“He’s not my Locke.”
She didn’t know what he was. How could she possibly decide what she wanted from him when she did not even know what she wanted from herself? With him, there was no crown making her appear more than she was. There were no rumors of her magical skill to make her seem more desirable. He had seen her covered in blood, dissolved into tears, taken over by rage, and frozen by fear. He had seen each and every weakness she had, and somehow, he managed to make her feel … strong. If the skies made her feel small, then Locke made her feel big enough to face whatever waited for her up there.
But she was still Aurora, no matter how much she was Roar.
If she accomplished her goals, if she returned home with Stormhearts that answered to her touch, would her mother allow her to choose her own future? Could a princess choose a hunter as her prince?
*
As soon as Locke had checked on each of his teammates, he was running back for the inn. He knew the town had sustained significant damages, and there had been significant loss of life, though it was difficult to feel any sense of loss for the soldiers after what he had walked in on with Roar.
He was panting by the time he fell through the broken doorway to Roar’s room. The furniture had been righted, and her belongings put away, but pools of blood still stained the floor. The water basin in the corner was a vivid red, and Roar sat silently on her bed, her hand now properly bandaged.
Her whole body was tense, and he wanted to scoop her up into his arms and hide her away from the world. Instead he grabbed a towel and began mopping up the blood. Duke got up to help, and he quietly filled Locke in on her condition. She had several cuts—one across the fatty part of her palm and the others around the first joint in her fingers.
When the room was as clean as it was going to get without scrubbing the floors, Duke left to assess the damage from the storm, and Roar finally looked at Locke. Her jaw was tight, and her nostrils flared with strong, slow breaths. He focused on keeping his expression blank. She said, “Is everyone okay?”
“Yes.”
“Shouldn’t you be with the other hunters? Or talking to the minister or—”
He shook his head and said, “I’m not leaving you.”
“I want to be alone. Please.”
“Then I’ll sit outside your door.”
“My door that’s broken and hanging off its hinges? Yes, that will really give the illusion of solitude.”
She was angry, and he didn’t blame her. He still wasn’t sure how he’d let those men leave the room without sinking his blade into each and every one of them. It had taken a monumental amount of control, and in the end it was only the thought that he did not want to put her in more danger that held him back.
When he did not budge, she insisted, “I’m fine.” He had lost count of the number of times he had heard her utter those words. And he had never believed them less than he did now. Her fists were clenched at her sides, and her voice grated as if her throat had been stripped raw.
“Roar—”
“I mean it,” she snapped. “Please just leave.”
So quickly that he might have imagined it, her eyes dropped to his mouth and then she whirled away, sitting on the bed facing away from him. Even though it went against everything his instincts told him, he left the room and even took a few steps down the hall out of sight before he sank down against the wall. He propped his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands. He tried to still his thoughts and drain his anger.
Listen.
That was all he needed to do. Just exist and listen in case she needed him. He was not sure how long passed, but it felt far too long. Finally he heard her call, “Locke?”
He called back, “I’m here.”
She was silent for a long time, then said, “I’m sorry about your sister.”
A breath rattled in his chest and his head thudded back against the wall behind him. “Thanks, princess.”
She made a noise that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Far too close to the latter for his comfort.
“Sorry. Roar.”
“It’s fine. I don’t think I care anymore.”
He hated not being able to see her face. Especially when her voice sounded so hollow. He heard shuffling in her room, and she sounded closer when she spoke.
“Soldiers did that to her?”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth. He did not talk about this ever. But he’d rather split open his chest than suffer through her silence, so he answered, “On orders. But yes.”
“On orders from whom?”
“The king, I suppose. She was just one of thirty that day.”
He heard her gasp. “Thirty? Was that … common?”
“Common enough. Locke isn’t like Pavan. The weather there is even more brutal because of the sea. And the jungles surrounding the city make it a hard place to leave. The people who live there are desperate, and desperate people don’t always think about consequences. And there were consequences for almost everything in Locke.”
“Your sister … was that a consequence?”
He scrubbed his fingers through his hair and tried to deaden his heart for the rest of the tale. “I told you I was young when my parents died. They died during a hurricane. It was just my sister and me left, and she was five years older than me. We weren’t prepared to fend for ourselves. Begging and the few belongings we had left from our parents kept us alive for a couple of months, but that ran out fast, especially after the crown seized the house and all our belongings. I met a man who gave me a gold coin to be his lookout and alert him if I saw any guards. I don’t know what he did while I kept watch. I did not ask. I wanted the coin too badly. He said I did good and if I wanted to make more I could find him at a tavern not too far from the abandoned building where my sister and I slept. That man was the first person to introduce me to the black market.