She drank, handed him the cup so he could share. “Will you regret something that gave us pleasure and harmed no one?”

“You haven’t thought about what others will think of you for sharing a bed with me.”

“Listen to you, worrying about my reputation of all things. I’m my own woman, and I don’t need to explain to anyone whose bed I share.”

“Being queen—”

“Doesn’t make me less a woman,” she interrupted. “A Geallian woman, and we’re known for making up our own minds. I was reminded of that earlier tonight.” Now she rose, picking up her outer robe to wrap it around her.

He thought it was like she wrapped herself in mist.

“One of my ladies, Ceara—do you know who I mean?”

“Ah, tall, dark blond hair. She took you down in hand-to-hand.”

“That she did. Her brother was killed today, on the march. He was young, not yet eighteen.” It pierced her heart, again. “I went to the sitting room where my ladies gather and found her there when I would have given her leave to be with her family.”

“She’s loyal, and thinks of her duty to you.”

“Not just to me. She asked if I would give her one thing, in her brother’s name. One thing.” Emotion quivered in her voice before she conquered it. “And that was to march in the morning with her husband. To go from here, from her children, from safety and face whatever might be on the road. She’s not the only woman who asks to go. We’re not weak. We don’t sit and wait, or no longer will. I was reminded of that tonight.”

“You’ll let her go.”

“Her, and any who wish it. In the end, some who may not wish it will be sent. I didn’t come to you because I’m weak, because I needed comfort or protection. I came because I wanted you. I wanted this.”

She cocked her head, and with a little smile, let the robe fall. “Now it seems I’m wanting you again. Do I need to seduce you?”

“Too late for that.”

Her smile widened as she moved toward the bed. “I’ve heard—and I’ve read—that a man needs a bit of time between rounds.”

“You force me to repeat myself. I’m not a man.”

He grabbed her hand, flipped her onto the bed—and under him.

She laughed, tugged playfully at his hair. “Isn’t that handy, under the circumstances.”

Later, for the first time in too long to remember, Cian didn’t slip into sleep in silence, but to the quiet rhythm of Moira’s heart.

It was that heart that woke him. He heard the sudden and rapid beat of it even before she thrashed in sleep.

He cursed, remembering only then she wasn’t wearing her cross, nor had he taken any of Glenna’s precautions against Lilith’s intrusion.

“Moira.” He took her shoulders, lifting her. “Wake up.”

He was on the point of shaking her out of it when her eyes flew open. Instead of the fear he’d expected, he saw grief.

“It was a dream,” he said carefully. “Only a dream. Lilith can’t touch you in dreams.”

“It wasn’t Lilith. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“You’re shaking. Here.” He pulled up a blanket, tossed it over her shoulders. “I’ll get the fire going again.”

“No need. Don’t trouble,” she said even as he got up. “I should go. It must be nearing dawn.”

He simply crouched down, placed the turf in the hearth. “You won’t trust me with this.”

“It’s not that. It’s not.” She should have gotten up quickly, she realized. Left straight on waking. For now she couldn’t seem to move. “It wasn’t Lilith, it was just a bad dream. Just... ”

But her breath began to hitch and heave.

Rather than go to her, he lit the turf, then moved around the room to light candles.

“I can’t speak of it. I can’t.”

“Of course you can. Maybe not to me, but to Glenna. I’ll go wake her.”

“No. No. No.” She covered her face with her hands.

“So.” Since he was up, and unlikely to sleep again for now, he poured himself a cup of blood. “Geallian women aren’t weak.”

She dropped her hands, and the eyes she’d hidden with them went hot with insult. “You bloody bastard.”

“Exactly so. Run back to your room if you can’t handle it. But if you stay, you’ll pull out whatever’s knotted up your guts. Your choice.” He took a chair. “You’re big on choices, so make one.”

“You want to hear my pain, my grief? Why not to you then, who it would mean so little to? I dreamed, as I do over and over, of my mother’s murder. Every time, it’s clearer than it was before. At first, it was so muddled and pale—like I saw it through a smear of mud. It was easier then.”

“And now?”

“I could see it.”

“What did you see?”

“I was sleeping.” Her eyes were huge on his face, and full of pain. “We’d had supper, and my uncle, Larkin, the family had come. A little family party. My mother enjoyed having them every few months. We had music after, and dancing. She loved to dance, my mother. It was late when we went to bed, and I fell asleep so quickly. I heard her scream.”

“No one else heard?”

Moira shook her head. “No. She didn’t scream, you see. Not out loud. I don’t think she screamed out loud. In her head, she did, and I heard it in mine. Just once. Only once. I thought I imagined it, must have imagined it. But I got up, and went down to her room. Just to ease my mind.”

She could see it even now. She hadn’t bothered with a candle because her heart was beating so fast and hard. She’d simply run from her room and down to her mother’s door.

“I didn’t knock. I was saying to myself, no, you’ll wake her. Just ease inside and see for yourself that she’s sleeping.

“But when I opened the door, she wasn’t in her bed, she wasn’t sleeping. I heard such sounds, such horrible sounds. Like animals, like wolves, but worse. Oh, worse.”

She paused, tried to swallow through her dry throat. “The doors to her balcony were open, and the curtains moving with the breeze. I called out for her. I wanted to run to the doors, but I couldn’t. My legs felt as if they’d turned to lead. I could barely make one step in front of the other. I can’t say it.”