Forty-Nine. Gideon

FORTY-NINEGIDEON

GIDEON WOKE TO THEsound of the floorboards creaking. He opened his eyes, letting his sight adjust to the darkness, and saw Rune’s silhouette picking up her underclothes from the floor.

He sat up, watching her pull them on, thinking of her only hours before. The way she arched against his hand, his mouth. The soft sounds she made when he did something she liked.

His body tightened with desire.

Gideon had been exceptionally thorough tonight. He could therefore say, without a doubt, that Rune Winters had no casting scars anywhere on her body.

He could also say, without a doubt, that he wanted to do what they’d done again.

And again.

And again.

His chest knotted. This feeling she stirred in him—not desire, but something deeper—scared him a little. It felt like a tethering. Like he’d given her a piece of himself tonight, maybe long before tonight, and in doing so, handed her power over him.

The last time he’d done that with someone …

Gideon smothered the thought.

“Had your fill of me?” he asked while she gathered the rest of her clothes.

Rune froze like a mouse sighted by a hawk.

“What? No, I …” Her voice sounded strange. Unsteady.

Gideon moved to the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” she said, hugging the bundle of leathers. Gideon lit the lamp on the bedside table and got out of bed. “It’s just that I should go home. The servants will worry.”

But Gideon knew that Rune regularly attended the parties of other aristocrats. Parties that often ended at dawn. The servants of Wintersea House would be used to their mistress coming home at all hours of the night.

In the lamplight, he saw the shine of tears in her eyes.

Standing now, Gideon stayed where he was, wondering if he’d caused this. Had he misunderstood, somehow? Maybe she’d wanted none of it.

“You’re afraid of something,” he said. “Tell me what it is.”

She bit down on her lip.

Gideon wanted to close the gap between them, take her face in his hands, and tell her he’d protect her. But he held himself still.

“You,” she whispered. “I’m afraid of you.”

His heart sank like a stone.

“Me?”

She backed up a step. “The way you make me feel is …” She hugged the bundle of clothes tighter. “I’m afraid it’s something I could get used to. Something I could need.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid you’ll be the end of me, Gideon.” And then, much more quietly: “Maybe you already are.”

She seemed to truly believe this—that he had some strange power to crush her.

Did she think he was using her?

Aren’t I using her? he thought, remembering his conversation with Harrow.

Hadn’t he brought her into his bed to prove she wasn’t a witch?

No,he thought. That was merely his justification for taking what he wanted and not caring if it hurt his brother.

The sudden thought of it—of what he’d done with the girl Alex loved—felt like a punch.

Gideon clenched and unclenched his fists. He stood at a crossroads here. Two clear paths lay before him.

The first road was the one he’d meant to take all along: pretending to court Rune in order to catch the Crimson Moth. That road was always going to end with Gideon letting her go—to the purge, if she was a witch; to Alex, if she wasn’t. It was the higher road. The road that allowed Gideon to keep his conscience intact. To stay on it, all Gideon had to do was end this charade.

But now there was another road open to him. This one had Rune standing on it, telling him that she was falling in love with him. That this wasn’t pretend for her.

The right thing to do, the noble thing, was to choose the first road. To end this tonight. All Gideon had to do was lie and say he didn’t feel the same way.

But Gideon wasn’t noble. And he didn’t do the right thing.

Because he wanted this.

“I’m scared, too.”

She glanced sharply up at him.

Gideon had kept to himself these past few years for good reason. He’d made himself vulnerable with Cressida, and she’d taken that vulnerability and used it as a weapon against him. He needed to be careful. He couldn’t let just anyone in.

“What if I asked you to trust me?”

Rune looked like she might burst into tears at the question. “You want me to trust you?”

“We could trust each other,” he said, stepping toward her.

From the look on her face, she thought this a difficult, if not impossible, task.

“Do you trust this?” He leaned in to kiss her temple. Her pulse responded, beating out a frenzied rhythm. “Or this?” Pushing back her hair, he brushed his lips against the sensitive skin behind her ear, making her quiver. “What about this?” He pressed his hand between her hip bones, moving slowly downward.

Her breathing changed, becoming shallow and rapid. She softened beneath him, melting fast. Like she was ice and he was fire.

Why did it feel this good to please her?

