Page 36 of Bound to a Wicked Duke

“Me too,” Percy admitted.

He decided to leave the choice to stay or flee up to the boy and released his arms. Instead of running, though, the boy seemed to plant his feet and look up Percy in surprise.

“You?” he asked.

Percy nodded. “Me.”

It was the boy’s turn to look Percy up and down in scrutiny. Like Percy had done to him, the boy looked at him studiously, measuring every detail he could take in.

“You do not look like an orphan,” he said finally, giving Percy a dubious look as he crossed his arms across his thin chest.

Percy chuckled. “And what does an orphan look like?”

The boy cocked his head to the side in thought. “Well, like me, I suppose.”

“Children from all social classes can be orphans,” Percy explained. “Wealth does not make you immune to death.”

“It certainly helps,” the boy scoffed.

Percy could not argue with that.

“An accurate perception,” he praised, “How did your parents die?”

The boy began to tremble as he lowered his eyes, looking at something far off and imperceptible behind Percy.

“Mum was making supper like she always did in the evenings. It was—everything was as it always was. Then suddenly, wind blew in down chimney and sent the burning logs and embers spewing everywhere. The house… my parents burned up in a fire so quickly.” Tears returned to the boy’s eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

“Where were you?” Percy asked, his tone quiet.

“I was in the loft,” the boy replied, his tone hollow. “Saw the whole thing before I jumped out of the window.”

The boy then raised up his torn, filthy shirt to reveal a long scar along the right side of his ribcage.

“I landed halfway on the trough outside. Knocked me out cold from the pain. When I came to, the house was gone, my parents… gone. Just ash now.”

“You watched them die,” Percy said hoarsely, memories of his own losses flashing through his mind.

The boy nodded.

“Where do you live now?”

The boy shook his head. “I sleep wherever I can find a place.”

“You have no other family?”

He shook his head again.

“I have no aunts or uncles. My grandparents all died before I was born.”

Percy put his hand back on the boy, this time gently and on the shoulder. The boy flinched a little at the touch, but then, if possible, his thin shoulders slumped even lower. This boy, Percy realized, had not felt kindness in a very long time, and he could change that.

There had been no one to help the poor la,d and he had turned to stealing to survive. At least, Percy had had his father until he had come to an age to care for himself. After that, he had had Gregor. The thought of Gregor gave Percy an idea, and his spirit lifted.

“Aside from thievery, do you possess any other talents?” he asked.

A flash of fear and panic filled the boy’s eyes.

“Why? You don’t want anything from me, do you? Other men have tried to do those things, and I will tell you now that I am stronger than I look!” The boy began to tremble in terror at the thoughts in his mind.

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