Page 104 of A Fragile Enchantment

“Very well, Rosa.” He wrapped his cloak around Rosa’s shoulders. “If that is what you truly want.”

“Thank you,” Rosa whispered.

All of the affection in his eyes withered when he looked up at Jack and Kit again. Burning in them was a soul-deep resentment. “We will discuss how to move forward from this tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack said wanly. “And thank you. I will find some way to make it up to you. I swear it on my life.”

As the king climbed onto the horse and helped Rosa up alongside him, Kit’s grip tightened on the reins of Niamh’s mare. A muscle worked steadily in his jaw as he watched them vanish into the fog.

Beside them, a branch groaned and detached itself from the smoldering trunk. It collapsed onto the earth and shattered into ash. The wind and rain, mercifully, had put out most of the flames, but a swath of grass still sizzled. Jack stared out at it all—the rising smoke and choking steam, the ruined fields with its deep, gashed trenches, the broken branches—and began to laugh.

Kit watched him with a disgusted sort of sympathy. “You’ve gone mad at last.”

“What else can I do?” Jack asked, his arms outstretched over the wreckage. “Everything is ruined. Absolutely everything. I don’t know what to expect anymore. I don’t know what to do.”

Kit held his silence for a moment. “Don’t you have a meeting to go to? That’s a start.”

The two of them regarded each other. Niamh braced for a protest or an argument. But Jack’s expression softened, and a fluttery hope swirled within her. Jack slicked his wet hair back from his face. “I expect it’ll be hours before I make it back at this rate.”

Kit angled his chin toward Niamh. “Come down from there.”

She huffed, sitting up straighter in the saddle. “Is that really how you’re going to speak to me after all this?”

“Please,” he added.

“That’s better.” Niamh swung her leg over, and as she eased herself down from the stirrup, he steadied her by the waist. Through the damp of her gown, his skin was impossibly warm. Kit passed the reins to his brother.

Surprise flickered across Jack’s face. “You expect a young lady towalkin this weather?”

So she was a young lady in his book again. Niamh smiled. “I don’t mind.”

“Very well,” he said reluctantly. He climbed into the saddle. Loftily perched above them, he regarded them with a peculiar expression. “Do I want to know what you are up to?”

Kit patted the horse’s neck absently, clearly avoiding his gaze. “Do you?”

“I suppose not.” Jack rubbed his jaw. “I will be occupied for God knows how long, thanks to you. I cannot stop you.”

Kit nodded tightly. Jack nodded back. Niamh, entirely lost by now, felt as though she was intruding on something.

“Well, then. Good day, Kit.” Jack circled his mount around. “Niamh.”

She startled at the sound of her own name and dipped into a quick curtsy. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“You might as well call me Jack,” he said wearily.

With that cryptic offer, he rode off toward the city. Niamh stared after him, wondering at how her choices had carried her here: an invitation to call the Prince Regent of Avaland by his given name. It was an honor she would never have the courage to take advantage of.

Then, she remembered his younger brother. They stood together in the middle of a ruined field. Sopping wet.Alone.Kit looked like a drowned cat, but the fabric of his white shirt clung distractingly to his narrow frame.

All she could think to ask was, “Does your arm hurt?”

“No.” As terrible a liar as ever. “Let’s go.”

They set off toward the city. It took two of her strides to match one of his, and he moved with brisk purpose. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were fixed on Sootham. Niamh couldn’t tell if he was angry, and if he was, if he was angry at her. Nerves buzzed within her. There were a thousand things she wanted to say to him. Not a single one of them came to her coherently. Her slippers squelched in the mud and wet grass, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The silk was too far gone to be saved, and her toes might soon join it at this rate. Her teeth chattered in the cold.

Kit huffed out a breath. “I can’t even offer you my coat.”

“At least you had the good sense to leave the cloak behind,” she said. “I would have never forgiven you if you’d destroyed it—or died in it, for that matter.”