Page 103 of Reign

Finn stepped to the side as I charged out of the tent. My fists clenched around the gift, the edge of the blade biting into my glove. I refused to let Finn dampen my excitement—after all, I’d labored too hard on Bash’s present to let my brother ruin this moment.

Though it was early afternoon, the sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows across the encampment. I scanned the faces around the bonfire, but Bash was nowhere to be found. I even peeked inside the tent, thinking he might be napping during his day off, but his straw sack was unoccupied. There was a chance he’d gone to the Anchor for ale or a chat with the witches, but I decided to check the sands first, knowing how the sea reminded him of home.

The shore was lacquered in a purple glaze as light drained quickly from the sky. I spotted two familiar figures watching sundown on the horizon, beyond the shimmering sea. One man’s hair was whiter than the petals of sneezewort, while the other wore a dark felt cap.

Bash and Fletcher sat just beyond the tide line, where the black sands still sparkled with flecks of gold.

My boots squeaked against the crumbling sand, alerting them to my approach. Both glanced over their shoulders—Bash greeted me with a warm smile, while Fletcher tipped the brim of his cap.

“Happy Yuletide,” I said, taking a seat beside Bash.

“What happened to your face?” Fletcher asked.

Bash looked horrified. “Did Finn do that to you?”

“Indirectly. We had an argument. I threw a blade, and when I went to retrieve it, I hit my face on the anvil,” I admitted, ashamed of how pathetic it sounded.

“You threw a blade at your brother?” Fletcher cackled.

I shook my head. “Only to frighten him.”

“You should try to reconcile,” Bash said. “You’ve both suffered so much with your missing sister. When my father disappeared, me and my siblings relied on one another. Talking to people who understand can help.”

Bash rested a comforting hand on my thigh, and I swallowed down the sting of guilt. I wasn’t sure what would betray him more—the lie that I was a man or the false claim that I understood the pain of a missing relative. Both were unforgivable, yet I was in too deep to swim back to shore.

From beneath the brim of his cap, Fletcher glanced at Bash’s hand resting on my leg, then met my gaze. “I’m going for a piss,” he said and promptly strode toward the woodland, leaving us alone.

Once Fletcher was out of earshot, I presented my gift. “Happy Yuletide,” I murmured, offering the parcel.

“For me?” Bash asked, his smile warm.

I nodded eagerly.

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the gift.

“Open it,” I urged impatiently.

Bash tore through the parchment and gasped at the sight of the silver blade. As he twirled it in the twilight, the metal gleamed as though dipped in stardust.

“Smith, your talent is unmatched,” Bash said, grinning from ear to ear.

I blushed from his praise as he traced his thumb over the engraving I’d carefully etched into the handle—a floral design encircling the letter S.

“Is the S for Smith?” he asked.

I shook my head quickly. “Sebastian—it’s for Sebastian.”

My cheeks burned at his assumption that I’d carve my own initial into a keepsake for him, as though I thought I was his.

“Thank you,” Bash murmured, the affection in his voice sending a tingle through me. “I’ll cherish it for a lifetime.”

He gently squeezed my thigh before reaching into his pocket. “I’ve brought you a gift—though not nearly as impressive.”

I was pleasantly surprised.

Bash held out a closed fist and placed something golden into my cupped hands. I glanced down to see the locket Fletcher had stolen from Jane.

“Thank you.” My overly grateful tone teetered on sarcasm—why had he given me this?