream was shallow, I watched the banks, afraid to be snatched again.

A pile of discarded clothing lay next to Rook, where he bent over a washboard at the edge of the stream.

Tearing off his own shirt, he tossed it in the water and dragged the white flannel along the board.

I tried not to stare; I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, though it was difficult not to track his arms as they drew up and down the washboard.

“You could help,” Rook called.

Being the eldest, and a seamstress, I was quite accustomed to washing clothes. Content to observe Rook at the task, I picked a fleck of bark from my dress and replied, “I’d hate to ruin this lovely gown. I’ll just watch, thank you.”

Rook’s eyes flicked from the washboard to me.

“Besides, you’re the obedient servant,” I said, mocking the phrase he’d used earlier. “And you’re doing such a good job.” Rook scoffed, though he then continued with a renewed vigor, and I laughed when he accidentally tore a sleeve from his shirt. Hearing me, Rook couldn’t help but chuckle too.

“How’s your wound?” I asked quickly, pointing at the stitches on Rook’s side. “Looks like it’s healing well.”

Rook raised his arm and examined the wound. He frowned and grunted in a disagreeing way.

He was quiet after that.

Once finished, Rook walked to the edge of the trees, where he hung the clothes along a string to dry. When the last stocking was hung, Rook sat and leaned back on his elbows. I joined him in silence, and we watched the sun descending over the pond.

“If I could change what I’ve become…” Rook said, “If I—if the Hound were no longer around…would I be worthy of forgiveness?”

I inhaled and examined the trees, wondering if I might escape this conversation. Finally, I settled on Rook, patiently awaiting an answer. Throwing up my hands, I asked, “Forgiveness from who?”

He shrugged. “The world.” Though it was me, not the world, he watched when he asked the question.

My emotions spiked like a fierce snake in my belly. No! I want you to burn for what you’ve done to my family! I want you to hurt and suffer and —

Beside me, Rook twirled a piece of grass between his fingers. Everything about Rook, from the vulnerability of the question, to the anxious way he fidgeted, was so achingly human.

A quiet part of me whispered… Maybe.

Sitting with my contradictions, I recalled another important lesson from my father.

When Lottie turned six, she was gifted a crystal dagger.

Excited, she’d waved it about, pretending to fight invisible monsters, and she’d run my hand through.

The pain was brutal, and worse, I could do nothing while it healed.

I couldn’t play, I couldn’t sew with my father.

Every day I sat, despising Lottie. Whenever she spoke to me, I refused to listen.

One day, my father saw Lottie walking dejectedly away, having given up on telling me a story about a baby weasel she’d seen.

Taking me aside, my father had said, “I know you’re suffering.

” He’d hugged me tight and knelt, so that we were eye-to-eye.

“Your sister loves you, and what she did was a mistake. I can’t make you forgive her, but your relationship will fester if you do not.

You must decide what’s more important: the person or the mistake. ”

“But what if she does it again?!” I’d cried, holding up my mangled hand.

“She won’t,” my father had replied. “And if she does…stab her back.” He’d winked and continued, “I’m kidding.

Don’t tell your mother I said that.” He’d sighed.

“If she does it again, you do what’s best for you, my love.

But for now…” He’d nodded at Lottie, sitting alone.

In the end, I’d gone to her. More than a decade later, we still fought, but I slept easy, knowing Lottie would run through a thousand monsters to protect me.

“I think forgiveness can be earned,” I started, my words careful and deliberate, “and granted.”

Rook nodded and turned back to the sunset. As he bathed in the vanishing light, a content, almost pleased look crossed his face. Worry plagued me, and, mustering courage, I asked the question I was afraid to ask. “You will help me escape, right?”

Rook’s jaw twitched.

My pulse kicked up.

What if Rook didn’t help me?

Lysander would succumb to his wounds, and my mother would die of a broken heart not long after.

“I wouldn’t condemn anyone to this life,” Rook said, interrupting my spiral. “I will keep my word.”

Rook tossed the bit of grass aside. “You know, for the first few years I was trapped here, the longing was unbearable . I yearned for food, for company, for my home and my friends. That never goes away, but…you become numb. The longing fades over time. It’s a defense mechanism, I suppose.

” Rook quieted; he turned from the sun. “I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed the sound of laughter until you brought it back to me.

I… I was unprepared for the desires that came with it.

” Rook didn’t look away, almost as if it was his turn to muster courage and ask a question he was afraid to ask.

“What is it?”

“Before you go, I have a wish.” Rook cleared his throat. “A request you might grant me.”

“Depends on the request,” I replied, unwilling to enter another bargain.

Rook’s eyes drifted to my lips.

“One kiss.”

Adrenaline, carrying excitement, fury, and confusion, flushed up my neck. The emotions warred, each holding their own spears of argument.

No! they cried. This is forbidden!

But part of me… Part of me wanted to indulge Rook’s request. It was just a kiss. It meant nothing to me, but it would do so much to solidify his trust.

The Hound murdered your father!

It wasn’t the Hound here, it was Rook, his skin painted in flames—orange, pink and violet—all the smoky tints of sunset.

It was Rook, asking me to kiss him.

As if bewitched, I nodded. Rook brushed his palm along his trousers and sat up.

He glanced around, making sure we were alone and safe.

Rook slid a hand beneath my chin and guided my face to his.

We’d almost touched when Rook paused, looking over my shoulder.

When he was certain nothing crept up behind us, his gaze settled on me.

Softly, his lips pressed mine.

It was a polite kiss, nothing like the exchanges I’d shared with Ruven when we were young, when we were discovering one another and I’d thought he was the one.

And yet, there was hunger in Rook’s civility, a quiet starvation that held him against me, that refused to let him break the embrace.

A sigh echoed in Rook’s throat—a murmur of satisfaction that stoked an ember I thought I’d hidden away.

Rook barely touched me, but it felt as though his hands were all over my body, awakening it.

In the Hollow, I was taught a simple equation.

Vigilance or death. The two concepts were mutually exclusive.

While kissing Rook, I let go of both. Sliding my hand up Rook’s arm, I gripped his wrist and rose to meet him.

The kiss turned from polite to—Rook pulled away.

He exhaled a faint breath, as if he’d forgotten to breathe.

Perhaps eager to remember the taste, Rook’s eyes settled on my lips again. Starving, but satiated.

For now.

Rook’s wrist twitched, reminding me how tightly I held it. I let go and scooted away. Rook smiled. Not the quick, fluttering smiles I was accustomed to, but broad and genuine. As it faded, a sharp canine caught his lip, delaying it falling back into place.

A lifetime of scowls had not accustomed him to joy.

Off in the woods, a twig snapped. Tensing, I looked around. Though the trees appeared safe, I realized, with no small amount of anxiety, that I’d let my guard down for several minutes. I hadn’t been looking behind, hadn’t been glancing over my shoulder to make sure I was safe…

Because Rook had been.

Rook leaned into the grass and turned back to the horizon. A gnawing, shameful pit hollowed my chest. I frowned; my attention drifted back to the pink sky.

It was just a kiss , my mind mocked.

The last rays of sun flickered over the pond like hungry flames. Absently, I rubbed my stomach. Never had I felt a fire quite like that. Lost in our thoughts, Rook and I watched the sun set together.