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“Yes.”

The admission was calm, direct. Her voice didn’t even tremble. And somehow, that composure was worse than tears would have been.

And he had saved her. From the very fire meant to eliminate him.

He’d carried her for hours through the forest, feeling her heartbeat against his chest and whispering reassurances in her ear.

And to think, he’d been happy this morning.

What word had he used in his mind? Joyous.

He’d compared her to Sarah. His loyal, loving, gentle Sarah.

He’d thought himself capable of loving again.

Fool. Fool. Fool.

“You could have slit my throat while I slept,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “What stopped you? Couldn’t find my dagger in the dark? Or did your little seduction not go according to plan? Did you not anticipate my stamina to put you to sleep?”

The look that crossed her face was one of such devastating hurt that, for a moment, he almost wavered.

She swallowed hard before speaking. “After everything we shared last night, if you think that was all an act, then I don’t know how to convince you otherwise.”

“After everything we shared,” he shot back, “you failed to mention that you had the bloody mark of my enemies carved into your skin!”

“What does this mark even mean?” she cried.

Her question was so genuine, so confused, that for a split second, he wondered if he could be wrong.

She was a convincing actress. He had fallen for her lies one too many times.

“As if you don’t know,” he spat. “It’s the same mark that was left on the doorstep of my burnt-down house, where the corpses of my wife and children still lay! It’s the mark I swore to eradicate from this world, along with everyone who bears it.”

“And now I wear it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “so that means you must eradicate me too?”

Yes.

No.

He didn’t know.

And it didn’t matter at the moment. If she had indeed tricked him once more, it meant people were going to come for them.

Soon.

Perhaps now.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and every instinct he’d honed over the years screamed danger. He could feel someone watching them, hunting them.

His voice dropped to an urgent whisper. “We have to go. Now.”

He scooped his cloak off the ground and draped it over her shoulders. Then he grabbed her arm, probably too tightly, and dragged her with him.

To her credit, she didn’t protest or struggle. She simply followed, matching his pace as they moved swiftly through the trees.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, as he didn’t know.