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Amara’s stomach twisted. Whether from guilt or hunger, she didn’t know.

She didn’t move toward the tray.

“I’m sorry,” she said instead.

Rhys’s brow creased. “For what?”

“For what me faither did. For sending ye home with a prisoner instead of yer cousin. For abandoning me so publicly. For… for puttin’ ye in this position.”

He took a breath, as if steadying himself. “Ye shouldnae be the one to apologize for his sins, lass.”

“But I’m the only one here who can.”

His mouth opened, then closed again. He glanced down at the fire, its light flickering up his face.

Amara pulled the blanket tighter around her and stared at the tray. She recognized the golden crust of a beef pasty, a wedge of soft cheese, and a bit of fresh berry tart.

Was he learning me favorites? Daenae be daft, girl.

Her chest tightened.

She lifted her eyes to him. “Did… did me faither ask for me? When Finn returned? Did he say?”

Rhys’s jaw ticked. He didn’t answer right away.

“Nay,” he finally said. “Finn escaped on his own. He wasnae released.”

The ache bloomed hot behind her ribs.

“Right.” She looked down again, blinking fast.

“I was goin' to tell ye earlier, right after I found out,” he added. “But I got caught up.”

She nodded, but the tears still gathered.

“I see.”

Her throat burned. She swallowed hard and pressed her fingers into the blanket in her lap.

He shifted. “Amara…”

“Will ye send me back?”

The question slipped out before she could stop it.

Rhys went still. She watched the tension ripple through him, subtle but unmistakable.

“I daenae…” He looked at her then, really looked at her, as if weighing her in his mind. “I daenae ken what yer faither will want next. But that’s nae what I’m thinkin’ about.”

“Then what are ye thinkin’ about?”

His answer was quiet.

“I’m thinkin’ that ye’ve had naught a single say in any of this. And that maybe yeshould, since it’s yer life.”

The tears she’d been holding back broke loose.

Rhys didn’t move toward her. He didn’t try to hush her or wipe them away. He simply let them fall.