I straightened, whipping around, expecting to see a little girl staring at me from the door with her arms crossed. Still, no one came. I dropped the dust from the flower back into the vase and decided not to touch anything else, choosing instead to sit and read the book Elowen had given me. If Archer wanted to play a game of patience against an eternity-old god, then I guess we played. But I would win.
In the next room, his laughter rang out, punctuated by the shuffle of cards and Thea’s good natured grumbling. It was a welcome sound. Even in the midst of all this chaos, there was still room for connection, for the simple pleasure of a shared moment. Archer had a way about him, an ease that drew people in, made them feel at home in his company. It was a rare gift, one I’d seen echoed in Paesha. They both had that ability to find the light in the darkest of places, to forge bonds where others saw only walls. But unlike him, she’d hidden behind her walls for a long time first.
After some time, the floor from the hall creaked and Archer sauntered in, a worn deck of cards still in his hands. Thea followed, leaning against the doorframe with an easy smile.
“Tell me you have a plan.” Archer dropped into the chair across from me. The casual way he shuffled his cards didn’t hide the tension in his shoulders, the worry etched around his eyes.
I studied him carefully. The Fates’ words echoed in my mind. Archer had to choose the throne of his own free will. Any attempt to manipulate or coerce him would likely void their offer entirely. And right now, with Paesha falling to madness and locked behind Alastor’s door, I couldn’t risk it.
“I think you know I don’t or you wouldn’t have kept me waiting. I’m working on several, though,” I admitted. “But I need you to?—”
“If you tell me to stay here one more time, I swear to all the gods?—”
“Actually,” Thea interrupted, perching on the arm of his chair, “I’ve been thinking about the Vale’s defenses. If we could map it out and come in from underneath?—”
“We covered this. She’s bound to him,” I said with a sigh. “She’s likely been told already she cannot leave. And his will over her is absolute. Dragging her out of there will only torture her in the long run. She needs true freedom.”
A loud thump from upstairs made me tense, but Thea waved it off. “Only Quill and Boo. They were racing around up there all day yesterday.”
I nodded, but something shifted in Archer’s expression. His cards stilled mid-shuffle. Without warning, time stopped, and he bolted from his chair. I chased after him, taking the stairs two at a time as he sprinted toward Quill’s room.
He threw the door open to reveal a scene frozen in time, Quill standing with her arms raised in surprise, a massive bookshelf tipping toward her, books already spilling from the uppermost shelves. In the split second before it would have crushed her, Archer had stopped everything.
With a huff, he shoved the bookshelf back against the wall, then gathered Quill into his arms. The moment he released his hold on time, she gasped.
“You saved me again, Archie!” She threw her arms around his neck.
“Course I did, Pencil,” he said softly, but something haunted lingered in his eyes.
“How did you know?” I demanded. “You reacted before it fell. Before anyone could have known she was in danger.”
“Lucky timing,” he said, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Which is exactly why I’m needed here. You understand that, right? I can’t sit around while Paesha suffers, but I also can’t leave Quill unprotected.”
“The timing wasn’t lucky. You knew.”
“Drop it.”
“If there’s something you’re not telling me?—”
“Like you’re not telling me something? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you weighing every word since you got here. We’re supposed to be working together to save her.”
The anger in his voice matched my own rising frustration. “You need to be in fucking Stirling, at the castle with yourfather.”
He shook his head, setting Quill back down on the floor. She darted for the space under the bed, calling for her dog.
“Why the hell do you care so much?” Archer’s voice was rough with emotion, but softer than I expected. “Why are you all pushing so hard?”
I took a breath, choosing my words carefully because in this moment, I saw the struggle in him. Not the stubborn thief, not the mourning brother, but the man unsure of his entire future and, in that, we were the same. “Because I’ve been where you are. Standing at the edge of a decision that seems impossible.” Taking a beat, I let my guard down. “I’m not asking you to be king. I’m asking to see your father before he dies, so you both have some kind of closure. Regret is a horrible mistress. But whatever you decide, I’ll support it.”
He stepped into the hall, and I followed.
“It’s not that simple. Every time I think about seeing him, I remember how he never sought my mother. I don’t want to look at his face and see Harlow in his features. I don’t want to stand before him and feel like we weren’t enough.” His shoulders sagged slightly. “Harlow didn’t want him to know, and she was right, Thorne.”
I leaned against the wall beside him, our shoulders almost touching. “Your sister was protecting you both.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “She always did.”
“You know, protecting yourself isn’t weakness. You’ve built something real here. Crown jewels don’t compare to that. I just hope you don’t look back one day and wish you’d have made a different choice.”