“I want all of you, Rune.” Gideon kissed her brow. “Not just tonight, but every moment from now on.”

“I want that, too,” she breathed, tilting her head back. “But how would it work? Help me imagine it.”

Gideon smiled as he thought about it.

“Every day, after my shift ends, I’ll come home to you, and we’ll cook dinner together.”

“I have servants for that.”

He nipped the tip of her nose. “You’re ruining this fantasy already.”

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Go on.”

He continued, trailing kisses across her bare shoulder. “Every night after dinner, we’ll take a long walk through Wintersea, and I’ll pick you a bouquet of wildflowers, and we’ll talk … or be silent. I don’t really care, as long as you’re next to me.”

He could feel her softening.

“Would you attend some of my parties?”

His hands palmed up her bare back. “All of them.”

She pulled away a little, glancing at him. “But you hate parties. I don’t think you’re fond of my friends, either.”

“I can learn to like them.” His arms locked around her waist and dragged her back to him. “I can be civil.”

She raised an eyebrow, as if to say, Can you?

For you, yes.

She bit down on her lip again, thinking. “And you’ll dance with me?”

“That’s a given.”

“What if we fight all the time?”

“I’d rather fight with you than do most other things.”

Her forehead pinched in surprise. “You would?”

“Yes.” He dragged the bridge of his nose across her cheekbone, breathing in her soapy scent. “And after we’re done fighting, I’ll take you to bed, and we’ll reconcile. In fact, I think we should fight every day just so we can make up every night.”

Gideon felt her breath quicken. She liked the sound of that.

He was wearing her down.

“You won’t come to resent me?” she whispered.

“For what?” His breath tangled with hers.

“For being shallow and silly.”

“You aren’t those things, Rune.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Sometimes I will be.”

“Sometimes I’ll be a brute. Can you handle that?”

Rune cocked her head. “I think so.” A small smile tugged at her mouth. “Yes.” She ran her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, sliding her fingers into his hair.

“Do you need more persuading?”

“Mmm, yes please,” she murmured, tugging his mouth down to hers. “Try using fewer words this time.”

Gideon laughed against her lips, then hiked her onto his hips and carried her back to the bed.

---

THE NEXT MORNING, GIDEONwoke to a sleeping Rune tucked against his chest. Right where she was supposed to be. Her rose-gold hair spilled across the white pillows, and from this close, he could count every freckle speckling her shoulders.

He’d half expected to wake in an empty bed, every trace of her gone. Or, worse, discover he’d dreamt it.

But she was still here. And it felt right. Like she belonged in his bed, curled up against him.

Touching his lips to her shoulder, Gideon breathed her in.

Rune didn’t wear the artificial perfumes so popular among the New Republic’s elite. She didn’t smell like lilacs or jasmine or roses; she smelled like herself. Like standing at the edge of the bluffs after a storm. Like a gulp of fresh sea air.

Gideon wanted to inhale her.

Rune stirred, her grip tightening on the sheets between them. Gideon froze, watching her forehead crease in a frown. Like she was having an unpleasant dream. He wanted to touch his thumb to that crease. Gently rub it away.

Rune tried to cuddle closer. She slid her leg between both of his and bent her knee, hooking them tighter together. Satisfied, she fell still again, drifting deeper.

I’m afraid you’ll be the end of me.

Gideon wanted to convince her that she couldn’t be more wrong.

He waited until she was fast asleep again before gently untangling their legs and carefully removing himself from the bed. After dressing, he finally tore his eyes away from her to brew himself a cup of coffee. Then he strode downstairs and into his parents’ old studio.

With Rune’s words still clanging through his head, he opened the door to a shallow closet he hadn’t opened in years. He flicked the wall switch and the light inside sputtered to life, illuminating a space full of dusty boxes.

Gideon glanced to the uppermost shelf, where an odd assortment of books was stacked. It was his mother’s collection, books she’d used for inspiration. When he found the one he wanted—an encyclopedia of wildflowers—he pulled it down, blew the dust off, then cracked it open.

He skimmed the pages until he found the entry he was looking for. Opening the book wider, he studied the botanical drawing before him.

Perhaps there was a way to prove his intentions were genuine.

