Page 74 of A Thousand Burning Ravens

“Good,” Myla praises. “He will get answers, without starting another war.” Her eyes sparkle slightly as she glances at the younger man, hinting at his impulsive disposition. “You have done well. Thank you.”

Rhyland shrugs, his face flushed with exhaustion and the red beneath his eyes a combination of sleeplessness and dirt buildup. “It is what friends do, Myla.” He stands to leave, patting Bryar on the shoulder in a silent goodnight.

Alone, the space between she and Bryar seems smaller now. What was two feet of distance before, feels like maybe two inches now. His proximity to her is a stark reminder that, unless something changes, there will be a great distance between them soon. Two to three weeks of travel, to be exact.

The notion sinks into the depressions of her stomach, bringing a different sort of urgency to her attention. The kind that Lenore might call a sign from the Gods. A call for her to make a decision.

In her peripheral, Bryar sits, forearms perched on his knees, supporting his arched frame as he watches the lantern light flicker across the trees before them. His jaw moves forward and backwards as though he is chewing his thoughts to a pulp. Myla waits, watching, studying the shadows cast across his features and where his toned body ebbs and flows. Things she should not be looking at, yet she does. She wonders what goes through his mind—is it thoughts of his future? His place here in Valyndor? Not daring to disrupt the contented still between them, she merely sits, waiting for him to speak.

It is a long while before he does.

“You were a queen tonight,” he says finally. “You were not Caius’s widow. You were not your father’s daughter. You were just you. A queen who cares.”

Myla reaches above her head, pulling her crown off and twirling it between her palms. “I could not face them as anything less.”

“But you could have,” he disagrees, “and you did not. For that, I am proud of you.”

She allows herself to look his way, swearing not to slip into the abyss of his endlessly searching eyes. Soft green eyes, like the wildest parts of the forest. Eyes that invite her to melt into the softness and discover the version of herself he so fondly sees.

The version of herself that must be true, for he does not lie.

“I have not felt like a queen in a long time. I confess, I do not exactly know what it is to be a queen without Caius or my father. I was not prepared for how naked I would feel, wearing a crown alone.”

Bryar kicks a small pebble with the toe of his black boot, the grinding of rock on rock a disruption to the peace of the crickets and wind. “When I told my father I planned to join the King’s Guard, he said, ‘Son, nothing will scare you more than what you do not know. So, pretend you know it until you are not scared anymore,’ and I have lived by those words. I believe joining the King’s Guard has been far less terrifying than being the queen.” He smiles at her. “I think you have done well, with what you have been given.”

“It is time to do more, though,” Myla adds, daring to inch her fingers near where his rest on his thigh. Though not a surprise, Myla is relieved when his hand closes around hers instinctually. “I am going to ask something I know I do not have a right to.”

He turns his attention completely to her, nodding in ready. “You can ask me anything.”

Myla takes a deep breath, ready for the pain that might come from the answer. “At breakfast, Phaenna insinuated that something had occurred between you two.”

Eyes squinting in confusion, he tilts his head. “Phaenna?”

“Yes,” Myla elaborates. “She made it seem as though you shared a moment . . . perhaps an intimate one. I know I have no business asking about your private life anymore, but I feel as though I need to be prepared if you are moving on.”

Bryar’s eyebrows press together in disgust. “If by shared moment, you mean she was disappointed when I rejected her, and so she threw herself on one of the soldiers instead, then yes. A moment occurred. But that would be the extent of it.”

Myla releases a sigh of relief she had not realized she was holding on to, her head lowering slightly, hiding the faint smile stealing across her face. Thank the Gods.

“For the record,” Bryar adds, his hand still tightly around hers, “I did not remain alone and celibate for five years just to trip over the first woman a king sends my way. I have eyes only for you, Myla Alerys, and I always will.”

Hesitant, slow at first, Myla leans close, testing the breath between them, longing to remove all restraints and kiss him. He does not move, his eyes fixed on the fullness of her lips as they loiter mere inches from his.

“I do not know how this works,” she whispers, “but I know I once told you I would give everything up for a life with you. I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

His voice aches as he leans closer, “I will tell you how this works. You may be queen, but you are still mine.” Bryar closes the gap, his lips warm against hers. His hand finds the back of her neck, drawing her in for a long-awaited kiss, slow and savoring, the kind that apologizes and makes up in one breath.

If kisses could heal wounds, every single one of hers, past and present, would vanish.

“Yes,” she agrees breathlessly. “I am yours.”

Felicity has just left. The moon casts brilliant rays of light across Myla’s bed as she lies, hands on her stomach, watching the shadow of the curtains dancing across the ceiling, warmed by the glow of the fire. Her mind races with thoughts of all the evening has held. From her army, a mere stone’s throw away, to the kiss she and Bryar shared. Here she lies, a woman, well advanced in pregnancy, certain she has never been more aroused by anything than that kiss. Myla smiles at the notion, allowing her eyes to fall closed, heavy with a need for peaceful sleep, when a knock sounds at her door.

Sitting upright, she is lured from her bed by the disturbance of a second knock. On the other side of the door, Bryar’s muffled voice whispers, asking for admittance. She moves across the room, and swings the door bar over to allow him in.

“Is everything alright?” she asks, surprised to see him in her room for the first time in months.

“Yes,” he nods earnestly. “If now is not a good time, I will come back in the morning?” He takes note of her hair in a loose braid over her shoulder and her eyes heavy.