Page 13 of Within the Hollow Heart

He leaned nearer. It couldn’t be helped. “What is your second-favorite pet, then? Perhaps I will like that.”

“When I was a girl, I was given a menagerie of sorts.”

“A menagerie, was it?” He imagined young Jules with a heap of some small furry things. Mewling kittens, perhaps. Or rabbit kits, whatever noise they made.

She hummed in agreement. “I was denied sweets for a month when I set the lot of them free. It was made quite clear afterward that I would not be allowed a pet until I was of age and under my own care, which I’m afraid illustrates that my father missed the point entirely.”

“Ah,” Nickolas purred. “A criminal from the start. As I suspected.”

“Who is to decide what is criminal? The act was misguided perhaps, but not the intention behind it. No creature wants for a cage.”

“Indeed,” Nickolas said. “Compassion is a great virtue. Even if one does choose to bestow it upon a wounded bird.”

“Compassion can be bravery when one opens their heart to what they fear.”

“I would not go as far as calling itfear,” he hedged.

“Nor could we call it unflinching.”

“Touché. And what of you?” he murmured, trying terribly not to stare at the line of her neck. “Is there nothing that unsettles you?”

She looked back at him, all hint of humor gone from her expression. “Yes. A great many things, Lord Brigham.”

Nickolas regretted that he had asked. “Very well,” he said, attempting to step back from whatever precipice loomed over their conversation. “Then we shall each have and keep our dislikes.”

The edge of her lip shifted but not into a true smile. Nickolas fell silent, hating whatever dark emotion hid behind her reaction, and they both took to watching the kingdom pass outside.

It was warm inside the cabin, and the early sun came bright through the carriage windows. He felt Jules lean into him after a bit, away from the light that shone more heavily on her side. He made no comment, but after a while of silent stillness, he glanced over to find that she’d somehow drifted off to sleep. He stared at her motionless form, the way her limbs seemed to have gone entirely loose and the way her shoulder pressed to his, all hint of distress erased from her features. Her head canted toward him, rocking with every bump and jostle. He wasn’t certain whether he should move but knew her position must be uncomfortable. He shifted, only barely, to allow her form to fall further against him, catching her head against the shoulder of his jacket without having to touch her more than she had done on her own.

Satisfied, Nickolas returned his gaze to the seat before them. Frederick perched in his cage, birdy glare intensified. Nickolas resisted the impulse to reply. As if being judged for his behavior with ladies by the entire court was not enough, he was suddenly being outclassed by fowl. He purposefully returned his attention to the carriage window.

The trip carried on, taking them past the many shops and residences, winding through the narrow streets inside Westrende’s border, until their way widened with more distance from the kingdom center. Nickolas had loved escaping as a boy, had adored the sense of freedom that came with being outside the castle walls. It was more than simply the expanse of pasture and open sky. It was the space created by the very lack of courtiers.

It was the way it had made him feel as if he might finally breathe.

Etta had held little patience for him then—perhaps not a great deal more than she had in later years—because her entire being was molded around the kingdom and its structure. Her father had been no kinder than Nickolas’s mother, but the pair of them had found their contentment in entirely different directions. Nickolas and the other boys had run and screamed and flung caution—and propriety—to the wind when they were away. He’d returned so often without his coat—and on one particularly shameful occasion, his trousers—that Nickolas’s mother had punished him by way of making him work off his debt with Lady Roth.

His days mending tools and carrying crates for the tailor had been some of the most enjoyable of his youth. It was the single day he’d been relegated to the bird lady’s care that he refused to dwell on. The last thing he would ever do was admit the story to Jules and her censorious bird.

The carriage passed beneath a massive gateway, and Nickolas glanced at Jules. They were nearly at the Filmore estate, and she’d settled quite firmly against him. She was altogether adorable when she was sleeping, not a hint of her sharp, graceful movements in sight. One slippered foot was turned outward, the other tucked beneath the bench. Her hand had curled into the hem of his coat, like a child with a familiar blanket, and her cheek was plastered to his arm. He should wake her. He didn’t want to.

He ducked his head toward hers to whisper news of their arrival, but somehow, unfathomably, his lips found their way to brush softly against the crown of her head.

Jules moved.

Nickolas started, straightening, in utter disbelief at what he’d done.

Across the carriage, the bird squawked in outrage then glared what had to be a threat of death.

Nickolas kept his eyes on the creature regardless as, beside him, Jules blinked awake.

Stretching her arms surreptitiously, she glanced out the carriage window. “Here already?”

He cleared his throat, gaze pinned to the unmistakably livid bird. “Yes, just.”

Jules ran her delicate fingers over her hair, sweeping back the few strands that had gone astray as she took in the bird. “Good. By the look of it, I don’t think Frederick enjoys carriage rides.”

* * *

---