Page 55 of Reign

One of the knights shot me a glare, but Fitzroy never looked back.

“What was that about?” Bash asked, suddenly appearing beside me on the wooden planks.

He glared after the prince as he waited for me to explain—but I couldn’t. Bash didn’t know I was a woman or that Fitzroy was a wizard, and it felt cruel to tell him, the night before battle, that even our own commander believed we were all destined to die.

So instead, I shook my head, aching to share every one of those truths with him. But Mother’s words rang in my ears: Sharing secrets was dangerous.

“I really despise that bastard,” I muttered, watching Fitzroy and his knights vanish into the darkness along the coastline.

Bash offered his tankard to me, and I accepted it gratefully, the cool liquid soothing my parched gullet—sore from shouting.

“What did he say?” Bash asked, perching on the edge of the deck, letting his legs dangle over.

The truth wormed its way up my throat—that Fitzroy was a wizard—but I swallowed it down. I couldn’t break a promise, not when His Highness held a secret about me, too.

“He’s apprehensive about the invasion,” I said, taking a seat beside him.

Bash sighed. “As my father always told me, whatever will be, will be.”

“What was—is your father like?” I asked hesitantly, unsure whether to assume he was alive or dead.

“Too generous,” Bash replied, shaking his head. “He was always loaning people tools, labor, and coins without expecting anything in return.” He stared out at the sea, his brow furrowing as if contemplating his father’s every attribute. “He was very loyal—sometimes too committed to people who didn’t appreciate his steadfastness. Oh, and he was trusting—stupidly, naively, infuriatingly trusting. That was what led to his demise. He boarded that ship knowing a storm was brewing but trusted his captain’s judgment over his own.”

“He sounds like a good man,” I said, and Bash nodded in agreement.

“What’s your sister’s name?” he asked, his attention turning to me.

After a slight hesitation, I murmured, “Niamh.”

“Niamh,” Bash repeated, and I enjoyed the sound of him saying my name. “What’s she like?”

“She’s…” I hesitated—sitting beside you, I thought. “Just like me,” I said.

Bash rested his chin on his fists and sighed heavily. “All this family talk is making me miss home.”

“Me too,” I said, a sharp pang of sorrow piercing my chest at the thought of never seeing my brothers again.

“Do you have a sweetheart waiting for you in the Wetlands?” he asked, catching my eye.

I thought of Avice—the first person with whom I didn’t share blood that I cared for unconditionally.

I shook my head, knowing the only place I’d see her again was in the afterlife.

Bash chuckled. “Me neither. I’m hopeless at charming ladies.”

“That’s hard to believe,” I said, wondering if I’d ever met a man that I found more endearing than Bash.

He shook his head, dismissing my flattery.

I admired his strong profile as he gazed over the shimmering sea. Plenty of women residing in Green Vale would’ve hung off his neck like a pendant—perhaps I wouldn’t oppose marriage if he were the man my father picked.

“How many women have you laid with?” I asked, knowing his answer would be telling of his character.

Bash shifted his gaze from the water to meet mine. “More than a handful, less than two,” he said.

I nodded, deeming it an acceptable answer for a man.

“And yourself?” he asked.