Bianca searched Peregrine’s face. He sounded angry, but his eyes were still soft when they rested on her. Gentle, even.
At least, that was what she wanted to believe. But what if his anger flared in front of everyone?
Bianca clutched her skirts.
Please, Peregrine... not in front of everyone.
"Bianca!"
Her mother’s voice broke through the moment.
Magdalene was trying to climb over the mound of earth left behind by the battle, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stared at Bianca.
"My poor child. How pitiful that you couldn’t even defend yourself." Her voice broke. "I might have lost you."
Bianca’s chest tightened.
She tried to climb down to her mother.
She was still trembling herself. The Rogue had been right above her, its mandibles mere feet from her body while she lay trapped. Her mother was right.
She could have died.
But before Bianca could take another step, a sharp pain shot through her ankle. She gasped and stopped.
Then she saw her father reach for Magdalene and pull her back. "Let’s not act too emotional, dear," Richard said calmly. "Of course, she’s unhurt."
Bianca’s heart nearly stopped.
Unhurt.
She looked at her father. There wasn’t even a trace of concern in his eyes. If anything, he looked almost apologetic.
Is he disappointed that I didn’t die?
"Father is right. I am unhurt, Mother," Bianca said with a smile. "Don’t worry now..."
She forced the words out lightly, even though her ankle throbbed beneath her.
Then she saw Genevieve move toward Richard and whispered something into his ear. The change in her father’s expression was immediate. Rage flashed across his eyes.
Bianca’s stomach dropped. She knew what came next.
Without thinking, she turned toward Peregrine and caught his sleeve. Her fingers tightened around the fabric of his coat as she pulled it closer around her shoulders.
"Carry me home, please."
The words came out small. Almost pleading.
It had been a long time since she had asked him that.
When they were younger, she had asked all the time. She hated letting the hem of her skirts drag through mud, and Peregrine would grumble and call her troublesome. Then she would pout, argue with him, and somehow, every time, he would eventually kneel with his back toward her.
She would climb onto him, and he would carry her home.
It was one of her earliest memories. She had known him since she was three, after all. All her childhood memories were with him. Until she was eight.
For a moment, Bianca almost believed she could return to that time.
Peregrine’s back was already toward her. He turned his head. His gaze dropped to her hand clutching his sleeve.
Bianca waited.
He said nothing.
Then he stepped down from the rubble. Her fingers slid uselessly against the expensive fabric, clutching nothing but empty air as his coat slipped from her grasp. Bianca’s hand slowly fell away.
Of course.
He wasn’t that boy anymore.
She swallowed hard and blinked against the sudden sting in her eyes. She had asked him to carry her home as though they were children again, as though nothing between them had changed.
But everything had changed.
"How fortunate that Julian Pembroke happened to arrive at just the right moment to save you, dear Sister," Genevieve remarked.
Isolde pressed her lips together as whispers rippled through the gathering.
Richard’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white. Beside him, Magdalene glared at her eldest daughter, silently urging her to stop.
"Were you aware of his return?" Genevieve continued. "What a pity your reunion was interrupted by those pesky Rogues."
Bianca smiled faintly.
"If Julian Pembroke’s arrival has troubled you so deeply, Genevieve, you should have said so. I had no idea you were waiting for his attention."
The murmurs continued.
Richard’s face reddened with anger as Genevieve stomped her feet and complained to him, while somewhere in the distance, a burst of laughter rang out.
The King’s.
Bianca didn’t care.
She wiped her eyes and forced herself upright, ignoring the sharp pain in her ankle. She could bear it. She was used to pain.
This was nothing.
Clenching her jaw, she held tightly to Peregrine’s coat and took one careful step down the rubble. If Peregrine wasn’t going to carry her, she would leave herself.
Her ankle gave way. Bianca slipped.
Peregrine’s attention was drawn to something half-buried in the rubble. A faint glint had caught his eye. Peregrine crouched and reached down, retrieving a small, coin-shaped sigil from the broken earth.
His expression changed.
The magic on it...
He looked around. So this was what he had been sensing. But even as he examined the sigil, his thoughts kept circling back to Bianca.
So... she met Julian. But...
By now, she should have plopped herself onto the rubble, thrown a few rocks at his head for ignoring her when she was in pain, or called him some ridiculous name with that sharp little tongue of hers.
He had taught her how to silence people. Somehow, she had become far better at it than he was. It used to annoy him back then.
But now... he missed it.
She had used that same sharp wit on Genevieve. So why not him? Why was she so quiet whenever he was near? Why was there suddenly so much distance between them?
Has she still not forgiven me?
He turned just in time to see her fall.
He caught her.
Bianca braced herself for the impact, but it never came. She gasped as his arm caught her beneath the knees, and instinctively, she wrapped both arms around his neck.
He barely seemed to notice the weight in his arms. Instead, his gaze dropped to her face.
She looked exhausted. Too pale. Too quiet.
Before he realized what he was doing, his hold around her tightened. Something cold settled in his chest.
He had the strange, unsettling feeling that Bianca was slipping away from him, and for once, Peregrine had no idea how to stop it. Behind him came another whisper. Then another.
The people gathered around them were still talking about Bianca.
Peregrine slowly turned his head. His amber eyes swept across the crowd. The whispers died almost immediately. He glared at them until they looked away.
Then something caught his attention beyond the trees.
A figure. Someone was hiding in the distance.
Peregrine’s expression hardened. His hand went to his sword. In one smooth movement, he drew it.
Bianca’s heart dropped. She tightened her arms around his neck.
"Don’t drop me!"
This man is holding me with one hand while casually drawing a sword with the other. What is he thinking?
Bianca squeezed her eyes shut.
She definitely should have asked for his back instead.
Peregrine stiffened.
Bianca’s warm breath brushed his neck. Her arms tightened around him, and he could feel her frantic heartbeat against his chest.
Peregrine went still.
He had held Bianca countless times when they were children. He had carried her home, pulled her out of trouble, lifted her when she was hurt.
So why did holding her now feel so different?