19. Paris

Iwas glad the others had left when they did. If they'd waited any longer, they might have gotten stuck. Sure, it was possible to get through a bad storm, but it wasn't a good idea, especially carrying an elderly person and a whole flock of pigeons.

I'd never seen anything like it, but the birds were clearly important to Widow Laurence, so I wasn't going to insult her by saying they were just birds or something so callus.

If I lived out here alone in a one-bedroom cabin, my birds probably would've been critically important to me too, and that was before considering how much they meant to all Nemedans.

As for how Brett and I would manage? I was... not quite worried about us.

The fire was burning warmer now, and if we went through every bit of wood that the widow Laurence had stockpiled, as long as we made it, that'd be fine.

Her larder was well stocked, and I'd learned enough from Rosaline to get a pot of stew going.

"Do you really think the pigeons will be back soon?" I asked, scowling out the back window. The flurries were falling so thick now that the whole world looked like a white sheet beyond the window.

When I looked back at him, Brett was scowling.

"Hard to say. They might be hiding until the worst of it has passed. They've got good instincts, but birds can get a little finnicky when they live with people for a while. If they're worried about Esmerelda?—"

"They worry about people?"

Brett smiled. "Sure. Don't most animals in Urial seem to feel emotion?"

"I... guess they do?" I'd never thought of it quite like that, but it made me feel a little better, thinking of the widow Laurence out here alone the whole time, if she had a whole flock looking after her.

When the stew was hot, I found bowls for us both and carried them over to the bed. So far, we'd both opted to sit on it instead of in the colder wooden chairs.

Eating so casually was more like when I'd first come to Nemeda and we'd spent all those days camping, though I'd have given just about anything for a chunk of that warm bread.

We didn't bother cleaning the bowls when we were done, just put them beside the basin to wait. Neither of us wanted to stand out and exposed more than we had to, but we were lucky. The fire was near the bed, and that corner of the cabin, at least, was plenty warm.

Still, as the sun went down and the world outside went from stark white to blue-gray, Brett shivered. I went around and lit candles, but it wasn't going to be enough for long, and I was starting to think that maybe—maybe I'd been too fast to suggest this.

It might've been better to have been harsh, to leave the pigeons behind for dead.

Gods, if I got the Hawk chief killed, I'd never make it out of Nemeda alive.

"I know this is going to sound counterintuitive," I said, wiggling closer to him, "but I think we'd be better off taking off our coats and heavier clothes and piling them up on the bed. If we—um, if we share body heat from us both and trap it all together, we'll stay warmer."

Brett grimaced, searching my face for a long moment as if I might be lying to him. To his dismay, he seemed to realize I wasn't.

"I should take off my coat?" His nose crinkled with doubt.

"Would it make you feel better if I promised not to let you freeze tonight?"

He was still staring at me, but something softened in his eyes as he tilted his head to the side. "Actually, yes."

"Then I promise. I'm sure I'll die one day, but I promise you, snow's not going to be what gets me."

Assured, Brett shrugged out of his coat and crawled immediately under the pile of blankets. I put his across his feet, and mine on top of it, and crawled into bed beside him, leaving one candle on the bedside table still burning. We'd have to put it out eventually, but I wasn't tired, and his eyes were wide open, even as he shrank into the warm shadows.

"Everything all right?" I asked as I crawled beneath the covers. This was intimate. Too intimate. It'd been months since the last time I was in bed with someone, and the scent of his skin, warm and salty from the day's exertions, made my mouth water. I tried to hide my nervous swallow.

He nodded, still blinking at me. His eyes reflected the warm light from the fire almost like a cat's would.

I settled down beside him, sinking into the pillows. Our breaths were warm, mingled between us, nice on my frigid nose.

"You were incredible today," he said.

I gave a start. "Not really . . . "

"Yes, really." His brow furrowed, as he prepared for a very serious word from a very serious chief. "If you hadn't been with us, Esmerelda would still be stuck out here alone. We wouldn't have had the sleigh. We wouldn't have had any way to transport her or her birds."

"It's just some runners?—"

When he glared harder, I bit my lip. Did that make him angry?

"No, it's—" He groaned, frustrated that there was something I was missing, but that was a familiar sensation for me now—missing something, being a step behind while everyone else understood what was going on.

Then, he surged forward, his arm slipping around my waist beneath the covers. His hand pressed into the small of my back, dragging my body into his.

Then, his lips brushed mine. I stared at him, at the way his golden lashes fanned across his cheek when his eyes slipped shut.

With a sigh, I leaned into all that warmth and—and being held, and knowing that I wasn't alone, and?—

My breath caught, and I pulled back.

He opened his eyes, resignation drawing the corners of his lips down. "There's someone else, isn't there?"

