Chapter 10

I woke to the sight of boots.

Four pairs, through the high window, standing in the frost of the kitchen yard in a neat row, absolutely still. Big boots. Lycan boots. Every now and then one of them shifted its weight and then went still again, very guiltily, as if it had been told not to fidget.

It took me a moment to understand. They were waiting. For their King. Outside a ward’s storeroom window, in the frost, at—I looked at the light—a little after seven in the morning.

The King was asleep on my floor.

He had slid down in the night until he was half lying against the side of the pew bed, with Persuasion open on his chest and his head tipped back against the mattress beside my pillow. His hair had come out of its leather tie. In sleep, all the hard angles of his face had gone soft, and he looked younger, and very tired, and so peaceful it seemed almost unreal.

Almost.

I lay there and looked at him for a while, and let myself think about th