She looked at him, realizing how close his face was to hers, his blue-gold eyes right there, and firmly told herself that she’d never live it down if she blushed while in his arms. “I already told you, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he argued, his forehead creasing. “I don’t need to be a healer to know that much.”

“Then why ask if I’m all right?” Kiva shot back, trying—and failing—to keep her temper in check. When she saw a muscle tick in his cheek, she blew out a breath and said, more patiently, “I fell fifty feet, Jaren, and I’m alive—so I am fine, considering the alternative.” She paused, then grudgingly admitted, “But I still feel like I fell fifty feet, so fine is relative.”

Jaren wrapped his arm more securely around her, pulling her deeper into his body as if to make absolutely sure she wouldn’t hurt herself further. “The prince should have caught you sooner,” he said tightly.

Kiva didn’t ask how he knew, guessing word had spread like wildfire around the prison. She only hoped he didn’t know why the prince had saved her. She didn’t need any more humiliation tonight. “He didn’t have to catch me at all.”

Jaren’s eyebrows rose. “You’re defending—”

“He’s the reason I’m still here,” Kiva cut in, though she was more surprised than anyone to hear the words come from her lips. Never did she imagine that she would be defending a Vallentis.

“But—”

“What do you want t-to show us, Kiva?” Tipp interrupted Jaren. “You shouldn’t be out of b-bed for long.”

Kiva’s heart warmed toward the boy, and she sent him a small smile. He didn’t return it, still barely meeting her eyes.

Sighing inwardly, Kiva said to Jaren, “Can you help me over to Tilda?”

Jaren’s lips pressed together, a clear sign of how he felt toward the other woman. But he did as Kiva requested and helped her shuffle painfully across the room, where he drew back the curtain to reveal the sleeping Rebel Queen.

Throughout all this, Kiva tried to ignore the firmness of his body, the reassurance of his strength supporting her. She wouldn’t let herself be comforted by his touch, no matter how safe, how protected, she felt in his arms.

Pushing away from him to take a seat on the stool beside Tilda’s bed—and breathing easier now that there was more space between them—Kiva waited until Tipp approached before she pointed at the woman and said, “When you look at her, what do you see? What does she represent?”