27. Paris

One with the birds.

That was the kind of sentiment a priest might share in a moment of crisis, that suffering made us one with our gods. Well, the gods. I couldn't claim I was particularly devoted, especially when Urial's gods seemed to have certain notions for the arrangements of people and relationships that I very much did not conform to.

Only, right then, I couldn't try and parse what Brett meant, exactly. How much of this was devotion and how much was something else—some missing piece that continued to elude me.

In other circumstances, I might've pressed Brett further, dug for more information and understanding, but it was late, he was drunk—or well on his way to getting there—and I was exhausted.

My limbs were heavy, my body ached like I'd tried to carry all my trunks upstairs by myself, and right then, I didn't need to know every single thing. I wasn't sure what I did need, but it wasn't that.

When I probed around the edges of my consciousness, peeling back the desire for relief from the fever, water, rest, it was... something else I wanted right then. Not complete understanding, but comfort and closeness.

I'd nearly died, a world away from my family.

But there was Brett, and he'd stayed close. He'd?—

My stomach did a little flip, as I remembered the feel of his hands on my skin, his body close to mine. Yes, that's what I wanted. Not sex, but... that. Someone.

Maybe someone specific.

Maybe Brett.

"Can I ask what you're doing in here, staring at a mass of presents that aren't yours? I assure you," I said, biting my lower lip against a grin, "if there's anything you especially want, we could come to some kind of diplomatic arrangement."

Brett snorted. "Could we? If there were anything here I wanted, I could've just refrained from telling you that it's all yours."

I shrugged. "Sure, but you don't strike me as the kind of man who lies often."

His expression twisted. He looked away.

I'd touched on something, but I didn't know what. Inadvertently, I'd jammed my finger into a bruise.

In the hushed silence that fell between us, I struggled to find something to say. I'd come down there out of restlessness, thinking I might find some leftover bread, but I didn't want to leave him there, drinking alone in the dim room.

For one reason or another, it felt like my fault. I was simply too exhausted to know what to do about it.

"I'm sorry for kicking you out of your bed," I whispered.

The way Brett tipped his head to the side, the candlelight caught on the curl of his golden lashes. He frowned. "You didn't. I brought you there."

As I watched him, hoping for more of an answer, I swallowed. My mouth had gone dry, so my voice came out harsh and croaky. "Why?"

Brett's gaze dropped. From this angle, it was clear he was exhausted, his eyes rimmed in sleepless bruises. "It's the most comfortable room in the house."

"Oh," I breathed.

My turn to stare at the table, at the grain along the very edge, where the presents didn't cover.

Brett lurched forward, his chair scraping in his haste. "And it felt right," he offered swiftly. "It felt right, to have you there. Somewhere I thought you'd be safe. Somewhere that's... mine."

Despite the squeeze of my heart, I caught his eye and smirked. "You brought me back to your nest?"

His responding laugh was soft and nice, and when I met his eye this time, they'd gone all warm and molten. "Something like that."

That cozy, hazy warmth spread between us, holding each of us still in our seats, our eyes locked on each other's. We were close enough to touch, but neither of us reached out, and still, I felt something like the anticipation of a kiss hanging in the air between us.

Stranger still, despite being exhausted to my marrow and acutely aware that I'd benefit from a long soak in a hot bath, I wanted that kiss. I wanted to lean in and feel his arms slide around me and know that, just like he said, I was safe.

Was this what Hector meant, when he said I'd fallen too fast into Tybalt's world?

Right then, I didn't care. I'd make the same mistakes a thousand times, just to have Brett hold me.

But before I could act on it, before I could ask him to come back to bed with me, so we could both get some rest, there was a sudden, deafening bang on the door.

It went off like hail, rattling the windows in its ferocity. I sat up straight, shoulders around my ears.

Something was wrong. Was someone hurt?

"Hawk!" an angry shout carried through the closed door. "Get out here and answer for my sister."

I stared at Brett, blinking slowly, and a heavy kind of resignation fell over his features, dragging his shoulders down.

"Stay here," he said quietly, squeezing my shoulder as he passed on the way toward the door.

He had to know that was impossible.

I scrambled out of my seat, and in the foyer, saw Rosaline frozen, wide eyed and terrified, at the bottom of the stairs. By the time Brett opened the front door, she'd gone stark white.

"Orestes," Brett said, tone smooth and cold as a tumbled rock, "we weren't expecting you at such a late hour."