Page 139 of Reign

“Earlier, you said you’d marry a villager someday, simply because it’s expected of you, correct?”

Fitzroy raised a brow, and I nodded to confirm he was right.

“Has living as a man taught you nothing?” His curt tone took me aback.

While Fitzroy looked into my eyes, intensely waiting for my answer, I tried to make sense of his words.

“I don’t follow…”

“In Cambas, you were valued for your skill, your bravery, your camaraderie among fellow soldiers. Not once was your worth reduced to whether you were a virgin. Yet now you’ve taken off the breeches and put on the gown, and it’s like you’ve put yourself back in your old restraints.”

I didn’t want to accept it, but he was right—though it wasn’t as simple as what garments I donned.

“You don’t understand,” I said. “It’s not that I want to obey these rules—it’s just the order of things, and I cannot change that.”

I let out a resigned sigh, feeling conflicted between expectation and defiance.

“I saw what my mother endured,” Fitzroy said, offering me his goblet.

I accepted, taking a long sip of the fruity wine before passing it back.

“If she’d been a man,” he continued, “she could have bedded half the kingdom and not one head would’ve turned. She’d be remembered simply as a great painter.”

Fitzroy took a moment to stare into his goblet, watching the red wine ripple as he swayed the vessel. There was a deep sorrow in his eyes—something I hated to see, that I wished to ease.

“Her only sin was obeying the King, and she was labeled nothing better than a whore. She listened to the courtiers’ gossip—viewed herself through the same distorted lens. And I don’t want you to be ensnared in that trap. You’re too talented a blacksmith—too great a witch—to measure your self-worth by your piety or whether you’re married.”

Fitzroy tore his gaze from his goblet to meet mine, staring deep into my eyes with nothing but honesty oozing from his. His brows furrowed—an almost pained look etched into his strong features, as if the idea of me not knowing my worth hurt him.

Though my heart beat a little faster from his kind words, womanhood still seemed an impossible labyrinth to wend—a hidden pitfall around every corner.

“How can I ever escape?” I asked, searching for more of his wisdom.

“Courage—and absolute certainty that what you’re doing is the right thing. Not only for yourself, but for all who walk the realm.”

I nodded, listening intently, taking in every word.

“I truly believe Lyonesse would be a better place if magic weren’t outlawed,” he continued. “That’s why I’m fighting to emancipate witches and wizards. And if you think the kingdom would be better if women could be blacksmiths, and choose whether and whom they wish to marry, then you should fight for that, too.”

Fitzroy took my hand once more. This time, he held it tight.

“I know it’s scary. I’d be a lying man if I said I wasn’t terrified. But if I have to be brave—well then, so do you.”

After a grounding exhale, I nodded once more. He was right.

“There is so much more to you than being a woman,” Fitzroy said, meeting my eye with burning certainty blazing in his. “Don’t forget that just because people call you Niamh again.”

I was stunned.

It was as if I’d been caught out in the rain, and just before my garments were drenched through, Fitzroy had come to my aid—bringing with him the sun, giving me warmth and light when I needed it most.

Usually, I could only compliment his near-perfect physical attributes, but today his soul shone through—caring, thoughtful, and radiant.

I wanted to tell him how much his words meant to me—no. I wanted to show him, to kiss him. Unable to resist, I stole a glance at his lips.

A soft chuckle escaped Fitzroy, and my cheeks heated, certain he’d caught me looking.

“I meant it when I said the carpenter’s a fool,” he murmured. “If he doesn’t want you, then that’s his loss, and someone else’s gain—because you’re truly a gemstone among the grit.”