Page 55 of Royal Rebel

“You both deserve so much more than you think.”

He set his free hand against her waist, as if he sensed she was about to pull away and he needed to keep her close. “I’m not going to stand by while he puts you in danger.”

Her palm was still braced against his chest; her fingers tightened. “Grayson’s not putting me in danger.”

“Of course he is. The mere act of being near you puts a target on your back. He’s always been dangerous, but after Mortise . . . he’s different. Can’t you see that? He’s unstable. Volatile.”

“Grayson would never hurt me.”

Tyrell made a sound in his throat. Probably disagreement, but he dropped that and tried another track. “My father will hurt you if Grayson steps out of line. We all know it, but Grayson refuses to do anything about it. All you need to do is agree, and I can get you distanced from him. Just enough that my father won’t have reason to hurt you.”

“Your father never needs a reason for what he does. And you don’t see Grayson clearly—just as he doesn’t see you clearly.”

“I see him just fine. He’ll put you at risk. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Grayson didn’t hesitate to take that burn for himself. He didn’t struggle. He endured that for me.” Her stomach twisted sharply, and she couldn’t stop her grimace.

Tyrell’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t want to do that.”

“I know. You didn’t have a choice.”

There was a long moment of silence. They were still standing so close. Her hand was still on his chest, and he still held her waist.

His voice was strained as he said, “Promise me you’ll think about taking that room.”

She didn’t have the heart to hurt him more than she already had—and would. “I’ll think about it,” she whispered.

He relaxed a little. “Thank you.” His chin dropped and he leaned in until his lips brushed her forehead. The kiss was soft and brief, but his mouth hovered against her skin as he said, “After you left that night, I searched for the queen. When I couldn’t find the blasted piece, I thought you’d thrown it into the fire.”

Just like his mother had destroyed the rest of his first Strategem set; the black queen had only survived because Tyrell had held the piece in his fist, shielding it from Iris’s disgusted fury.

Mia pulled back to meet his hooded eyes. “I would never do that.”

His eyes dipped to her lips.

There was a knock on the outer door—probably Fletcher, worried about her.

Mia dropped her hand from Tyrell’s chest.

His hand tightened on her waist, keeping her close. Then, one finger at a time, he let her go. His fingertips left a haunting touch, and then there was only space between them.

“Thank you, Tyrell,” she said. “For everything.”

He didn’t respond, just watched as she stepped around him and left the room.

Fletcher didn’t ask any questions, and she didn’t offer any of what had just passed between her and Tyrell. The old guard simply followed her back to Grayson’s room. He put the two bags of supplies just inside the door, and then he moved to stand guard in the corridor, leaving Mia alone.

She was a little relieved Grayson hadn’t returned yet. She needed a moment alone.

Nervous energy vibrated through her. She fiddled with the pebble at her throat; the necklace Grayson had given her before he left for Mortise. It was her most cherished possession.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to take much with her to Mortise. Most everything she had would have to be left behind.

But she couldn’t leave everything.

She crossed the room to the wardrobe in the corner. There, tucked in the back, was the wooden box she’d put Tyrell’s queen in. She pulled the wooden piece out, her fingers running over the intricate grooves he’d carved when he was younger, along with the newer embellishments he’d added later. She searched the wardrobe until she found a thin leather cord, which she tied around the queen so she could hang the piece around her neck.

Two necklaces. Two men she loved, though in different ways.

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