Page 73 of Royal Rebel

He couldn’t stop looking at her. The familiar curves of her rounded face. The deep brown locks that curled against her temples, loosened during the night from her braid. The warmth of her deep brown eyes. The softness of her pink lips.

He flinched when she touched the corner of his open cut.

She jerked back. “Sorry.” She studied the wound with a frown. It was hard not to turn his face away. He’d stopped being overly conscious of his scars when he’d lost his gloves in Mortise, but feeling Mia’s scrutiny brought all of his insecurities to the surface.

He knew the fainter marks on his cheek would lessen in time—like the scars on his burned fingers—but they would never truly fade. And his jaw would be an ugly mess for the rest of his life. He’d known he would never be handsome in the way his father was, but next to Mia’s beauty . . .

It shouldn’t matter. When all this was over, he would be rotting in a cell in Duvan. He wouldn’t be with Mia. No one would see them together and think they didn’t match.

They neverhadmatched, even before his face was ruined.

Fates, the drugs were making him morose.

“Were there any other healing salves in the bag?” Mia asked.

It took a moment to realize why she was asking; a burn ointment wouldn’t do much good for the gaping wound along his jaw. “I don’t know,” he said.

Her mouth drew into a line. “I don’t know the best way to treat it.”

“It’s fine. It doesn’t need anything.”

She set down the burn ointment and reached for Devon’s pack. She rooted around, finally pulling out another jar, a salve for cuts. Grayson doubted it would do anything to make the deep cut heal better, but perhaps it would help stave off infection.

This time when she leaned in to apply the medicine, he kept his eyes down, firmly on his rolled fists, pressed almost painfully against his knees. He wanted to know what she thought of his newest scar, but he refused to ask. Maybe a part of him dreaded knowing what she thought of it.

Her warm breath danced lightly across his skin as she worked with gentle fingers to tend his wound. When she was done, she prompted him to take more of the pain medicine. He didn’t tell her he’d already taken some, and as the powder dissolved under his tongue, Mia finally began to eat.

Though she must have been hungry, she ate slowly. Her eyes roamed the area around them, taking in the tangled limbs of the towering trees, and the leaves that were turning shades of yellow, orange, and brown. He knew Tyrell had taken her outside, but being in a thick forest would have been a new experience. She watched raptly as a squirrel dashed up a nearby tree, and her head turned at the call of a bird.

He had to prompt her to keep eating; they couldn’t afford to linger.

When they’d both finished, they consolidated Devon’s belongings into their own packs, so they’d have fewer bags to carry. After refilling their canteens, Grayson shouldered his bag. “We’ll keep to the deer paths,” he told her.

He’d grown up hunting in these woods, but so had his brothers, and no doubt many of the king’s soldiers. He had to hope Henri thought he’d choose speed over stealth; that would keep the search concentrated on the king’s highway, and not spread too deeply into the forest.

Mia’s fingers wrapped around the straps of her pack, which dragged against her shoulders. Her expression was alert, but full of trust.

Even if it killed him, he was going to make sure this was Mia’s first day of freedom—not her last.

Mia’s stamina was better than he’d anticipated, but his own strength was flagging. They stopped to rest too frequently, but at least they hadn’t seen anyone else.

His head pounded relentlessly, so the next time they stopped, he surreptitiously took more medicine to dull the pain. He didn’t know why he hid it from Mia; there was no good reason.

As the aching in his head receded, Devon’s warning rang in his ears.Resist the urge to take more to treat the headaches—they are a sign that your body is relying on the drug too much.

Grayson didn’t know what else to do, though. He couldn’t allow his body to register the pain right now. He needed to be alert. Focused. Ready to fight. Mia needed him. It became his mantra, which helped him keep moving.She needs me. She needs me.

He was growing more feverish, but there was nothing he could do about that. He kept walking. The air grew colder as night came upon them, and it felt good against his sweat-streaked skin, though Mia shivered.

He found a sheltered spot just off the narrow deer trail, among an ancient oak’s many thick roots that protruded from the ground. Tucked between the large roots with their backs against the wide trunk, they were protected from the worst of the wind. Grayson spread Devon’s spare clothes beneath them so they wouldn’t have to sleep on the hard ground.

After they’d eaten a cold dinner, Mia reapplied the ointments to his face. When she touched his overheated skin, concern bloomed in her eyes. “Grayson, you have a fever.”

“I think it’s already dying down,” he lied.

She didn’t look convinced. When she urged him to take more of the powder, he did without hesitation, and his muscles relaxed as the medicine dissolved under his tongue.

Mia settled next to him, pulling her cloak around her as she rested her head against his shoulder. He hesitated only a moment before wrapping his arm around her, bringing her closer. She settled against his side, one hand pressed to his chest. It was the one marked by the scorpion stings. “How is your hand?” he asked, feeling bad he hadn’t asked earlier.

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