A Place Beside Him

Owen arrived at breakfast with a split lip, his training bag, and the nineteen crowns he had tried to give me.

I ran to him so fast my slippers skidded on the marble.

He wrapped both arms around my waist. For a long time, neither of us said anything.

Rusk waited until I looked up.

"His father attempted to prevent our departure. The boy objected."

I touched Owen's swollen lip.

"I told him you would have come home if you could," Owen said. "He said I should learn when to hold my tongue."

Something hard settled inside me.

I had spent years hoping my father might be kinder to the child who remained after I left.

"You are staying with me," I said.

Owen looked toward Mrs. Holt.

She held a room key and a folded set of clothes.

"His Highness has already given instructions," she said. "Your brother's room adjoins the captain's quarters."

Owen's eyes widened. "The captain with the scar?"

"I possess several," Rusk said.

For the first time since I had seen him on the steps, Owen smiled.

Lucien woke that afternoon while I was trying to mend the broken clasp on my locket.

"That needle is too small," he said.

I nearly dropped it.

"You could warn me before doing that."

"I will ask my curse to arrange appointments."

The words were dry. His eyes were not.

I went to the bed and helped him drink. His hand trembled around the glass, so I kept mine beneath it without remarking on the weakness.

He noticed anyway.

"How is your brother?"

"Eating enough for four people. Rusk says he can observe morning training if he finishes his lessons."

"Rusk has adopted worse strays."

"Is that what we are?"

His gaze lifted to mine.

"You are not a stray, Nora. You were driven out. There is a difference."

I had no defense against the precision of that kindness.

I set the glass down carefully.

For the next several days, his waking periods lengthened. Ten minutes became half an hour. He learned the new schedule of the guards, argued with Ives, and refused broth with the determined dislike of a man who had endured it in some form for months.

I discovered that he preferred his tea plain, hated being called brave for swallowing medicine, and became quieter when pain grew worse.

He discovered that I saved the best piece of bread for someone else even when there was plenty.

On the fourth morning, he broke a warm roll in half and put the larger piece on my plate.

"Owen has his own breakfast."

"I know."

"Then eat yours while it is hot."

I did. He pretended not to watch.

That afternoon, a parcel appeared on my chair: a small silver sewing kit, a repaired clasp, and a note in an uneven hand.

The jeweler was forbidden to open the locket.

I ran my thumb over the sentence until I had blurred one corner of the ink.

The king and queen came that evening without advisers. Rusk remained inside while Lucien explained as much of his condition as he could.

His mother's composure broke when he said her name.

She sat on the edge of the mattress and held his face between her hands. He endured it in embarrassed silence, and I looked away to give them what privacy the room allowed.

The king kept one hand on the bedpost.

When the first shock passed, the queen turned toward me.

"We owe you a great deal."

I thought of the blonde candidate clutching Dr. Ives's sleeve.

"You owe the women who were hurt as well."

The king's expression hardened.

My courage deserted me halfway through the silence, but I did not take the words back.

Lucien reached for my hand above the blanket.

"Nora did not injure them, Father. You have no cause to look at her as if she did."

The king's gaze dropped to our joined hands.

"I was trying to preserve this family."

"Then preserve it without sacrificing people to my bedside."

The queen closed her eyes. When she opened them, she looked older.

"We will arrange care and compensation," she said. "And the other preparations can wait until you recover."

"They are ended," Lucien said.

"The council will ask about the succession."

"Then they may ask me."

He was pale with the effort of sitting up. I moved a cushion behind his back, and his fingers brushed my wrist in thanks.

"Nora remains under my protection," he continued. "Her household, correspondence, and medical care answer to her wishes. Mrs. Holt will ensure that is understood."

I looked at him.

He did not turn his declaration into a performance. He simply waited until his parents acknowledged it.

After they left, I stood at the window with my hands tucked beneath my elbows.

"You should have told me you were upset about the documents," he said.

"You were unconscious when I read them."

"Since then."

I watched the gardeners cover a rose bed against frost.

"I did not want to seem ungrateful."

His exhalation was quiet.

"Come here, please."

I sat beside him.

"I cannot promise that everyone here will be kind," he said. "I cannot even promise that I will always know the right thing to say. But you do not owe me pleasantness in exchange for shelter."

I studied the little scar beside his mouth.

"You are quite difficult when you are being decent."

"I have cultivated the talent."

I laughed, unexpectedly, and his expression changed.

It was hardly a smile. More the beginning of one, caught before it could fully form.

I wanted to see it again.

The wanting startled me.

That night, he had a seizure of pain. Ives reached him first, but the dark marks had spread toward his elbow. The wolf paced beside the bed, its edges breaking apart like torn silk.

I took Lucien's hand.

My wolf surged forward.

For an instant, a second shape appeared in the mirror behind him: pale fur, silver eyes, ears laid back in alarm.

Lucien's grip tightened.

The pain eased from his face as a cold current passed through my arm.

"Nora," he said softly. "Look at me."

His eyes reflected silver.

"Your mother did not give you those drops because your wolf was weak."