“You matter,” is all he says.
I flinch, cold tingles bouncing all around as he stares at me with that certainty in his eyes. It’s similar to all those tense, lingering stares Mather would give me, yet at the same time … not. When Mather looked at me, I never knew what emotions he was hiding behind his seriousness, if he liked me or if he was trying to figure out if he did. But with Theron—it feels more purposeful. Like he’s staring at me because he wants to, not because he’s questioning himself.
Neither of us says anything else, exhaling slowly into the space between us, too afraid to move away, too afraid to move closer.
A door slams below us, echoing up the three floors of the library. I jump, shaken out of my trance. It’s probably Rose—I’m late for today’s lessons. But the voice that fills up the library makes me groan with a different weight.
“Meira,” Sir says determinedly enough to practically pull me over the third-floor balcony.
Theron sighs. “There’s only one door out of the library,” he says as if reading my thoughts.
I groan again. There’s no escaping Sir now. Unless I barrel past him and run as hard as I can into the twisting halls of Bithai’s palace. The mature reaction.
Theron stands and reaches out a hand to help me up. “He won’t yell at you when I’m present.”
I slide the book onto the floor, slip my hand into his, and want to smile. I want to do a lot of things when he pulls me to my feet and we’re so close, so very close, for one short second, and I wonder if marrying him would be such a horrible thing.
Theron leads me down the stairs, still holding my hand. I’m all right with that, in a way that makes me think my answer to the do-I-want-to-marry-him question might surprise me.
We reach the bottom floor of the library and there is—everyone. Sir, Alysson, Dendera, Finn, Greer, Henn, and Mather. All standing in a tight group in the middle of the room, faces in various states of anger or frustration.
Sir steps forward to meet us halfway, his arms crossed tight over his chest. His eyes fall to Theron’s and my hands, intertwined, but he doesn’t say anything, and shivers run up and down my arms, spreading through my body the longer we stand there not speaking.
“Prince Theron,” Sir starts, keeping his voice strangely calm. “We need a word with Lady Meira. Alone.”
I stifle the urge to whimper. Not because Sir wants to talk to me—because of how he said it. Lady Meira. It feels so formal. Too formal. I don’t want Sir to be formal with me.
Theron pivots to face him. “I must respectfully decline, General Loren.”
Mather makes a huffing sound from behind Sir. My eyes dart to him, and we’re stuck now staring at each other while I do absolutely nothing to distance myself from Theron. Mather looks at our hands and back up at me, his face constricting into anger, regret, anger, anger, anger—
“Is something wrong, King Mather?” Theron asks around Sir.
Mather starts forward but Sir snaps out an arm and slams it into his chest. Mather stops, panting like he did in the sword ring. I expect some kind of guilt to sweep over me, or at the very least a rising wave of discomfort at seeing Mather. But all I feel is tired—tired of getting nothing but unreadable emotions from him. Tired of waiting on him. Tired of him.
We don’t need another encounter like the one in the sword ring, though. I can handle this on my own. I always have.
I pull Theron’s hand until he looks down at me. “I’ll be fine,” I promise, though it sounds strange in my own ears. I’ve never had someone worry about me during Sir’s interrogations. It makes me feel both strong and weak at the same time, like I could lean too much on him, on the support he’s offering, and lose myself behind him.
After a moment of considering, Theron nods. He squeezes my hand once and backs away, making for the door while politely acknowledging everyone he passes.
The door closes behind him and I have barely two seconds to inhale before someone rushes up on me. I blink, trying to focus on Sir’s face, but it isn’t Sir.
“It’s one thing to be alone with the prince in the library,” Dendera spits. “I can almost overlook that. But his bedroom? Do you have any idea the kinds of rumors that have been circulating about you? Then you avoid us for a week after—thank the snow above that you’ve been attending those lessons, but that isn’t enough!”
Dendera’s face is flushed, her hair sticking out in frazzled pieces like she hasn’t slept in days. Has she been worrying for this long? Both times I evaded her, she did look flustered, but I assumed it was from my avoidance of her, not from my being in Theron’s bedroom. I can see why it would be improper for normal courtly ladies, but for me it seems a tad silly. I’m still in training anyway, aren’t I? A short while ago I was covered in Lynia’s sewer gunk as I barely evaded capture—I’m lucky I’m alive to even be improper.