Gideon had started toward the fabrics when someone knocked on the shop door. Wondering who would visit at this hour, he left the encyclopedia on the table and went to answer it.

Harrow stood on the other side. Half of her face was battered, and a curve of black stitches arced down her cheek. One of her arms was in a splint.

“Shouldn’t you still be in the hospital?” he asked.

Beside Harrow stood Laila, out of uniform, her dark brown hair pulled back in an elegant bun.

“He talked.”

Both girls pushed past him into the room.

“Who talked?” asked Gideon, shutting the door behind them.

“The print shop owner,” Laila answered. “We arrested him early this morning and brought him into custody.”

Harrow turned a chair at the worktable backward and plunked herself onto it.

“A student at the university paid him for the use of his storeroom, alleging to need it for a school project. The owner says he didn’t know what it was being used for.”

Gideon crossed his arms. “He didn’t find it suspicious that a student required the use of a storeroom?”

Laila’s shoulders lifted. “The money must have been enough to stifle his curiosity.”

“Did you get the student’s name?”

Laila shook her head. “Only a description. Based on his account, the sketch artist drafted this likeness.” She slid her hand into the pocket of her trousers and pulled out a folded piece of paper, holding it out to Gideon.

Uncrossing his arms, he took the paper, unfolding it to study the sketch. A girl stared back at him. Her dark, shoulder-length curls matched her dark sunken eyes, which were partially hidden behind spectacles.

“Looks remarkably like Rune’s friend, don’t you think?” said Harrow.

Verity de Wilde, she meant.

Sure, there was a slight resemblance. But this sketch could easily be some other nearsighted scholar. He handed it back to Laila. “We’ll need more than a sketch to prove it.”

“You could start by asking your sweetheart where her friend was the night of the attack,” said Harrow, her arms crossed over the back of the chair, her tone sharp.

Gideon ran a hand through his hair, not liking where this was going.

“I disagree,” said Laila, leaning against his worktable. “If the suspect is Verity de Wilde, Rune was likely in on the scheme. Asking her will send her running to warn her friend.”

“Hold on,” said Gideon. “We can’t know this”—he held up the vague sketch—“is Verity de Wilde. Even if it resembles her somewhat, the print shop owner might have given a false description.”

Harrow started to say something, but Gideon held up his hand, locking eyes with her. “More importantly: Rune wasn’t in on the scheme.”

Harrow slit her eyes. “You’re certain of that?”

Gideon remembered Rune sitting outside his front door, weeping. Believing him dead.

He thought of everything they’d done last night.

“She’s not a witch.”

“Do you have proof this time?” Harrow’s voice dripped with suspicion.

Aware of Laila’s gaze, Gideon shifted uncomfortably. But if this was a standoff, he wouldn’t be intimidated. Rune deserved to be exonerated.

“The proof is currently sleeping in my bed.”

“You slept with Rune Winters?” Laila’s eyes widened. “Are you out of your mind?”

Gideon glanced at his hunting partner, wanting to defend Rune. But Harrow already suspected he was bewitched by her. If he proved that suspicion true, she would accuse him of being compromised. If he was compromised, Laila would have to report him.

So he said, “It was the only way to know for sure.”

“He means it was the best way to search her for casting scars,” Harrow clarified, her honeyed eyes still fixed on Gideon. Like a cat waiting for a mouse to show itself. “And? How was it, Comrade? Was she everything you hoped she’d be?”

His whole body prickled, not liking her tone—or the question. But he needed to be careful here, for Rune’s sake as much as his own. He needed to make Harrow and Laila believe he felt nothing for her. That what he’d done with Rune was pure business.

He forced the words out.

“I’ve had better,” he said, staring Harrow down. “You were right; it was no chore. But I’m not about to repeat the endeavor anytime soon.” The lie sank inside him like poison. “She’s a pretty face, nothing more.”

Harrow looked like she was about to respond when a floorboard creaked outside the room. As if someone stood listening on the other side of the door.

All three of them looked to the closed door.

In three strides, Gideon crossed the room and swung it open.

Rune stood in the frame, her face pale, her hair a tangle. The look of shock and hurt in her eyes was like an axe splitting open his chest.

“Rune …”

Visibly trembling, she stammered, “I-I have to go.”

Before he could stop her, she turned on her heel and stumbled out into the street.