Page 138 of Reign

“Did you enjoy the play?” I asked, taking a seat beside him.

He shook his head. “I prefer a tragedy.”

“Speaking of tragedies, I cannot fathom that Elizebeth hasn’t seen her daughter for so many years. Her own father, giving her away—treating her like a prize—all to salvage his pride. Can you imagine?”

Fitzroy snorted as if the question were ridiculous. “It astonishes me more that you’re surprised. There aren’t many kind or genuine people in positions of power.”

I nodded, accepting his view, though still reeling from the revelation.

Fitzroy reached for the decanter, pouring the remaining dregs into his goblet.

“Do you want to know what truly baffles me? Your unquenchable thirst,” I teased, aware that if I’d consumed even half as much as him tonight, I’d be sprawled out beneath the table.

He laughed. “I don’t retreat to my bedstead while I can still recall my own name.”

“Do you remember it?”

Fitzroy raised his eyes to meet mine. “I do, Niamh.”

A feather-light flutter tickled my stomach at the sound of him saying my name.

“You’ve never called me that before.”

“May I call you Niamh?”

I nodded, and a gentle smile crept onto his face.

He took my hand, turning it so my purple palm faced upward. “You’re one of the hardest-working people I know,” he murmured, gently tracing the swirls upon my skin.

“I aspire to be as great a sorcerer as you by the summer solstice,” I said, enjoying his affectionate touch.

Fitzroy released my hand, his fingers returning to the stem of his goblet.

“I admire your determination,” he remarked before taking a sip of wine.

“But…” I said, waiting for the inevitable punchline.

He merely shook his head. “Just admiration.”

“That’s the first kind thing you’ve said to me without counterbalancing it with something cruel,” I noted.

“Am I truly so unkind?” he asked, his voice gentler than usual. “Lately, I think naught but good of you—even if my words suggest otherwise.”

My heart thumped a little faster.

“You think of me?” My tone was laced with skepticism, but internally I hoped he was being honest.

Fitzroy bit his bottom lip, his gaze briefly flickering to my mouth. “Sometimes, I find it hard to think of much else.”

My brow furrowed, doubting the honesty of his words, yet my lips betrayed me, curling into a smile at the thought of occupying his mind.

“I didn’t know you had the capacity to think about anyone besides your own self,” I quipped.

Fitzroy chuckled, toasting his goblet to me as if I made a valid point.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked, his words muffled into his drink as he took a sip.

I nodded.