Gently, she tucked her hands under Soren’s armpits, shifting him until she could scoop him up. As they transferred the boy like a volatile weapon, She gently pried Soren’s surprisingly strong hold from the King’s fingers and shirt. Soren’s head lolled in sleep as Destonne eased the boy off him and the King’s hands brushed hers.
Emmery inhaled sharply, ready to pull away, when their eyes met in the dark room. A quality in that look stole her ability to move. Destonne’s touch lingered, his hands warm, solid, and a little rough. It incited a frantic flutter in Emmery’s chest, something she absolutely didn’t know what to do with. But as the world slowed, her eyes flicked over his face. Searched.
Because what was he doing? What was he thinking?
As she studied his expression in the dark, she found nothing she could piece together. But for the brief moment they stayed locked there, both unwilling to look away, something passed between them. Or maybe it was merely a challenge to see who would back down first.
And yet she always found herself willing to play his games. Though this one felt less like a game as his look seemed saturated in emotions Emmery couldn’t unravel. Or examine too closely.
She tilted her head at him and took her bottom lip between her teeth. His eyes followed that movement, dropping to her mouth.
Remained locked in whatever this moment was.
When they both tore themselves away, she reminded herself to breathe and stood with Soren in her arms. The child snuggled into her neck, his breath warm on her skin. It reminded Emmery of days when Maela was small and nuzzled into her just the same. A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down before the longing registered.
Soren was lucky. Lucky to have Cyrilla, Destonne, Brennen, Vera, and Fionn to care for him. He’d unknowingly found his own little family.
Destonne peeled himself from the sofa and squeezed his eyes shut as he rotated his shoulder and flexed his fingers. After wringing the wrinkles from his shirt, which was splattered with Soren’s snot and drool, Destonne extended his arms to Emmery. “I’ll put him to bed.”
Her hold tightened on the boy as she twisted away like the King would snatch him from her. He lifted an inquisitive brow.
“I can take him,” Emmery replied. It had been too long since she’d held Mae like this and her soul longed for it in a way she hadn’t known.
Destonne shrugged but the softness in the gesture said far more than words. They exited the sitting room and crept upthe stairs toward Soren’s chambers. As they strolled down the hallway, every floorboard creaked underfoot, and Emmery and Destonne’s breaths synced in the dead of night. When they arrived at Soren's room, he opened the door to reveal a simple chamber with a wooden crib and a trunk stuffed with toys.
“Can he sleep by himself?” she asked, clutching Soren tighter. The room seemed too empty and cold and lonely. “What if he wakes up and needs someone?”
“He’ll be fine. I’ll alert the night nurse once we put him in his crib.”
As if on cue, Soren’s tiny dark brows crinkled. Did Destonne look like that as a boy? Those unruly curls and dark brows furrowing in thought-filled sleeps. Though the King’s room would have been far more extravagant, surely brimming with everything he could possibly wish for. Though it appeared Soren was well cared for, especially compared to Maela and Emmery’s barren childhood. After Emmery lost her stuffed horse in the market, her mother couldn’t afford to buy another. At least with Mae, Emmery had ensured she had more.
“Maybe I should stay with him,” she pressed. “I don’t mind. I can sleep on the floor.”
Destonne stepped toward her, his breath warm on her cheek as he stole Soren away. “I’ve got it from here. Go to bed, angel. Get some rest.”
Soren’s absence hit her and her arms suddenly felt lonely, useless, aching. “But I—”
“Go to bed,” he whispered. He laid Soren into the crib and pulled a tiny, checkered blanket to his chin. “Or do I need to tuck you in myself? Again, I may add.” His eyes flashed with promise and Emmery sighed, too tired to fight.
She gave Soren’s cheek a featherlight caress before she turned from the room. Destonne’s stare burned into her back as she left,maybe attempting to decipher how to process this interaction, just as she was.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EMMERY
Destonne was late. Not that he was ever on time, but today he simply hadn’t shown.
Emmery glared down at the pond water and curled her toes over the muddy ledge as she recalled the past few days. A new tension had formed between them since the night she’d discovered him with Soren—a string pulled too taut, a tether that yanked them closer, yet threatened to snap and fling them apart. A push and pull and downright shove into the gut, hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs. Then there were moments he looked at her and she just … couldn’t breathe.
She didn’t know what it was. How to feel or deal with it.
So she chose not to.
Instead she focussed on her swimming. She’d managed to submerge her head, tread water in the shallows, and float on her back without crippling panic folding her into the fetal position.
Clearly Destonne couldn’t be bothered to care.
Today Emmery had waited in the sitting room for an hour and, unable to bear the ticking clock, she’d taken matters into her own hands and come to the pond alone. Gods only knew what occupied Brennen elsewhere, but Briar and Vera were in Malheim to deal with a situation, one of many that seemed to pop up everyday in this chaotic kingdom. Last she heard, a riot broke out in the town square, windows were broken, and fires set.