Page 154 of Reign

But I knew now wasn’t the right time.

Silently, I vowed to share everything I knew once the war ended.

As we approached the camp, the acrid scent of burnt pottage and smoky firewood stirred a bittersweet sense of familiarity.

“It feels as though I’ve never been away,” I murmured to myself.

“You have an affinity for fleeing,” Finn remarked, disappointment tinting his tone. “At least this time I knew you’d run away with Fitzroy.”

“I didn’t run away. He asked me to go with him—I couldn’t refuse my liege,” I replied with feigned indifference.

Finn arched an eyebrow. “Don’t pretend any part of you wanted to decline. I saw the way he looks at you—everyone saw.”

“What do you mean?”

My heart fluttered as I contemplated what Fitzroy’s expression might have revealed. Definitely tenderness. Possibly devotion. Hopefully admiration.

Finn let out a dry chuckle. “You left with him hastily, gone for nearly a week. And when you returned, you were touching one another with tender regard. The soldiers on the beach had plenty to say about it.”

My stomach sank—not because I cared what those men thought of me. I didn’t give time to those anxieties anymore. But the idea of Bash overhearing their speculation knotted my insides until I felt sick.

“What were they saying?” I asked.

Finn snorted. “Their comments were pretty unsavory—but essentially, they were calling you his whore—”

“His what?” a deep voice interrupted from behind.

I turned to see Fitzroy, who was eye-catching among the ordinary soldiers. I drank in his handsomeness, savoring every last drop of his chiseled features and smoldering gaze.

Beaming in his presence, I decided there were far worse men for people to assume I was a whore for.

“My liege,” Finn said, bowing his head.

“My liege,” I echoed, dipping into a curtsy.

“May I borrow your sister for a moment?” Fitzroy asked, flashing Finn a gleaming smile—his expression as charming as ever.

Finn nodded. “Of course.”

Fitzroy extended his arm, and I took it.

We walked through the camp toward his tent, attracting lingering stares. Whether they were due to my womanhood or the fact that they’d once believed I was a man, I’d never know.

“The esquire has already fled to the Walled City,” Fitzroy remarked—so casually it alarmed me more than if he’d sounded panicked. “He promised to tell my father I’ve arranged a rebellion.”

“Will you send knights after him?” I asked, my breath hitching at the idea of betraying the King.

Fitzroy smirked. “I don’t quail before a bunch of elders. It’s essential that I reserve my manpower for the forthcoming conflict with Regina.”

A knight stationed outside the royal tent held the entrance open as we ducked inside. Though these dwellings paled in comparison to our bedchambers in Regina’s castle, the brazier—filled with steaming hot coals—provided a comforting warmth.

Fitzroy moved to his desk, piled high with scrolls and letters.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said as he sorted through the parchment. “I’ll be up all night.”

“I can help,” I offered, stepping in close. “You can give me orders—I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.”

A coy smile graced his lips as he set a letter aside, freeing his hands to slip around my waist. “If anything, I’d rather you weren’t here—I find you distracting,” he murmured, drawing me closer.