Besides, the future was clear to her now, even if he couldn’t see it through his sorrow. He would come to love her, Levana, once she was given the chance to make him happy.

“I commed a friend of mine, another guard—Garrison Clay. He and his wife are on their way here, to help”—he inhaled shakily—“to help with preparations, and … the baby…” He cleared his throat. “He can escort you back to the palace. I’m afraid I’ll be no good to you in my current state, Your Highness.”

Levana’s shoulders fell. She had been filled up with fantasies of what could happen when Evret escorted her back, led her to her bedroom chambers, realized he was no longer required to be true to just one woman.

None of those fantasies had involved her leaving him here to weep.

“I can stay with you,” she said. “I can comfort you. I can—”

“That is not your role, Your Highness, but thank you for your kindness. I would rather you had not seen me like this at all.”

“Oh.” She rolled the confession over in her thoughts, wondering if it was meant to be flattery.

“I haven’t thanked you, for what you did today. With the queen. But you have my gratitude. I know it couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“Of course. I would do anything for you.”

He looked at her, surprised, and bordering on alarmed. He hesitated, before turning away again. “You are gracious, Princess. But I’m only a guard. My place is to serve you.”

“You are not only a guard. You are … you are perhaps my only friend.”

He grimaced, which she couldn’t understand.

Her voice dropped. “At least, you’re the only person who gave me a birthday gift.”

The look of pain turned to one of sympathy, and while his sorrowful gaze fixed on her again, she pulled the pendant from where it had been tucked beneath her dress’s bodice. His sadness seemed to only increase when he saw it. “I have worn it every day since you gave it to me,” she said, daring to speak over the yearning in her throat. “I value it above all the crown jewels, above … above anything on this moon.”

With a heavy sigh, Evret took the charm and wrapped it up in Levana’s fingers, then enclosed her hand in both of his. She felt dwarfed and delicate, like her heart was in her palm, not some vintage charm.

“You are a lovely girl,” said Evret, “and you deserve the most priceless jewels that have ever adorned a princess. I’m honored that you consider me a friend.”

She thought he would kiss her, but instead he pulled his hands away and turned back to the window.

Her heart was pattering now, and she knew her skin was flushed. She allowed some of the color to show through in her glamour. “I’m not like Channary. I don’t want jewels. What I crave is much more precious than that.” Levana inched toward him until her shoulder brushed against his arm. He shifted away, just barely.

He’s in mourning, she reminded herself. He’s doing what he thinks is proper.

But being proper seemed so very unimportant when her blood was simmering beneath her skin. When she felt like her heart would pound right through her rib cage if he didn’t take her into his arms.

She ran her tongue along her lower lip, every sense heightened, and inched toward him again. “Sir Hayle … Evret…” The feel of his name on her lips, never whispered so intimately but in her fantasies, sent a chill down her spine.

But he backed away from her again, and his voice changed. More stern now. “I think it would be best for you to wait in the lobby, Your Highness.”

His sudden coldness made her pause, and Levana slowly shrank back a step.

Mourning. He’s in mourning.

She gulped, her dreams doused. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t … I didn’t mean … I can only imagine what you’re going through…”

His expression softened, but he still didn’t look at her. “I know. It’s all right. I know you’re only trying to help. But, please, Your Highness. I’d like to be alone right now.”

“Of course. I understand.” Although she didn’t, not really.

She left him anyway, because he’d asked her to, and she would do anything for him. She may not understand his sorrow, but she did understand that Evret Hayle was a good man, and Solstice had been very, very lucky.

Soon, Levana told herself. Her life was changing, and soon perhaps she could be very, very lucky too.

*   *   *

She dreamed of him constantly. Holding her hand in the dining hall while her sister prattled endlessly about the newest gowns she’d commissioned. Gazing at her lovingly across the throne room while the thaumaturges droned on about outdated policies that Channary would never bother to understand or improve. And every night he crawled into bed with her, wrapped her up in his muscular arms, breathed warm kisses against her neck.

A figment of him was with her when she woke up each morning.

A shadow of him followed her down every corridor.

Every time she caught sight of a guard’s uniform from the corner of her eye, her heart ricocheted and her head twisted to see if it was him—though more often than not it was only her own stupid guards following respectfully in the distance.

Three days passed and his official time of mourning ended, but she did not see him.

Then a week.

It occurred to her that he may have taken leave from the palace to deal with his wife’s death and spend time with his infant daughter, and she tried to be patient. To give him space and time. To wait until he came to her—because surely he would. Surely he missed her as much as she missed him.