“Who doesn’t know what?” he snapped.

“The innkeeper. He doesn’t know who he has here.” When he shook his head, disgusted—at me, at himself, at the entire situation—I said firmly, “He doesn’t know what heroism means.”

“And you do?” He turned to sneer at me. “Are you a hero, Louise le Blanc?”

“No. But you are.”

Though he pushed my hand away, he still didn’t move to leave. “I used to be. Now I’m hiding under a bed with a witch. Did you know I was found in the garbage?” When I said nothing, he scoffed, shaking his head again. “Of course you did. You know everything about me, don’t you?” His eyes blazed with emotion in this small, shadowed sanctuary—and a sanctuary it was. Here, cramped and hidden from the rest of the world, we could’ve been the only two people alive. “Then you know I grew up lost. I grew up alone. They called me trash boy, and I fought tooth and nail for respect—I bloodied noses and broke bones to get it—and I killed the one person who called me family. Does that sound like a hero to you?”

A lump rose in my throat at his expression. He could’ve been that lost, lonely little boy all over again. “Reid—”

Beau’s head popped under the bed. “What are you two whispering about under here?”

As if I’d lit a match in his trousers, Reid surged away from me, up and out of sight. Beau watched him go with a startled expression before extending a hand to me. In his other, he held the neck of the whiskey bottle. “Any luck with the seduction?”

“None, thanks to you.”

“I have to protect my investment. But his memories . . . ?”

I frowned. “Coco thinks—”

“I know what Coco thinks.” He hooked an arm around my neck, pulling me closer. Reid watched us sullenly from the farthest corner of the room. “I want to know what you think. Wager aside, would you rather we focus on restoring his memories? I know we can’t force him to reverse the pattern, but perhaps we could help him along.”

The weight of his words settled heavy in my chest. A choice. He’d offered me a choice. Free of judgment or disapproval, free of guidance, he’d led me to a fork in the road, and he now waited patiently for me to step left or right. He would follow whatever direction I chose. Except . . . I glanced at Reid. He’d already made a choice—a stupid choice, but a choice nonetheless. He’d stepped without consulting me, but he’d obviously thought it necessary. Had it been necessary? Morgane had forgotten me, yes, but she hadn’t forgotten her wrath against the Church and Crown. The kingdom was in more danger now than ever.

I’ll find you, Lou. I promise.

I feigned a smile and flicked Beau’s nose. “Don’t think you’re getting out of our wager.”

“I’d never dream of it, sister mine.” Still speaking low, he released me with a wink and a grin of his own—our understanding implicit—and wagged the bottle of whiskey in my face. “Perhaps an olive branch, just for tonight? I don’t much feel like sleeping.”

Snatching the bottle, I downed a gulp. The whiskey burned all those unspoken words from my tongue. All the fear and doubt and restlessness. I swallowed another. “Nor I.”

“Now who’s whispering,” Reid grumbled.

We both looked to Jean Luc, who’d thrown his coat on the dressing table. I lifted my voice and the bottle simultaneously. “What about you, dear captain? Can we tempt you?”

“I’m going to bed. Poison yourselves all you’d like.”

I lifted a hand to my mouth, addressing Beau in a mock whisper. “He doesn’t want to play.”

Jean Luc paused in pulling back the quilt. “Play what?”

“Truth or dare.” Batting my lashes, I took another long pull before handing the bottle to Beau. “Just a couple of questions to pass the time until we fall asleep.”

“Until you pass out, you mean.” He flicked the quilt back and began to climb beneath it. “No, thank you.”

“That’s probably for the best.” I leaned into Beau conspiratorially, my limbs already pleasantly warm. He chuckled in response, a sturdy and familiar presence at my side. An anchor against my riotous thoughts. You know everything about me, don’t you? They called me trash boy. “I’ve been spending lots of time with Célie lately, so I have all sorts of juicy secrets I might’ve let slip.”

He lurched up instantly—then narrowed his eyes. Slowly, he sank back onto the bed. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know what you’re doing,” he repeated, voice emphatic, “and it isn’t the reason why I’ve decided to humor you. Give me the bottle.” Beau slapped it in his outstretched hand, and his throat worked on an enormous swallow. Wiping his mouth, he handed it to Reid next. “You start.”

Reid examined the bottle in distaste. “I’m not playing.”

“Oh, come on, Chass.” I rose to my tiptoes, clasping my hands together at my chest and swaying. “Please? I promise I won’t make you measure your dick against Jean Luc’s.”

Jean Luc smirked. “Now that is for the best. I wouldn’t want to embarrass anyone.”

Spluttering, Reid’s knuckles whitened on the bottle. “You—you can’t—” He grimaced. “What are the rules?”

“Rules are simple.” Beau plucked the bottle from his hand before draping himself across the end of the bed. I sank to the floor, still cackling with triumph, and curled my legs beneath me. “You choose a truth, or you a choose a dare. If you choose neither”—he lifted the whiskey meaningfully—“you drink. Sound fair?”

Reid remained standing, crossing his arms and glaring down at us like some sort of pink-cheeked, vengeful god.

I sort of liked it.

“I’ll go first.” Jean Luc cleared his throat and rested his elbows on his knees. His light eyes found mine. “Lou: Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

His shoulders slumped. Clearly, I hadn’t given the answer he’d wanted, and clearly, he hadn’t prepared a dare in advance. He waved a flippant hand. “I dare you to cut your hair with one of my knives.”

I laughed and took a shot of whiskey without a word.