The First Crown

The Unruly Heart

Lilliana

He laughed softly, and I tasted it when he kissed me again. My fingers found the laces at his collar without meaning to. His hands covered mine, halting them gently, and he kissed my knuckles like a man promising not to break. “Not like this.”

“Why?” It came out a little too plaintive, a little too wine-soft.

“Because you’re half-drunk,” he said, nuzzling my temple, the words a smile against my skin. “Because the first time I undo those laces for you, you’ll be clear-eyed and sure and we’ll have a door between us and every other breathing thing.”

“I am sure,” I said fiercely. “I am.”

“I know.” He breathed the admission into my hair, as if telling it to my braid would make it truer. “And I want you more than is wise. But I’m not a boy sneaking hayloft kisses, Lillie. I won’t take what you offer and leave you with fear for company in the morning.”

I let my hands rest over his, the refusal gentler than I’d expected it to feel. The restraint did not cool me; it warmed me with the shape of a promise I suddenly trusted. “Then hold me,” I said. “Hold me like you mean the things you’re not saying.”

He tucked me in against him, my cheek to his chest, and for a little while we stood like that, stealing time we had no right to. His heart beat hard and steady under my ear; the heat of him sank into me until I could not tell which of us was shaking. Somewhere outside the corridor a cheer went up, the crowd calling out to the moon or the barrels or to nothing at all.

“I told Aedan I would meet him at the north wall to check a bolt the carpenters set badly,” he murmured into my hair, amusement threading the caution. “If he comes early and finds me holding the Duke’s daughter in a corridor he’ll forget every lesson I ever beat into him about discretion.”

“Then don’t let him find us.” I tilted my face up. “One more kiss.”

He made a pained sound that made me smile. “You bargain like a saint at a market.” But he lowered his head and gave me what I asked for. I felt him hold back felt the line he would not cross tonight and loved him for drawing it himself. My body asked without words; his answered with yes and not yet.

When he lifted his head, his eyes were darker than I had ever seen them. “You need to go.”

The words should have hurt. They didn’t. The command in them was for my safety, not his convenience; I could hear the way it cut him too. “If I do, will you come tomorrow?”

“Nothing short of a siege would stop me.” He brushed his thumb over my lower lip, tenderness like a bruise I would return to press. “And even then I’d climb.”

“Good,” I said, because my mouth was not steady enough for anything more.

He bent to the floor, retrieved the wild courage the wine had spilled into me, and tucked it neatly back inside my ribs with a look that felt like a touch. Then he stepped away. The sudden absence of his warmth raised gooseflesh down my arms; he noticed and half-reached, and then his hands fisted at his sides, the choice remade.

“Walk the long way,” he said, practical again. “The corridor by the armoury is empty for another quarter hour, but the stairs near the kitchen door are a nest of gossips. If anyone stops you, ask after the sugared almonds.”

“That was my plan,” I said gravely, and he grinned, the quick, crooked one I felt like I’d stolen from him forever.

“Go,” he said, softer. “Before I forget I’m supposed to be good.”

I slid past him, fingers grazing his as I went. He caught my hand, squeezed once. The squeeze said live. It said tomorrow. It said all the things he wouldn’t risk the stones overhearing.

I moved like Briallen had told me like I belonged to every corner I passed. The corridor breathed me out into the broader halls, then into the wash of the festival again. Torches flared; the world widened; the music swept me back into itself. I found Maren near the tables, face bright with sugar, a wreath of stolen flowers tilting in her hair.

“There you are,” she crowed, looping her arm through mine. “I thought you’d run off to be a nun.”

“Hardly,” I said, and had to bite my lip to keep the laugh from giving me away. Evelyne’s gaze found me over Corwin’s shoulder, too sharp by half; her eyes flicked to my hair, to my lips, to the way my breath hadn’t yet learned to behave. Her smile went slow and secretive. I smoothed my face into the jewel.

Father lifted his cup again; flames turned the wine into rubies. Voices rose, the yard became a single creature made of joy and need and noise and under it all, I carried a quiet no one could take: the press of Reade’s mouth; the steadiness of his hands refusing to let me make a choice I would regret; the promise of an old barred gate and apple branches and a night that would ask for more than courage.

Briallen appeared at my shoulder as if conjured, relief and reprimand mixed on her face in equal measure. “Sugared almonds,” she said sternly, pressing a paper cone into my hand. “Eat two. Pretend you’ve been here the whole time. Try not to glow like a lantern.”

“I can’t help it,” I whispered, teeth sinking into the shell of sweetness that gave way to warmth inside. “He makes me light.”

She pinched my arm and then slipped away again, leaving me to the music and the heat and the watchful eyes.

Once, across the yard, I felt it. A line pulled taut between us. I didn’t even have to look to know he was there, standing where the torches turned steel to gold. I turned anyway and found him, exactly as sure as I had known I would: face schooled to duty, eyes disobeying everything else.

Tomorrow, I thought, the word going through me like a bell. Tomorrow, under the apple trees.

And for tonight sweet almonds, my sister’s grip bruising my hand as she dragged me toward the dancers, the music lifting, the moon spending itself freely over all of Lenweil as if she had decided, for once, to favor a reckless girl who had asked to be touched.

Morning crept in slow and golden, as though the sun itself had drunk too much and was nursing a tender head. The keep was unusually quiet; even the servants moved more slowly, carrying buckets with muffled clanks and speaking in soft voices. Evelyne had not left her bed, and Maren groaned every time the shutters creaked.

But I could not lie still.

My body felt light, my heart restless. The memory of Reade’s hands at my waist, his mouth on mine, had taken root beneath my skin like a secret flame. It was all I could do not to smile every time I thought of him which was every other breath.

I bathed until the water cooled, scrubbing away the smell of wine and smoke, until I felt new. When I dressed, I chose a pale gown soft as a sigh, one Evelyne always said made me look too young, too simple. I left my hair unbound, brushed until it shone, falling over my shoulders like spun sunlight.

Briallen raised her brows when she saw me. “You look like trouble,” she said flatly.

“Good,” I said, my pulse quickening with every moment that brought me closer to dusk.

The day stretched like honey, sticky and slow. I wandered the gardens, ate little, smiled when Father spoke to me at the midday meal and heard none of his words. When Evelyne finally emerged, hair disheveled, she gave me a look that said she saw through me, but for once she said nothing.

By the time the last of the tables were cleared and the torches were lit for evening, my palms were damp with nerves. Briallen walked with me as far as the orchard path, her hand brushing mine once before she let go.

“Be careful,” she whispered.

“I will.”

The air was cool and sweet beneath the apple trees, their branches dark against the silver sky. I followed the worn track until I reached the old barred gate. My heart thudded so hard I could feel it in my throat.

And there he was, Reade stood with his back to the gate, moonlight silvering his hair, his shoulders straight as if he’d been waiting all his life for me to come.