last thing I do.
Micah opens the door to his room, revealing a large space with four narrow beds. I’m surprised to find it so neat and well-kept and wonder what it looked like before I forced the manor’s residents to adopt cleaning duties. Three of the beds are occupied with small bodies, filling the room with the sound of their soft breathing. I bend down to bring myself eye to eye with Micah and place my hands on his shoulders. “It’s going to be all right, Micah.”
His lower lip trembles and he wraps his arms around my waist. I stroke his back until he reluctantly pulls away. “Will you sit by my bed until I fall asleep?”
I know I should get back downstairs and make sure supper is going well, but…this feels more important right now. “Of course.”
He gives me a sad smile, then climbs into his bed. I tuck the blankets around him and settle onto the floor, resting my elbows on his mattress. A tender feeling wraps itself around my heart as I watch the boy fall asleep. I’ve never considered myself a maternal woman, never craved the joys of motherhood—not even before I swore off matrimony. But as I watch the rise and fall of Micah’s chest, sounds of puppy-like whimpers coming from the dreaming children in the room, I think I understand how it must feel to care for someone small and vulnerable. Though I’ve known these little creatures for less than a month, they’ve found their way into my affections.
One of the children stirs, then slowly rolls to the side, facing me. It’s the little girl. She appears to be a year or two younger than Micah. In human years, at least. She blinks at me a few times, and I give her a gentle smile, hoping my presence won’t startle her. Then she sits up and frowns at me.
With slow, cautious steps, I make my way to her side. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” I whisper. “Micah had trouble sleeping, so I kept him company so he could fall back to sleep.”
She cocks her head to the side, then gives a small nod and begins to lie back down. Like with Micah, I tuck the blankets around her. “The king already did that,” she says with words slow and sleepy.
“Oh.” My heart leaps in my chest. “Does he…do that often?”
“Every night. I guess you can do it again though. I like my blankets cozy like that.”
I finish tucking her in and am about to leave when her eyes lock on mine, a hint of panic in them. “Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?”
She nods. “The king always does. He tells us stories too. About wolves and mountains.”
“I’ll stay,” I say and sit at the edge of her bed.
She closes her eyes, pulling the blankets up to her chin. A few seconds later, they flash back open and she lifts her head. “Can I have a name?”
“A name?”
Her gaze darts to Micah. “You gave him one. I want one too. The king calls me Tiny and I think I’d like a different one better.”
I feel a pinch of regret. When I first gave Micah a name, it was to win his favor, secure him as a potential ally against my captor. But now it seems out of taste to rename the king’s household with human names. Then again, it isn’t so much renaming them, but giving them something aside from a shorthand title.
“Please,” she says. “It isn’t fair he gets one.”
“Very well,” I say with a sigh. “How about…Jenny?”
“Jenny,” she echoes, then brightens with a wide smile. “That’s pretty.”
“Just like you. Now, go to sleep before we wake the others.”
“They should get names too, you know.”
I reach out and stroke a lock of strawberry blonde hair. “They will, Jenny. Now sleep.”
“Will you tell me a story? One about wolves like the king tells us?”
I ponder for a moment. “I’m not sure I know any about wolves, but I know one about a boy and a dog.”
“That will do, I guess.”
She settles back down, and I tell her an abbreviated version of the story, keeping my voice to a soft whisper. However, in my version of the tale, the dog doesn’t die. In my story, the dog lives. They both do. And they live each day happier than the one that came before it.
33
I return to the ballroom the same way I first entered it earlier tonight—like a general at war.