in NP. “All you have to do is take a look around you to see how weak I am.”
“You’re not weak. You’ve never been weak.” His gaze didn’t stray from mine, and he let out a huge sigh. “I’m sorry.”
I didn’t know what he was apologizing for, and I was starting to not care. “You don’t have to apologize. Let’s just forget it.” I returned to my bed. It was chilly in the room, and my bed had been so soft. Sliding beneath the blankets, I glanced back at him and tried again. “Why are you here, Ronan?”
He stared at me a moment longer before he went to a small space of wall and reclined against it. “I watched my father die. I was supposed to protect him. And he went mad.”
“Because he heard a banshee’s lament.” And they assumed it was me.
“It was more than that, Imogen.” Leaning his head against the wall, he lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “First, he wasn’t sleeping. He would fly off the handle at the smallest things. The loud, happy man who raised us disappeared. He went from a strong, healthy man to a shell.
“That night—” Ronan got a far-off look in his eyes, and while he stared at me, I got the sense he was seeing through me to the past. “It was hellish. He was pacing. He kept talking about the wailing and that it never stopped and he needed it to stop.” His blue eyes seemed to grow even bluer. Darker. “At one point, he tried to smash his head into the wall. I had to hold him. I had to restrain my own father. And the look he gave me...fuck.”
Something changed then. Whatever held him apart from me loosened, and he knelt at the bed. “It was like I’d betrayed him. It shook me. It shook me, and I let go. Before I knew what was happening, he had the dagger in his hand and had opened his veins. I tried to heal him, but because of that damn enchanted dagger, it was no use. He bled out in front of me, and he was so happy because the voice was growing fainter and fainter.”
“And then Flynn found me,” I said. “The voice. The wail. And you were certain it was me.”
“It made sense to us. It made sense to everyone. He used the dagger I’d given you, and there’s no one else in the kingdom who wails.”
“I didn’t do it. I never would have done that. Ro. How could you believe that when you knew what wailing did to me? How black it made me feel inside.” I put my hand over my heart. It had taken a long time for me not to blame myself for people’s deaths. But my lament wasn’t causal. That collar could be put on me again and I’d still wail. People would still die. And, if I was gone, someone else would just take my place. “Shutting me up doesn’t cheat death.”
“I know.” He placed his forehead on the mattress. His long hair fell over the blankets, and I found myself pushing my fingers through it. I ran them along the shape of his skull and then back. Groaning, he turned his face to the side. Eyes shut, he stayed there, content with my touch. “I’m so tired.”
A sassier girl would have said something like, “tough,” and then pushed him out the door. But I was weak where the princes were concerned. Sliding back, I lifted the blankets in silent invitation.
He lifted his head, staring at me until I shivered. “Hurry up, Grumpalump. I’m not getting any younger.”
He moved fast, toeing off his boots and unbuckling his belt. His sword and dagger clattered to the floor, and then he was under the covers, snuggled down.
Beneath the blankets, he took my hand, linking our fingers. I let him, because it felt good to be touched. I didn’t even care that we hadn’t solved anything tonight or come to any sort of understanding. All I cared about was this man who needed comfort.
But so did I. And I was just selfish enough to pretend I held his hand for him and not me.
I hummed a tune that had been going around in my head as we lay there. Beside me, Ronan’s breathing evened out and his fingers loosened. When I was certain he was asleep, I told him what I hadn’t wanted him to know.
I lied—I’m not done with you.
Maybe, somewhere in his