Lugh flushes, but doesn’t look away. He watches when I lift the cloth and begin wiping away the places where blood seeped through the shirt’s fabric to stain his skin. He stands patiently, his breath catching if I brush over a ticklish spot, but otherwise calm. More together than he was outside this small, safe space. This surrender is all I’ve ever wanted from him, to lavish him with care, to be open about it, and to know this isn’t the only time I’m allowed such intimacies.
The water in the cup is almost gone by the time I finish dabbing at his nearly healed cheek. The bottom tie of the tent’s flap is quick to undo, and I toss the remaining liquid outside into the snow. Lugh crawls under the blankets and furs while I finish tidying. He shifts over to make enough space for me to slide in beside him, and the moment I’ve dragged the blankets up above my shoulders, Lugh tucks himself in close. He buries his face against my chest and settles a thigh between my legs.
I can’t help but laugh when I feel his cock hardening against me. He groans. “Ignore it,” he pleads. “It’ll go away. I’m too tired.”
“Okay, old man,” I tease, trailing my fingers along his jaw.
He buries his face deeper against me and I barely catch his grumbled, “You’re awful.”
“At least you’re smiling again.”
His sudden stillness worries me. Perhaps I said the wrong thing, accidentally reminded him of what he just walked away from. My doubts wind up until he sighs and lets his body go lax in my arms.
I’ve nearly dozed off before he speaks. “It hurts to imagine them facing Goodfellow without me. Is that strange?”
Ah. I wondered when the reality of his freedom—and its cost—would sink in. “It’s not strange,” I assure him, rubbing small circles over his shoulders. “They’re your family. And you’ve never been one to run from a challenge.” I hesitate, but Lugh’s breathing evens out and this might be the best opportunity to coax an honest answer from him. “Do you want to fight beside them?”
He mumbles something unintelligible.
“Lugh?”
“Dunno,” he repeats louder. “I dunno.”
He’s asleep seconds later, but I lie awake, staring up into the darkness of our tent and thinking too much about dark things I should have forgotten by now. Perhaps my sleeplessness is a blessing. It means I’m awake to hear the tentative knock on our tent’s frame, along with Cybel’s cautious, “Keiran?”
“A moment,” I call back and check on Lugh. Fast asleep.
Deeply, too, since he doesn’t stir when I disentangle myself from him and drag on clean garments I’d set aside for the morning. I stuff my feet into my boots and step outside. The Hunt guard the tent entrance, packed together closely enough I have to move them apart with my hands on their shoulders before I can see the reason for Cybel’s alert.
Prince Lyne and Prince Sláine stand feet away. Prince Lyne’s eyes flick toward the tent. It’s not a threatening movement, but I step into his line of sight anyway, bristling on Lugh’s behalf. “He’s asleep,” I tell them. “First time in a while.”
“We need to talk,” Prince Sláine says. Quietly, thank the gods.
“It’s with me alone, or not at all.”
Prince Lyne tilts his head and examines me before asking, “Is he alright?”
“Confused. Hurting. Losing your family is difficult to accept.”
Prince Sláine seems surprised by his brother’s candor. “He told you?”
Tired of talking in whispers, I jerk my head toward the fire a short distance away. They don’t argue, simply follow as I move to it, and settle on one of the log rounds used as a makeshift seat. “Lugh tells me everything.”
“Then you know about the shades,” Prince Lyne says.
“Yes. Why does it matter?”
“Because he didn’t tell us until tonight,” Prince Sláine mutters.
“I don’t know what you’re upset about,” I say. “You’ve never been close.”
The blunt, unsympathetic words earn me a poisonous look, but nothing else. It’s hard to argue the truth.
“Sláine and I have been talking since Lugh left,” Prince Lyne says. I don’t care much until he adds, pointedly, “Without Mother.”
“Oh?”
“A scout brought us word an hour ago. Goodfellow’s army has grown.”