Page 97 of Reign

After a moment of silent contemplation, I blurted out, “How did she die?”

“In childbirth—a daughter,” he stated, finishing off the rest of his ale.

Though I knew nothing could ease his grief, I still wished to comfort him—to take his hand or hold him in an embrace. But the foundations of our relationship weren’t laid on compassion—they were built from friction.

“She always wanted a girl,” he said, leaning toward me.

Without hesitation, I mirrored Fitzroy, shifting in the armchair so I could be as near to him as the seat would allow me. Our conversation had been private, but now that we were close enough to feel each other’s breaths on our faces, it felt more intimate.

The only time that we’d been this close before was in the midst of a heated argument.

“My mother would say that daughters cause less trouble than sons. If she had met you, though, I think she might have changed her mind,” he said with a smirk.

I gently thumped his chest with my fist, while he chuckled at his remark.

“Could you do your liege a favor?” he asked, a cheeky smile softening his face in a way I’d never seen before.

“Of course,” I replied, smiling back as if his grin were contagious.

“Fetch me an ale?”

I nodded before heading to the bar to fulfill his request.

As I waited for one of the witches to pour my order, Bash appeared beside me.

“Enjoying your night with Fitzroy?” he asked. “You’ve clung to him like a leech.”

I wanted to ask him why he suddenly had such an interest in Jane—if he was replaying her moans in his mind just to make her mediocre conversation bearable. Instead, I pretended that I didn’t care—that the mere thought of him finding her attractive in any capacity didn’t drive me utterly insane.

“To my surprise, I find him interesting,” I replied, keeping my composure. “Though I’ll never make him privy to that notion.”

Margaret appeared on the other side of the bar. “What can I get for you, love?” she asked.

“Two pints, please,” I said.

As Margaret poured my drinks, I cast a glance back at Fitzroy. I couldn’t quite put words to how he made me feel. The image of the arrogant son of a king faded, replaced by something more fragile—a boy mourning his mother, sent across the sea to appease his father’s wife.

Bash let out a disappointed sigh. “I thought his charm didn’t work on you?”

Fitzroy looked up, catching me peering over my shoulder. His eyes met mine with a friendly smile, and I couldn’t help but return it.

Bash cleared his throat. “I’m off for a piss,” he announced, downing the rest of the ale in his tankard before departing.

“Bash, wait!” I called after him, but he didn’t stop—his stride was brisk as he made for the exit.

Margaret slammed down the tankards, but I left my drinks behind and hurried after him.

“Sebastian!” I called out.

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, holding open the heavy door. “That’s what my mother calls me when she’s disappointed.”

And Jane when you make her all giggly, I thought, but managed to bite my tongue.

I ducked beneath his arm and stepped outside, where raindrops sprinkled against my skin.

“Where are you going?” I asked. “I was enjoying your company.”

Bash snorted and trudged into the wet night. “You’ve hardly spoken to me all evening.”