He turned. His eyes met Cas’s.
Cas spun away from the warrior, before he even attempted to attack. Miguel dove for him. Cas flicked his sword up, shoving it straight into the warrior’s stomach. Miguel opened his mouth to yell, his sword spinning in his wrist haphazardly.
Em’s sword sliced across the warrior’s neck. His head toppled to the ground.
The body slumped into the dirt, and Cas noticed that Em had to look away, her face crinkling in disgust.
“Take his sword,” she said. “It’s better than the one you have.”
Cas dropped the rusty sword and grabbed the warrior’s.
“Let’s go.” She broke into a run.
When they came to a stop again, Cas pointed in the direction of the river. “A boat would be easier.”
She took a sip of her water and handed it to him, wiping a hand across her mouth. “Of course it would. But we don’t have one.”
“A lot of the people who live around here have rowboats,” he said. “I remember it from my last visit to Gallego City. We could snatch one.”
“Sure, we could try.”
“I want to be clear about something,” he said slowly. “We were sending Lera soldiers to hunt you down and bring you to Lera for execution.”
“I figured.”
“You should be brought to justice for what you did.”
“And your father should be brought to justice for what he did.” She held his gaze.
“That doesn’t excuse what you did.”
“I’m not saying that it does. I’m merely pointing out the facts.”
A hundred different emotions surged through Cas’s chest at once—anger, guilt, sadness, helplessness—and he tried to find one to cling to. Anger was easiest. Anger could cover up all the other emotions, swallow them whole, and leave him with nothing but a burning fire in his stomach.
But a king had to be calm. Rational. He needed to act the way a king would.
“We’re going to the same place,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “It would be easiest for us to stick together. But as soon as we get there, I will have no problem ordering the Lera guard to arrest you.”
“So I should abandon you as soon as we get close, is what you’re saying.”
“I’m saying I’m not your friend. But I need your help, and you need mine, and I can put my anger aside for a few days if you can.”
She pressed her lips together, sadness stamped across her features so suddenly that Cas wanted to take his last words and stuff them back in his mouth. “Agreed.” She cleared her throat. “But can I explain something?”
He sort of shrugged, unwilling to give her permission but too curious to stop her.
“None of this was ever about you,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry I used you. You—”
“You had to marry me, but it wasn’t about me?” he interrupted.
“You know what I mean. I’m sorry I had to hurt you to—”
“You didn’t hurt me,” he snapped. “You hurt my kingdom.”
She rubbed a finger across her necklace, her eyes on the ground.
He wanted to ask her why she hadn’t warned him about the attack. He wanted to ask if he was a complete idiot to think she’d developed feelings for him, despite everything. He wanted to know how she could leave him to die if she actually cared for him.
He couldn’t find the words to ask. Maybe he didn’t want to know the answer.
“I was trying to leave as soon as possible,” she said, her voice wavering the smallest bit. “I would have been gone in a matter of days if it weren’t for that painting.”
He shot her a furious look. “Is it supposed to make me feel better that you were miserable and trying to escape?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant.”
“No, you don’t!” Her voice rose. “I thought you’d be the same as your father. I didn’t expect you to be . . . to be . . .”
She twisted her hands together, her brow furrowing. His breath hitched in his chest. Every part of him was waiting, hoping, praying she was about to say she’d fallen in love with him. To confess that her feelings had been real and she wasn’t just pretending in order to get information out of him.
He almost laughed out loud at his pathetic state. Was he really hoping that a girl who had conspired to ruin his kingdom was actually in love with him?
“Well?” he asked, as the silence continued. “You didn’t expect me to be what? Gullible? Stupid?”
“Kind!” she practically yelled. “Reasonable! Thoughtful!” She hurled the words at him like they were insults, and he wasn’t sure how to react.
She whirled around and resumed walking without waiting for a response. He hesitated for a moment, letting the words sink in.
Kind, reasonable, thoughtful. It wasn’t love or an admission of wild, passionate feelings, but he realized he liked her three words more. Love would have been easy, another easy lie in a long line of lies. Love would be easy to dismiss.
But kind, reasonable, thoughtful couldn’t be brushed off. They wriggled in and made themselves at home and breathed air in between the ache in his chest.