Though I shouldn’t have provoked him, I couldn’t help myself. His audacity and his contradictory actions had altered the shape of my heart until he could no longer fit inside it—and he had no one to blame but himself. “And let us not pretend that you would care if I was.”

“That you can even say that only further proves that you merely choose not to see it.”

“See what?” I took the bait.

“That I still care far too much.” He slowly righted himself, and I slid my hand from beneath his to place in my lap. He stole it before I could, and I glared at him. Ignoring me, his mouth curved as he nodded to Theenon when he requested to climb the dais to speak in his ear.

Wary, Theenon looked at me as Rorn considered what he’d informed him with flattened brows.

I smiled, harboring no ill will, even if the steward was displeased with my actions. He had to know I didn’t mean to be cruel or cause concern—and that whatever he’d heard from Rorn was merely his side of the story. I never wanted to disappoint and hurt anyone. Rather, I merely wished for a little more understanding.

I wished for everyone to realize what I’d spent many months coming to terms with.

That this life and this role I’d once adored was no longer mine. It no longer fit, and trying to make it so did not benefit anyone. Not even Rorn.

But to my relief, Theenon nodded and offered a tiny smile before retreating into the shadows behind our thrones.

Rorn looked back to the joy before us, but his gaze was empty—unseeing.

A minute later, he murmured between his lips, “Next time you’re tempted to lose yourself to thoughts of fucking a one-eyed beast, remember this. Remember them.” Leaning closer, he whispered, “Remember me.”

Disgusted and shocked, I stood and smiled at a few onlookers.

Then I made my leave.

Guards followed, but they slowed and waited in the adjoining hall containing the stairs that led to the staff chambers and kitchens. Assuming I was headed for the privy we were to use during events such as these, I was mercifully left alone.

Though the quiet I encountered made it clear that it wasn’t only disgust that had me running for the solitude I’d once lamented.

It was shame.

I didn’t regret it. Not one second spent with Scythe could ever be considered a mistake. I’d made a choice. One that I would own and be grateful for no matter what this eternally long life delivered next. My time in Vordane with my wolf had given me so much more than a much-needed escape—it had helped bring me back to life.

But that didn’t mean I was proud of what I was coming to realize.