Page 47 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“I tried to break up a fight,” he said finally. “At the pub. And fell into some glass on the way down.”

Nore drew a breath through her teeth. She’d cut herself more than once on wine bottles, broken during shipping. “And they didn’t call in a healer, or do anything to fix you up?”

“I just wanted to be home,” he said, his voice a touch ragged.

Nore hummed under her breath. She didn’t question further as she finished pulling the glass free, then cleaned up his wounds with water and antiseptic they kept for any injuries. They didn’t have gauze, but Nore sacrificed one of Caspian’s shirts for the job. By the time she finished, his breathing was slow and even; she wasn’t sure if he was still awake.

“I’m done,” Nore said, brushing a dark curl from his face.

His eyes flicked open. “Thank you,” he said.

She traced the arc of his cheek. There was something twisting in her stomach, something she’d been thinking about as she’d patched him up. “You were just going to do this yourself, weren’t you? And if I asked tomorrow… would you have told me?”

He smirked, covering his exhaustion in that charm that came to him so easily. “I imagine you would’ve seen me naked at some point,” he said, one eyebrow tipping.

“Stop with the seduction attempt, Khari,” Nore scolded. She got up, the bitterness twisting. “You always make a point to take care of me,” she said, washing the blood away from her hands and wringing out the cloth, disposing of the pink water. “And yet, you don’t think I feel the same?”

His expression shifted, and she recognized the guard coming up. “I don’t…” He sighed, his head tipping back again. “I just. This, Nore. You and me. It’s… too good. I don’t want to ruin it.”

She turned back, leaning her hip against the basin. “Ruin it?” she asked. “What do you think you’re ruining by getting injured?”

He looked away, shaking his head. “You don’t understand.”

Nore crossed the room, sinking to her knees. She felt the bite of a glass shard against one knee, missed when she was cleaning up, but she ignored it. “Then make me understand,” she said softly, cupping his face in her hands.

He looked at her unhappily, then breathed out a laugh, shaking his head. “You are… magnificent. And you’re smart, and you’re talented, and you have your whole life ahead of you to grow even smarter and more talented and wealthy. And you have connections, and friends, and people who love you—”

“And you,” Nore said, running her thumb over his chin. “Above that, I have you.”

She thought of her work. Of Celestine’s hand, carefully guiding her, and of Edith’s sharp directions and sharper corrections when Nore even toed the line of slipping. Though she could convince herself otherwise, neither of those things were hers. If she failed, if she made too much of a misstep, that too would be taken away—and with it, she’d lose her name, her identity, everything she’d worked for, without a single thing to show for it.

But she looked at Cas, and—she caught her breath. The realization bloomed. He was something that was hers, wholly and truly. Someone she had chosen, whom no one could take away. Nore Arlowe, Nore Gordon, wherever the cards fell, he was hers.

“Marry me.”

He looked over at her, confusion furrowing his brow. Nore hadn’t even known the words were going to come out of her mouth until they were already there.

“What?”

Nore flushed, realizing the weight of what she’d just said. She couldn’t just get married. And Cas was his own person; just because she loved him more than she knew how to explain didn’t mean he felt in any way the same.

Shame and embarrassment mingled—How foolish of you, you stupid girl, to believe anything could be yours.

“Sorry,” Nore said, ducking her head to hide her darkening cheeks. She got up quickly, the blood trickling from the new cut on her knee, and took the bowls to the kitchen. She didn’t realize Cas was following her until he grabbed her wrist, turning her around so her back hit the wood counter. He was a step away from her, yet the space felt uncrossable. She set the bowls aside.

“You want that?” Cas asked, something unfamiliar and fragile in his voice.

Nore swallowed hard, looking up at him. “I… I do.” She reached for the reasoning, still unable to shake the foolishness. “Because you’re mine. And I’m yours. And I… You’re the only person who makes me feel as if I’m wholly myself.”

He gently brushed the hair away from her face, studying her expression. “You really mean it,” he murmured. “Though you know, marriage is forever, Finch. Not just some impulsive choice.”

“Then give me forever,” Nore said firmly. She clenched her hands, her nails digging into her palms. It was a declaration. A permanence. A decision she could not claim innocence of. If they married, gone was any form of plausible deniability she could keep of her secret life from Edith, from Celestine. “And nothing less.”

He regarded her warily. “That is a long time,” he said.

“If you don’t want to marry me, then say so.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. “That’s the problem,” he said. He laughed softly, shaking his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe they were having this conversation. He reached for her hand and flipped it over, tracing the lines of her palm with the tip of his finger. “You know, my mother always hoped I’d marry some Idistran nobility or another.”