She needed it. It was her protection. It had saved her life, more than once. Without it, what was she?
She felt heavy sleep crowding in on her.
Catherine dreamed she was in a small boat on a flooded river, bailing out water while everyone else in the boat slept on. A man with bright green hair told her it would cost a thousand kroner to fix the boat, and she bent down and tried to fill the cracks in the boards with paper bills, but it was all too much and she was sinking, sinking . . .
Catherine jerked awake. She was unsure if she’d slept a few moments or the whole afternoon. Her mouth was dry and she was desperately hungry. Tanya was no longer in her chair and Catherine got up to look for her. As she left the royal tent, a familiar figure caught her eye and stopped her in her tracks.
Standing in the flap of the marquee where the war meet-ings were held was Ambrose. Catherine was not supposed to meet him, except on official business—she’d agreed to this with Tzsayn.
He’s commanding a mission to the demon world. Which is quite official.
And she wanted to see him.
I’m queen. I should be able to do some things that I like.
Ambrose withdrew into the marquee.
He’s expecting me to follow. How long has he waited there?
She remembered the excitement, the yearning she used to have to glimpse his hair in the distance; the beauty of his hands as he held them out to lift her on to her saddle; riding along the beach at Brigane, the sun on her back, leaping into the water and swimming in the cool sea, the water pressing at her body, pulling at her clothes.
She felt none of that excitement now, and none of the intense passion they’d had in Donnafon. Instead she felt nervous. That fearful nervousness she used to have in Brig-ant. The fear of being found out.
Well, I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just going to talk to him.
She entered the tent. Ambrose stood by the maps, as if looking at them.
He’s still so handsome.
And now he came toward her. He had a slight limp.
He even makes a limp look good!
Ambrose bowed and kept a short distance between them. “Your Majesty. I was just reminding myself of some of the plans.”
But he’s a terrible liar.
“How long have you been reminding yourself of them?”
“Most of the afternoon. And I’ve been keeping watch for you, hoping to see you. In fact, I’ve been hoping to see you for weeks. Since the battle of Hawks Field.”
Catherine nodded. “I’m sorry I couldn’t visit you when you were injured. I agreed with Tzsayn that I’d only see you in formal situations. My reputation . . .” Catherine blushed, unsure what else to say, and glanced to the tent entrance.
“This is more formal than when we were in Donnafon.”
“Most things are more formal than when we were in Donnafon.” Catherine’s mind flew back to her rooms there, all the times they had contrived to be alone together, the kisses they’d exchanged and the embraces that she couldn’t get enough of. “But things have changed since then, Ambrose,” she said firmly, though she was still drawn to Ambrose—there was something about his physical presence that pulled her to him. And she stepped closer to him now.
“What’s changed? How so?”
The world had changed, but seeing him here, Catherine still felt a connection to Ambrose. He was her guard and her love. He had risked his life for her many times and would be risking it again. But she couldn’t put that into words, and in-stead she found herself saying, “Thank you for agreeing to lead the mission into the demon world.”
“It’s an honor.” He stepped closer to her. “But I asked how things have changed. Have you changed?”
Yes. No. Catherine was suddenly not so certain. “I’m older.”
“And wiser? Is that what you mean?”
“No. I’m . . . I’m not sure what I mean. I didn’t expect to see you today. I’m not sure what to say.”
“Do you have to rehearse everything? Can’t you just speak from your heart? Tell me something of what’s going on in it? I’ve been thinking of you every day but I’ve not spoken with you since before the battle.”
“That seems a long, long time ago.”
“It was a long time ago, but I always thought of you.”