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“It has been a long few days.”

Her body groaned in agreement as she crossed the room to join Lotta.

“You haven’t been sleeping.” Thicket paused. It wasn’t a question. He knew, and by the anger tainting his words, he wasn’t happy about it. Thicket looked at him. He looked the same as always. Sharp, intense features that almost always bordered on a scowl. But she swore there was a pinch of concern there, too.

She picked at the loose skin along her nails. Her hands had gotten drier since entering the Desert Kingdom. The lack of proper water and the growth of the habit was doing nothing to help, leaving the skin raw and shredded. “I’m fine,” she said.

Marcellus sighed. He leaned across the space between the two beds and grabbed her hand.

“Wha—” Her words were cut off as he yanked her onto the bed with him. Her head fell against his legs, her nose brushing the soft, silky material of his brown tunic. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She went to rise but Marcellus put a hand to her head, keeping it pinned to his lap.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Sleep,” he ordered.

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can.”

“But the dreams—”

“Might happen. They might not. But no matter what goes on inside them, I will protect you. And if you wake up confused and don’t know where you are, I’ll be right here to remind you. So sleep, Princess, and try not to drool on my lap.”

Like she would be able to sleep like this. This close, she could feel the warmth of his skin radiate onto her. And the smell of his shirt… It was similar to the feeling she got when she hugged her sheets close to her nose and inhaled its soft, comforting scent.

Something tugged at her hair. It was featherlight, sending pleasant shivers down her spine. She glanced up at Marcellus to see a strand of her hair wrapped around his finger. He looked so lost in thought she wondered if he even knew he was doing it. Their eyes met and he instantly dropped the strand. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“It’s kind of hard when you’re glowering at me like that.” He rolled his eyes and glanced away.

“I like when people play with my hair,” she admitted. It was so unruly and bushy, but the light, gentle pull of another’s fingers always made her relax.

There was a long moment of stillness. Another sigh. Then a strand of her hair lifted again. The tug of it had everything down to her toes go numb. Marcellus’ fingers grew braver, skimming the top of her scalp as he picked up a larger chunk and ran his fingers through it, going slow so he didn’t break through any of the tangles. He kept up the motion. Her body felt light and tingly but her chest was squeezing tighter and tighter, so much so she was certain he could feel the pulse of her heart.

“I also don’t like silence,” she mumbled. “It makes my thoughts too chaotic.”

“What do you want me to do about that?” His voice was a low rumble, reverberating against her cheek.

“You still owe me an answer,” she said. “From when I won our battle.”

“You remembered that?”

“Of course I did!” There was no way she would have forgotten the one opportunity she had to get a guaranteed answer from him.

He sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

His brows furrowed. “Aren’t you demanding?”

“You’re the one who wants me to sleep.” She hesitated. “The farmhouse. What was it like to live there?”

“Busy. Owning land comes with a lot of responsibility. My father put me to work as soon as I was old enough to follow orders. He thought building discipline in me early would guarantee me a successful future.”

“What about your brothers?”

“Trouble,” he grunted. “Would never sit still. My father tried to get them to work like I did, but they would make more of a mess than anything.” He let out a small breath of laughter. Then, as if catching himself, he glanced down at her, frowning. “How are all these questions helping you sleep?”

I just want to know more about you. But the words refused to come out. “You said your father made you work, but would you consider your childhood a happy one?”