Page 52 of Renegade Kingdom
“You told me once that you’d rather die on a battlefield than become one of the Endless again,” I said. “That conviction? That refusal to be controlled? That’s exactly what I need at that table. Don’t you dare apologise for it.”
He was quiet for a long time. Then he uncrossed his arms, and the movement looked like it cost him something. Like letting go of the armour, even briefly, required an act of conscious will.
“The people I’ve trained,” he said. “They’re ready. Not for the forest, I understand that. But for whatever comes after. When Arik responds to what you’re doing, and he will respond, they’ll hold the line.”
“I know they will.”
The ghost of something that might have been a smile crossed his face. It was gone before it had a chance to settle, replaced by the familiar scowl, but I’d seen it. That was enough.
“I’ll have the perimeter reinforced by morning,” he said. “And supply lines to the forest edge in case you need to fall back.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded once, sharp and decisive, and turned to leave. Then stopped. Looked back over his shoulder.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “you made the right call. About the forest. I can see that now. Sending two hundred people into something like that would have been a massacre.”
“I know.”
“Just wanted you to hear it from someone who wasn’t afraid to tell you if you’d been wrong.”
He left before I could respond, his footsteps fading down the corridor with the same deliberate weight they’d carried on the way in. I watched the empty doorway for a moment, then let out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding.
The guilt was still there. It would probably always be there, that quiet companion that whispered you’re not doing enough every time I made a decision that prioritised caution over action. But it was quieter now. Smaller. Filed down by the reminder that the people around me were not followers waiting for orders. They were fighters waiting for a chance.
I sighed softly and pushed away from the table, needing a change of scenery. Some days it felt like this chaos would never be over. That life was turning into one long battle and I didn’t know if I had in me to keep up this fight if there would never be an end in sight.
Tank was in our room when I found him.
Not doing anything in particular. Just sitting on the edge of the bed, forearms braced on his knees, looking at the window with the expression he wore when the bear was talking and he was listening. The late afternoon light caught the planes of his face and turned them golden, highlighting the strong jaw, the broad shoulders, the hands that could crush stone and also, I happened to know, trace the curve of a hip with a gentleness that made my breath catch.
He looked up when I entered. The bear’s thoughtful expression melted into something warmer. “How did it go with Ezra?”
“How did you know I was with Ezra?”
“I know the face of a man who needs reassurance but would rather chew his own arm off than ask for it. He was hovering outside the meeting room when I left.”
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it. These rooms was simple, and I’d always loved them because of that. Spring Court architecture leaned toward organic shapes, walls that curved instead of cornered, windows that let in more light than any practical design should allow. The bed was massive, built for royalty even though I’d never realised that before, and it dominated the space in a way that made my thoughts drift in directions that had nothing to do with military strategy.
“He thought he’d overstepped,” I said. “Pushing back in the meeting.”
“Had he?”
“No. He was right. And I told him so.”
Tank nodded. The approval in his expression was quiet, the way all of Tank’s emotions were quiet. Not absent. Not suppressed. Just calibrated. Measured out in careful doses, as if he’d learned long ago that the world responded better to restraint than to excess. I couldn’t believe that it had taken me so long to see him as more than just the friend I’d always assumed he wanted to be. We’d lost far too much time together from uncertainty and complacency, and now we didn’t know how much longer we had left.
“You’re good with people,” he said, pulling me out of the dark thoughts. “Better than you think.”
“I’m good at making it up as I go along and hoping nobody notices.”
“Same thing.”
I laughed. It came out tired, frayed at the edges, and Tank heard it. I watched his expression shift, the observation sharpening into concern, and I held up a hand before he could ask.
“I’m fine. I’m just...” I searched for the word. “Full. Of decisions and responsibilities and the constant, low-level terror that I’m going to get everyone killed.”
“You’re not going to get everyone killed.”
