As we pass by, many set aside their tasks to wave in greeting, warm voices calling out to their prince. When they spot me at his side, several of them make a familiar one-handed gesture in the air—two fingers traveling in the shape of a diamond.
“What does it mean?” I ask Penn, forgetting my plans to ignore his existence all the way back to the keep. “The hand sign they make when we pass?”
“That is the sigil of the sacred tetrad. An honorary greeting of respect shown to the Remnants.”
“They aren’t cursing me, then?”
He scoffs as we pass the guard detail stationed at the foot of the bridge. “Quite the opposite. They see you as a blessing.”
My stride falters, a tiny stumble of surprise.
Penn does not fail to notice my misstep. “Why is it so difficultfor you to believe these people might welcome your presence here? That they would embrace you with open arms?”
“Past experience,” I retort defensively. “When you’ve spent your life being hunted, the urge to bolt first, ask questions later, is not so much a choice as a deeply ingrained instinct.”
He is quiet for a moment, absorbing this. We are about a quarter of the way across the bridge now. The palace looms before us, spearing upward into the mist. A row of fishermen trail lures across the lake’s placid surface, their buckets of bait wafting like odoriferous cologne. Penn waits until we’ve left them well behind before he speaks again.
“You can try to hold the world at arm’s length, but it’s no use, Rhya. Like it or not, in the short time you’ve been here, you have already drawn a tight circle around yourself.”
My shoulders tense. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Carys considers you a godsend after your help with the birth. Uther has vowed everlasting allegiance on behalf of his son. Farley owes you his ability to walk. All my men—Jac, Mabon, Cadogan, any of them—would lay down their lives for you without question. And I—” He breaks off abruptly, teeth clicking together.
“Youwhat?” I ask, drawing to a sharp halt.
He stops as well but does not look at me. His gaze remains trained out toward the lake, where a young couple in a rowboat is floating between the lily pads, laughing as they fight for control of the oars. He seems the picture of composure—except for the muscle in his jaw, which ticks with telltale rhythmic tension.
“What is it you feel for me, Penn?” I ask on a tremulous whisper. “I thought I knew. Or that I was beginning to, at the very least. I thought, after what happened in the Forsaken Forest—”
He tenses at the reminder.
“—that I had some inkling of what we mean to each other,” I continue doggedly. “But since we returned here, everything is different. You are different.”
“Oh? And how am Idifferent?” His tone is sharp. “I am the same man you’ve known since Eastwood.”
“That’s not true, and you know it!” Color fills my cheeks. Is he really going to make me say it aloud? “These days, you treat me like…like I am some sort of plague-infected scourge, best avoided!”
“Ah yes,” he snarls softly. “That’s precisely why I volunteered to walk you home.”
“Don’t be snide.” I narrow my gaze. “You say I hold everyone here at arm’s length? What is it thatyoudo? Because, to my eyes, you are no better at letting anyone in than I am. In fact, you’re worse. You keep an impenetrable shield around you, effective as the wards that surround your city. The minute anyone dares get close, you back away.”
“I did not realize I was the subject of such intense study. Please, by all means, continue your assessment of my many flaws. I’m truly fascinated.”
I stiffen at his biting sarcasm. I can feel his anger, his exasperation, palpable in the air between us. Thrumming through the bond, spilling over from him to me. It is a testament to how riled he is—usually, he’s better at blocking me. My own frustration is a wild beast within, frothing and clawing for release after days of biting my tongue.
“I thought things had changed,” I say bluntly. “I thought—but it does not matter what I thought. Clearly, I was wrong. We do not mean anything to each other. We are not”—I search for the right word to describe us, but there is none in the common tongue that can encompass our complexities—“friends,” I finish, faltering on the word. “We never were. We are no different from thetwo strangers whose worlds collided beneath a hanging tree in a Midlands mire. What a fool I was to expect anything else.”
He stares away from me, expression empty. If I expect him to contradict my words, I am in for disappointment. My stomach is a ball of lead as I reach out and snatch the ribboned box from his arms. He does not resist. His hands fall down to hang at his sides, curling instantly into fists.
“You told me so yourself, the other day in the cavern. I didn’t understand then, but I do now.Emotions are a liability. Separate yourself from them.” I grip the box so hard, it threatens to cave in. “Thank you for the demonstration. It is a lesson I won’t forget.”
I turn to go but only make it a few steps before his pain-laced whisper halts me in my tracks.
“Rhya.”
There is a war going on in his voice—and on his face as well, I see when I glance back at him. Emotions move through his eyes too quickly to properly decipher them. Rage and regret and resignation and something else, something so tormented it scares me.
“What, Penn?” I ask, voice thick. Tears are impending. I have no desire to be here with him when they break free. “What is it you want to say to me?”