She punched his arm. He flinched, and she covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think.”

“S’okay.” He wheezed, his eyes scanning her until he caught a flash of metal in her hand. His brows rose. “Planning to kill me now, are you? And with my own whittling knife? That’s harsh.”

“Whittling… what?” Her eyes flicked to the knife in her hand.

“Whittling knife.” She must have taken it from one of the pockets hidden in his pants. He never went anywhere without it. If the referees had known he had a knife during the fight this morning, he’d have been disqualified. He reached into the other pocket where he always kept his current project. Carving calmed him, but he’d never wanted to share it with anyone before. Len sort of forced it upon him, but he found he didn’t mind.

Her eyes widened when she took in the small wooden angel in his palm. She touched it gently.

“It’s beautiful.”

Pride bloomed in his chest. “My mother taught me.”

“Lady Tenyson can do this?” She picked up the angel, examining every curve.

A harsh laugh vibrated in the air as Dell thought of his overbearing stepmother doing something so delicate. “No. My mother. We lived in a mountain village when I was younger. I didn’t come to the city until she…”

Len set the angel back in his palm and folded his fingers over it. Her eyes met his gaze as his heart thundered against his ribs. Her brow furrowed as if she was trying to figure him out.

“Dell,” she whispered his name as a prayer. “I’m trying to figure out how the mottled and bruised fighter I first saw in the streets of Madra can make something so… beautiful.”

The edges of his mouth tipped up. “You thought I was a wooden-headed boxer like so many of the highborn lads in this town.”

“I don’t really know what I thought.”

“You know what I think?” The distance between them had somehow vanished.

Her breathy “no” warmed his face.

“We should probably get back to the city before dark.”

“Please.” Desperation tinged her voice as she pulled away, snapping back to reality at his words. “Just a bit longer.”

It struck him then. She didn’t want to go back. This wasn’t only about what happened at the games. Something in the palace stole the joy from her eyes.

Their moment was forgotten as his jaw tightened. “Are they forcing you to be there? To—”

“No.” She touched his hand. “No. Nothing like that. I just… I can’t explain it. I want to stay here with you.”

He didn’t believe her, but what could he do? Storm the palace and demand the prince fight him? He’d lose, of course. And then where would Len be?

“What did you mean you destroyed everything for me today?” he asked.