Mama paled further. She snatched a few belongings and fled the cell, shutting the door behind her.
Grayson returned his attention to Mia while Fletcher resumed his work with the medicine.
After a moment of silence, Fletcher whispered, “I didn’t know.”
Grayson didn’t look away from Mia. Her cries had quieted to low moans, though tears still leaked from her eyes. “Didn’t know what?” he asked distractedly, his voice gruff.
“I didn’t know she was ill.” The softness of Fletcher’s tone didn’t hide the man’s emotions. Regret was there, as well as concern.
Surprise filtered through Grayson and he glanced up. Was it possible the impassive guard cared for Mia? He wasn’t sure what to think of that.
He’d waited too long to respond, so he cleared his throat. “Thank you for the medicine.” Fates knew it wasn’t something the physicians would have given him. For being a prince, he had little power in the castle.
Fletcher grunted, avoiding the thanks. “You should get the hair off her neck. And take off her shoes and stockings.”
Grayson took the man’s suggestions, and by the time he’d finished baring her feet, Fletcher arrived with the cup of medicine. Once she’d taken it—albeit reluctantly—Grayson pressed a kiss to her hot temple, his lips throbbing with the scorching heat of her fever.
“She needs rest,” Fletcher said. “If the fever still rages in an hour, give her more tea.” The guard eyed him, his hand on the door handle. “The night guard will be here in an hour. I’ll be outside until then, if you need anything.”
Mia drifted in and out of sleep, but even when awake she wasn’t fully conscious. She relaxed marginally when Grayson kept the cool cloth pressed against her skin, so he continued the motions even though his muscles strained. He held her close, kissed the top of her head and her hot cheek. His throat ached from whispering to her, an endless spill of soothing words that probably meant nothing to her. The fever continued unbroken into the night, and though time was difficult to gauge in the cell, Grayson thought it could only be a handful of hours until dawn when Mia finally settled into a deep sleep, her brow no longer radiating a feverish heat.
Grayson didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until a feather-light touch brushed his jaw. He pried his eyes open. He’d slipped onto his side at some point, so they lay facing each other. His right arm was stretched out and Mia’s head rested on it. The whole limb was numb, even his fingers, but he didn’t care—Mia was awake. The lamp burning on the table across the room cast imperfect light, but Grayson easily met her unclouded gaze.
“You’re back,” she whispered, her words rasping a little. Her hand cupped his cheek, the other resting on the bed between them.
“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice roughened from sleep.
“Tired.” Her throat bobbed. “How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know. Several hours.” He studied her shadowed face, his chest squeezing when he realized their noses were only a breath apart. They’d never laid together like this. One of his hands curled over her waist, his thumb resting against her belly. The intimacy of this moment stunned him. For all the times he’d embraced her, she’d never seemed this close. His focus dropped to her lips. They were pressed together, soft, pink, and so near his own.
Grayson had learned years ago to breathe through the pang of desire. He knew how to look away, to curl his fingers instead of stretch to reach her. And yet the need to kiss her pulled on every part of him and he didn’t shift away.
She was perfect. Beautiful.
Which was why he could never do this.
He didn’t deserve her friendship, let alone anything more. His scars were not just skin deep. The wrongs he’d committed in his father’s name stained him. He was the Black Hand. He’d killed. He wasn’t worthy of her. And he was afraid. What if he told her his feelings and she rejected him? Terror kept his mouth shut.
That didn’t mean the temptation wasn’t there, riding him so hard right now he couldn’t breathe.
Mia’s lips parted.
His eyes flashed to hers and he knew she’d caught him staring. Heat spread over his face and he lowered his gaze.
“May I have some water?” she asked softly.
It meant moving away, but that was probably for the best; it was hard to concentrate when he was hyper-aware of every breath she took. He lifted his fingers from the curve of her waist and eased his dead arm out from under her head. She resettled against the pillow while he rolled to his feet, shaking out his hand that sparked with needles of pain as sensation rushed back.
When she finished drinking, he set the cup aside and sat on the edge of the bed. She caught his free hand and twined their fingers, pressing their palms together. It was the first time in years their hands had touched like this, skin to skin. He almost always wore gloves.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she whispered, thumbing his hand.
His throat clenched. He didn’t want to ruin this moment, but they needed to talk. Normally he could curb his curiosity about her past, but after what she’d said in the throes of fever, he couldn’t remain silent. “You asked for your mother,” he said quietly.
Mia stiffened. “What?”
“During the worst of your fever, you cried for your mother.”
Mia dropped his hand. Her chest rose and fell too quickly as she stared at him.
Grayson swallowed, forcing himself to continue despite the sudden chill between them. “You spoke other languages. I didn’t understand most of it, but you talked about your mother. A sister. Learning to swim. Playing with a dog. A painting you gave your father—”
“Stop.” Tears sparked in her eyes, wavering in the lamplight.
He couldn’t stop. The need to know burned inside him. “You had a life before this. A good one. What happened? How
