Page 124 of Reign of Light
“I never thought I would have to bury him,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “Not after an attack like that. I always thought I would die protecting him. It’s what I swore to do. Every second of today isgoing to be a constant reminder of many things. With every step, I’m going to be reminded that I failed him.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t fail, Weston. You fought. You fought for me, and he saw that. You’re one man, one who was in chains. None of what happened falls on your shoulders. It falls on Dane’s.” When he says nothing, I continue. “He didn’t blame you. Instead, he shocked us both and encouraged you.”
He lets out a sigh. “Doesn’t make it any easier.”
I turn toward him, tipping my chin up to look into his stoic face. “Well, then, let’s get it over with.”
The glint of shining metal catches my eye, and I look down, finding his First Guard uniform completely transformed. Armor similar to what Brynne wore so often covers his body, with the seal of Blackwood plainly in the center of his chest to match the polished golden band on his finger.
From the moment I met him, I knew he was strong and commanding, but this? It takes my breath away. Even after knowing who he is and what position he holds for all this time, it isn’t until I see him, fully dressed, his gleaming sword at his side, ready to go into battle for me, that it finally sinks in.
Weston is just as integral to this kingdom as I am. Sworn to protect me, but promised to love me.
He’s mine, in duty and in heart, and all the ways that matter, even if it only ever stays between us.
“I have something for you.” His words jar me from my thoughts, and I pry my gaze away from his armor. He reaches behind him, pulling something from his belt before extending his hand to me.
My dagger.
Its whereabouts hadn’t crossed my mind once in the aftermath of everything. After years of feeling secure and safe with it tucked into my waistband, then trying to get it back when I didn’t have it, in the last week, I hadn’t even missed it. Not once. The man standing in frontof me makes me feel safer than any blade ever could, but I’m still glad to have it back. After everything it has helped me through, I can’t part with it, nor am I allowed to officially and traditionally now as the queen.
“Thank you.”
He flips the blade, so the hilt is extended toward me, and I take it, sliding it into the secret pocket of the dress that Tila ensured was there. It will take getting used to not having it in my waistband whenever I am in a dress, which I suspect might have to be more often now. Tila can get over it, because I know I’ll be in my training pants as much as I can.
“I figured you wanted it back. I didn’t want you thinking I took it away again.”
I chuckle softly. “Well, I don’t want to stab you with it this time.”
The corner of his lips tips up into a smirk. “Maybe I should have hidden it under my pillow and made you try to take it.” I shove him playfully, and his smile widens. “You’re required to have it anyway before we step foot outside.”
“Says who? I make the rules here.”
He leans forward, and there’s a low grumble in his throat. “Says me.” He presses a chaste kiss to my lips, and I roll my eyes.
“You’re going to be right there.”
His gaze falls, and the muscle in his cheek flickers. “I was right there last time too. I still couldn’t protect you.”
“So, this guilt you’re feeling isn’t just about my father, then?”
His throat bobs, but he ignores the question. “Do we need to go over the routes again?”
“No, we don’t.” I reach up and cup his cheek, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Weston. Everything will be fine. It’s a funeral, not a rowdy celebration.”
“Right, and anyone who is unhappy about the royal family could try to hurt you.”
“You know I can protect myself.”
“I know,” he grumbles, then pauses. “I just can’t let it happen again.”
My thumb brushes against his stubble, and he leans into my touch just ever so slightly. “You won’t.”
A few heartbeats pass in silence before he speaks again. “There’s something else.”
His hand dips into the pocket of his pants, and his clenched fist comes out slowly. When he turns it over, opening his fingers to show me what is inside, I choke on my breath.
“Weston,” I say warily. An entirely new set of emotions rises in my chest, all of them mingling together, making them difficult to identify. Panic? Fear? Excitement? Longing? My chest rises and falls rapidly as I snap my eyes to his, only to find him shaking his head.
