“I do not deserve an apology,” he says, and his voice is equally quiet. “Indeed, I feel as though I owe you one.”
When I say nothing, he adds, “You are so angry with me.” He hesitates. “I believe there has been too much unsaid between us for too long.”
I peek over at him, but his eyes are on Ironwill, and the horse has pressed his head against Rhen’s chest. Rhen’s hand is against the animal’s cheek, his long fingers stroking the sleek fur in the hollow of his jaw.
It reminds me of the day Rhen was a monster, a creature summoned by Lilith’s magic, bent on destroying everything in his path. He’d never been docile for anyone in his monster form, he’d never even known anyone—not even Grey. But he quieted for me. He was massive, at least ten feet tall, part dragon and part horse, with fangs and talons, his scales and feathers glittering in luminescent colors. I thought he was going to kill us all, but he’d put his head against my chest and blown warmth against my knees.
The memory is so powerful that my breath catches. I look back at Ironwill.
“My lady?” says Rhen.
I shake my head slightly. “What’s …” I have to clear my throat. “What’s unsaid on your side?”
“I should have spoken to you about Grey before I made a choice of what to do.”
I hold my breath.
“I thought …,” he begins, then hesitates. “I thought you understood my reasons, but perhaps—”
“I do.” I peek over at him again. My voice is rough. “I do understand your reasons.” I have to look back at the horse. “When you did that,” I whisper, “you were so much more frightening than you ever were as a monster.”
He inhales sharply, but I don’t look at him. I can’t look at him.
“Because you made a choice,” I say, and my voice breaks. “Because it was you. Because it was someone I cared about. Because it was horrible.”
Tears fall, and I press my forehead into the horse’s neck. My fingers tangle in Ironwill’s mane. “Because you needed to do it. Because I didn’t want to know you could have done it.”
“Harper.” He’s at my side suddenly, his voice soft and broken. His finger brushes against my cheek, his touch feather-light, as if he worries I’ll turn away from him.
I don’t. In a way, I wonder if I’ve been turning away from him for too long.
His eyes burn into mine. “Please, Harper, please know this. I begged him to tell me. After what Lilith did, I could not—I could not risk my people.” Those tortured shadows shift in his eyes. “Forgive me. Please. Do you think it cost me nothing?”
The emotion in his voice makes my throat tighten and sends fresh tears to my eyes. It’s not the apology—it’s the acknowledgment that he felt hurt and loss the same way I did. I wait for his apology to bounce off that coiled pit of anger in my stomach, but it doesn’t. For the first time, I realize that the bulk of anger isn’t at the people around me. It’s not about Rhen.
It’s about myself.
He made choices here, but so did I. His choices were about Emberfall. Mine were about Grey.
We were both wrong and both right at the same time, and the realization of that is what finally makes the anger ease and shift and become a bit more bearable.
I sigh and press my face against his chest, and his arms come around me, tight against my back under the cloak, pulling me against him. I feel his breath in my hair, his heart thrumming alongside mine.
It feels good to be in the circle of his arms. I’d somehow forgotten.
“I don’t want to be in this weird holding pattern anymore,” I say against him.
He’s quiet for a moment, and then he says, “I do not know what this means.”
I blink, then a startled laugh escapes my throat. He’s met enough girls from Washington, DC, that I don’t often trip him up with an expression, so when it happens, it takes me by surprise.
I draw back and peer up at him. “It’s like …” I have no idea how to explain what an airplane holding pattern is to him, and it doesn’t even matter. “I mean I don’t want to keep doing the same thing over and over again, waiting for something to happen to knock us out of it.” He’s frowning, so I add, “I don’t want to keep fighting with you.”
“Nor do I.” He strokes a tear off my cheek. “I should have told you.”
And I should have asked. I should have known. I sniff. “You—you needed to do it. And I would have stopped you.”
“No. You would have helped me find a better way.” His eyes don’t leave mine. “You always help me find a better way.”
That’s part of the problem. I don’t know if there was a better way. He did what he did to protect Emberfall. Rhen’s first obligation is his people—he’s never hidden that from anyone. But his feelings for me are high up there, too. Standing here now, feeling his breath in my hair and his heart beating against mine, I don’t think I made the wrong choice in staying.
We stand for the longest time, his hand idly stroking my back, mine tracing the buttons on his chest, until the moment changes, growing heavier. Sweeter. Warmer. I inhale, or maybe he does, because my name is a whispered purr on his lips, and then his mouth finds mine.
He’s hesitant at first, as if he’s still worried I’ll pull away, but I don’t, and he’s immediately more sure. His hands land on my waist, trapping me against him. His tongue brushes mine, and my fingers tangle in his hair. It’s been so long since he kissed me like this, and it takes my breath away. Warmth swells in my body, a tiny flicker of flame at first, but quickly racing through my veins to send heat everywhere. He makes a low sound in his throat, and before I’m ready, my back hits the stall door.
“Ouch.” I giggle.
“Forgive me,” Rhen says again, and he actually looks repentant.
“I’ll survive.”
A light sparks in his eyes, and Rhen tugs me into the aisle, letting the stall door fall closed. I take advantage of the narrow distance he’s suddenly granted us, and I yank at the buttons of his jacket and the buckle of his sword belt all at once.
Then his mouth claims mine again, and my fingers stop working.
His don’t. I distantly hear his weapon strike the floor, and then his jacket is gone. I can feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt now, the long sloping muscle of his back. He strokes a hand up the front of my corset, lighting a fire when his fingertips brush along the barely exposed skin of my breast, and I curse the fact that Freya tied the knots so tightly.
Maybe I should have worn that other dress.
The thought makes me flush and cling to him, because it’s unlike him to be quite this forward. We’ve slept beside each other dozens of times, but we’ve never actually slept together for a hundred different reasons—one being that the last woman he had sex with cursed him for an eternity.
He’s never specifically said as much, but if we had to rank reasons, I’d bet good money that it would find a spot among his top five.
The fact that we always seem to be at odds would probably be up there, too.
It feels good to be kissed by him again. To be held by him. Sometimes Rhen is so hard, so decisive and challenging, that I forget he can be gentle. Tender. I forget that he can strike a match with his kiss and turn my insides into a bonfire.