Page 104 of Reign

Bash nudged me with his elbow. “Open it.”

I flicked the locket open, expecting to see the daisy engraving, but instead found two pressed forget-me-nots tucked inside—my favorite flower.

“Bash!” I gasped. “You listened.”

“Not often,” he chuckled.

As I admired the delicate periwinkle petals, I realized this was the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given me.

“Thank you,” I said, meeting Bash’s gaze. “Will you put it on me?”

Bash nodded, taking the chain from my hands. I turned, brushing my hair aside. His fingertips grazed the nape of my neck as he fastened the clasp, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Secured,” he murmured, his touch lingering only briefly.

I tucked the locket safely inside my tunic and turned back to face him. For a moment, our eyes locked, unspoken desires circling around us. I knew we both longed to hold or kiss the other—but we couldn’t. I hated to admit it, but Finn was right. Until I could reveal my true self, it was safer to shut out my feelings for Bash.

“I should get back to the smithy,” I said as I rose. “Those swords aren’t going to enchant themselves.”

Bash gave me an understanding nod. “Thank you again,” he said softly, his focus returning to the gift.

Leaving him on the sands, I stole a glance over my shoulder and found him studying the details I’d crafted to impress him. The sight made me long to stay, but I forced myself onward toward the tree line.

The shadows deepened as I reached the woodland’s edge. Gradually, as my eyes adjusted to the lowering light, Fletcher emerged from the branches, startling me as he made his way back toward his cousin.

“Bash is very fond of you,” he said with a peculiar grin.

“Jealous that he has another friend he trusts?” I retorted, mirroring his condescending smile.

Fletcher shook his head. “I’ve never seen him so thoughtful. Well, I have,” he added, his voice trailing off as he passed me. “But only with female acquaintances.”

I looked behind, watching Fletcher slightly shake as if he was chuckling to himself.

Back at the smithy, I couldn’t shake the lingering questions. Had Bash confided in Fletcher about our secret moments of intimacy? Or was it obvious we cared for each other more than friends should? Perhaps Fletcher had guessed my secret—his remark might have been a gibe about my hidden identity.

I quickly tidied the workspace, eager to calm my racing thoughts. The sooner I cleaned up, the sooner I could spend the evening drinking ale by the bonfire, forgetting my worries, and mindlessly staring into its flames.

As I returned a chisel to the tool rack, Finn’s gift caught my eye. Curiosity tugged at me until I relented, picking it up and peeling away the parchment. Inside was a crown made from a daisy chain.

Thoughtful, indeed. It must have taken hours to weave the delicate chain, and I knew guilt would’ve weighed heavily on him with each flower he intertwined. But I wasn’t ready to make amends.

I planned to toss the daisy chain into the fire, but as it dangled from my fingers, I thought of someone who might appreciate the crown.

The evening had turned dark and drizzly, and I darted through the encampment toward the glowing royal tent. Sluggishly, a knight patrolled the perimeter of Fitzroy’s quarters. I clung to the shadows, hiding in the dark dapples as the knight marched ten paces one way, pivoted, and retraced his steps.

When he disappeared around the back of the tent, I made a dash for it.

Slipping through the fluttering opening, I stumbled on the uneven boards. Fitzroy, seated at his desk, visibly flinched—startled by my intrusion. Surrounded by burning candlesticks and holding a wreath of evergreen, he wore an unimpressed scowl on his handsome face.

“Happy Yuletide!” I called out.

Fitzroy slammed the wreath on the desk. “Please have my knights announce your arrival. What if I were nude?”

I chuckled. “That would’ve been something worth laughing at,” I teased, though he didn’t even smirk.

My thoughts drifted, imagining what Fitzroy might look like beneath all his finery. Did he have a strong chest or toned thighs? Were his arms muscular or lean? Did a trail of hair travel down his stomach, leading toward his…

Fitzroy cleared his throat, halting my figurative undressing.