Page 132 of Royal Rebel

And that’s how Grayson found himself kneeling in the mud of a sparse garden, digging up potatoes. In this moment, he didn’t think anyone would believe he was the Black Hand, which made him recall what Mia had said last night.

You can be whoever you want to be.

He couldn’t really be anything, though. Once they reached Mortise, he would be a prisoner. And—most likely—executed. But Mia would be free. More than that, she would be with Desfan, and fully restored to the life she should have had before she’d been stolen away to Ryden.

Before she’d met him.

We’ll be together—that’s all that matters.

Fates, she was going to be upset. But how was he supposed to tell her the truth? If she learned about his imminent arrest, she’d probably refuse to go home.

On the ship, he decided. He’d tell her once they were aboard theSeafire. She’d be angry, he knew that. But he could handle her anger. He just never wanted her to blame herself. Which is why he’d asked for that promise last night.

I don’t want you to torture yourself about things that aren’t your fault.

Like his imprisonment in Duvan.

His depressed thoughts matched the dark cloudy sky, but Keegan’s chatter filled the silence. He couldn’t seem to stop talking about the anticipated party at the inn tonight, and Mia listened with obvious longing as he described it.

“You have to come,” Keegan finally said. “Please?”

Mia shook her head. “I’m afraid we—”

“We’ll be there,” Grayson said.

Mia shot him a look.

Keegan’s eyes rounded. “Really?”

Grayson nodded, his eyes on Mia. “I’m feeling much better,” he said. That had been their excuse for being so sequestered during their stay. The last thing he wanted to do was be in a crowded room, but Mia clearly wanted to go, and this was something he could give her.

It was also a memory of her that he could take to his cell, or wherever else the fates decided to send him.

Keegan hadn’t been exaggerating. That evening, the common room was filled with men, women, and children. Their clothes were damp with the rain they’d encountered on their walk to the inn, and most of the material was worn and faded. But Grayson had never seen any group in Ryden look so . . . alive.

They danced, cheered, and stomped their feet as an old man named Izac played a trilling melody in the corner. They ate the hot onion and potato soup Jon and his sons served, and they talked and laughed with each other. A fire roared in the wide hearth across the room, warming the entire space.

Mia and Grayson sat side-by-side at a corner table. He’d chosen to keep to the shadows on the edge of the room, to avoid attention. No one had recognized him, though. And even if someone was suspicious of the quiet travelers, they were leaving in the morning, so it hardly mattered.

The slight nervousness Mia had visibly carried as they’d made their way into the common room had melted almost immediately, and she hadn’t stopped smiling since. The crowd didn’t seem to overwhelm her at all. The atmosphere was boisterous and the space was filled with music and laughter. The room was so crowded, they were forced to share a table with a middle-aged couple who sat on the bench across from them. Grayson learned it was the village blacksmith and his wife, whom Mia had met when she’d gone to inspect the horse they had for sale.

Their eyes flickered to Grayson’s jaw, taking in the red scarring, but they didn’t stare. Mia asked them about their children, four of which danced as Izac played his flute, while the youngest—only a year old—was held in her mother’s arms.

Grayson felt a bit like an observer as he watched Mia smile and talk with the blacksmith and his wife. She interacted with others so naturally, and she listened genuinely as they spoke. It was a gift. One he was grateful her imprisonment hadn’t driven away.

The flickering candles and lanterns that dotted the room revealed Mia’s grin as the music picked up, and she clapped along with the rest of the room when Izac finished his song and told them he needed to warm his fingers by the fire before he played more.

Grayson was torn between watching Mia and staring at everyone else. These same faces he’d spied from the window over the last few days looked completely altered. They were no longer worn-down and wary. They were laughing openly. Even Jon, the innkeeper, smiled. It was a startling change, and it made Grayson wonder just how much life his family had managed to stamp out of an entire kingdom.

Mia leaned closer, her smile soft, but her eyes bright. “Thank you,” she whispered.

His lips twitched into an answering smile. “You don’t need to thank me.” Fates, he was grateful he could give her this—that he could witness her joy.

Mia reached over and threaded her fingers through his.

“A story!” someone called out. “Lyda, tell us a story!”

An older woman with graying hair stood, and a man helped her take a seat on top of one of the tables, so everyone could see her.

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