“I already told you,” he says, his voice low, “protecting you and William is enough to hold me together. And you didn’t answer the question.”

I sigh, shrugging. “No, I don’t want you to go.”

He hums. “Was honesty so hard?”

“You were furious with me earlier. Why?” I ask, feeling brave.

“Because, silly thing”—his finger draws along my jaw before falling away—“you truly thought I would leave you.”

My mouth falls open. “We fought…”

He smiles. “We’ll always fight, I think.”

“But… I can’t—I won’t force anyone to follow me just because I’m king. You have your own duty.”

“I see you took my speech last night to heart.”

“You said you protect me out of obligation.”

“I did say that.”

“You were willing to go to jail for nearly murdering me.”

“And still am.” He nods. “If we are being honest.”

“So, are you protecting me now because you want to make up for trying to kill me then?”

Silence between us.

Finally, his face takes on a sad, wry expression. “Trick question.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s impossible.” His mouth quirks into a self-deprecating smile. “I can seek absolution, but I will never be able to pay that penance. Not to you, not to myself, not to Nicholas.”

I frown. “Why would you have to make it up to Nick?”

He squeezes my hand. “Rain check. I just professed my dedication to you. Rather dramatically, I would say. Can we focus on that instead?”

I am distracted by the pinch between his brows, the rhythmic clenching of his jaw. Then, I realize what they are—desperation. His question is not rhetorical. If I pushed him right now, he wouldn’t evade the question with sarcasm or insult; he would explain. He wouldn’t want to, but he’d do it if I asked, because I asked. I don’t push. Instead, I say, “It was an okay speech. Did you practice that?”

He rolls his eyes, but relief ripples across his face. “I am a classics major, you know. I understand how to make a proclamation.”

I grin. “Next time do it in Latin, and maybe I’ll be impressed.”

31

“ ‘TALBOT AND LONGFELLOW’?” Alice exclaims. “That’s not an address.”

“No, it’s not,” Sel says, glaring at me in the rearview. He insisted on driving, and he and William are in the front of Jonas’s Escalade, with me and Alice in the back. “Were you going to mention that part?”

“You’re the ones who said I need to go underground.” I’m starting to feel sheepish for claiming my lead to the Rootcrafters was, well, a lead and not a scribbled clue. “Samira gave it to me and said I should use it if I needed help. She must have thought I could figure it out.”