"Yes," I whispered. But that felt... not quite right, so a second later I said, "No. I mean, he—he hasn't written me back the whole time I've been here. Months, and I've written him countless letters, and gotten no word from him at all. I think he's forgotten me."

"But you love him."

My shoulders stiffened. "I?—"

Did I? I'd thought I did. For years, I thought I had, but if that was the case, why was my heart beating so hard when Brett kissed me? Why did missing the feel of his arm around me cause such a terrible ache?

"I'm not sure," I mumbled, staring at the hollow beneath his throat. "If I'm honest with you now, will you promise not to take offense?"

Brett furrowed his brow. "I'll try, but it will depend on what you're about to say."

Weakly, I laughed. "That's reasonable enough."

"I will say that without you, the widow Laurence would still be stuck out here alone. She could've died. That buys you more grace than it looks like you're expecting."

He dropped his gaze to my fidgeting fingers, the spot of dry skin at the corner of my thumbnail that I was picking at. I stopped at once, stuffing my hands deeper beneath the covers. "Sorry."

He shook his head, settling back against the pillow. "You just looked nervous."

I nodded. How could I deny it? I'd often been nervous since coming to Nemeda, but it wasn't this floaty kind of feeling that buzzed in my chest now.

"All right, well first—I want you to know that I've been pleasantly surprised by your people and your lands. I was... nervous to come to Nemeda, sure I'd end up dead or worse, but I've found you all to be charming and generous and kind—you, especially—and I'm grateful, even when I miss home and family."

Brett was watching me, green eyes flecked with gold that almost seemed to move with the swirl of his amusement. "But?"

A laugh escaped me, verging on hysterical. "But I never meant to come here. I never thought to visit Nemeda, much less live here for any length of time. I never wanted to be a diplomat who traveled to foreign lands. I hope it's not too terribly obvious, but I have absolutely no experience as one. After my father died, King Albany decided to send me away, I suppose for the sake of his son. We were... involved, Prince Tybalt and I. I'd meant to spend my life advising him, but even that—it was mostly just for the chance to remain at his side."

Some of the amusement had faded from Brett's gaze, and in its place rose disappointment. The strangest thing was feeling an echo of it in my own heart.

"I'm not stupid. I didn't think I could keep him to myself or anything," I whispered, feeling foolish and ignorant and strangely embarrassed, though I'd rarely felt that way at court. "Even if I were worthy to stand beside a ruler, there are... duties that I cannot help him with, and we were never open about anything, not really. We made no promises to each other. But the things he said—" I shook my head. I didn't want to repeat them now, and I wasn't sure why. Maybe because they felt thin as a tissue and I felt ridiculous for giving them such weight, or maybe—maybe they were things I didn't want to think about Tybalt saying when they might've sounded sweeter from other lips—from someone who really meant them. And right there was a man I couldn't imagine spinning tales. I'd only seen him honest and forthright so far. He was careful and considering and—and he seemed to take people seriously when they shared their feelings or concerns.

Ducking my head, I shrugged. "They were sweet. I thought he meant them, but I'm beginning to wonder if it was all a game to him. Tybalt... likes games, but if it came down to it, I—" My brow furrowed. I wasn't sure how to explain it without sounding ungrateful after a prince had given me his attention. "I don't think he was the sort of man who'd spare a thought for the widow Laurence. I'm not sure he's thought about me since I left Urial."

Another laugh bubbled out of me in the face of Brett's scowling silence.

"I sound ridiculous, really. You don't want to hear this, and it doesn't matter. I'm sure he's simply too busy to write. A prince has so many responsibilities?—"

"A good man makes time for people who are important to him." He said it so quietly, but it brought the whole world to a stop, a deep, echoing silence all around us that ensured his words were all I could hear.

There weren't many of them, but they said so much.

That Tybalt was not as good a man as I had hoped.

That I was not important to him.

And the jump that I wasn't important at all—exiled from my home and forgotten—came all too easily.

"Oh," I whispered back, the sound escaping in a soft punch of air. My eyelids fluttered, and I stared down at my lap.

"Paris," Brett hissed, suddenly ardent, leaning forward, his hand broad and rough against my cheek as he pulled my head up to look at him, "you are important. Anyone who cannot see that is a fool."

I stared into his eyes, swirling only a few inches before my own.

I wanted?—

Gods, I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted him to look at me like that, feel so assured that I was someone worth knowing, forever. A Nemedan, and he set my heart aflame.

When I found my voice again, it came out tight and croaky. "If you don't mind that I'm confused and foolish and an absolute farce of a diplomat, you could kiss me again. I understand if, in light of everything, you'd rather not, but I'd like?—"

That was as far as I got, before his fingers delved into my hair and he pulled my head back. His mouth closed over mine, searing and hot. He groaned against my lips, the feel of it singing through me as I reached for him, twisting my hands in his shirt, praying that he wouldn't pull away.