She kissed him. There was no forethought. No moment of indecision or even of decision. She saw that haunted look in his eyes, and she wanted to make it go away. So she kissed him.
He hesitated only a moment, not even long enough for her to register that he was hesitating, and by the time she did, he was kissing her back, a deep, incredible kiss that banished every awkward, behind-the-village-hall buss from her mind, as if they could not even be called by the same name. This was what she’d been looking for in those fumbling embraces that had left her feeling as if someone had dangled the sweetest honey wine just out of reach, and she could see it, smell it, but could not grasp it, could not taste it. This was what she’d been aching for. A kiss, just like this. A young man, just like this.
When it stopped, she hung there, eyes still closed, feeling drunk, her mind buzzing. And then —
Tyrus’s voice. Rough, low. His words, a mumbled, “I’m sorry.” His hands tugging his cloak from over them. Her eyes, flying open, seeing his gaze averted. His voice again. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
Then the shame. The humiliation and the cold wave of anguish, as if in pulling that cloak back, he’d shoved her into an icy pool.
He looked over then. He saw her face, and he reached for her.
“Moria, I —”
She scrambled back. “I’m sorry. I – I didn’t mean —”
“It’s all right.”
No, it wasn’t. She’d shamed herself. Dishonored their friendship. Worse, she could barely even consider that. All she thought of was that kiss, and how it felt, and that it was over, and she wasn’t ever going to feel it again.
She pushed up on all fours. Tyrus caught her cloak.
“Moria —”
“There was no excuse. I… I’m tired and I’m frightened and I wanted… I should go.”
He held her fast. “No.”
When she pulled, as if to slip out of the cloak and escape, he took hold of the front, gripping the sides together, his hand right under her chin.
“No,” he said, his voice soft and gentle despite the iron grip. “You did nothing wrong.”
“Yes. I… I behaved dishonorably. I did something you did not want. Something you’d made clear you did not want and —”
He kissed her. She was still talking, and he pulled her down and kissed her. It was not the same as before. No deep, delicious kiss, but still so sweet, so achingly perfect.
This time, when he pulled away, he held her close.
“You gave me nothing I do not want, Moria,” he said, enunciating each word. “You gave me something I cannot have. You aren’t mine. You cannot be mine. Not until I am sure…” He loosened his grip. “Gavril is my friend.”
Moria yanked so hard she would have tumbled onto her back if he’d let go. He didn’t.
“Yes, you do not wish to have this conversation,” he said. “We’ve been avoiding it since we met, because I’ve known if I pressed the matter, you’d walk away. You cannot walk away here, Moria.” He waved at the camp. “So settle in, because we are having this discussion, one-sided though it may be.”
She seethed and glowered, but she’d do nothing to give them away.
“Gavril is my friend,” he said. “And you will notice I do not use the past tense. I do not believe he’s done what he seems to have done. That may make me a fool. But in my heart, I don’t believe him capable of this, and I don’t think you do either.”
“Of course I do. He —”
“That was a statement, not a question. Perhaps, again, I’m wrong. Yet I cannot help but wonder what would happen if he were to appear here now and explain everything to your satisfaction. If he could convince you he’d not betrayed his empire. That he’d not betrayed you.”
“Any betrayal of me is trivial and unimportant —”
“No, it isn’t.” He met her gaze. “Not to you.”
“If you are implying that Gavril and I —”
“— were lovers? No, I am quite certain there was not so much as an affectionate exchange between you, let alone a kiss. If Gavril knew all along what he had to do for his father, then he’d not have allowed that. But he wanted to. He’d fallen for you and —”
“No.”
“Yes. I know him, and as much as you don’t want to believe that I know him well, I do, and I could tell his feelings for you —”
“No.” She struggled against a stronger objection. She wanted to snarl the word, to yank from his grip and stride away into the night, slough off this conversation and cleanse her mind of it. But all she could safely say was a harshly whispered, “It was not like that. Not at all.”
“Perhaps. I hope it’s not. But if I believe he had feelings for you, which could be returned should the circumstances change, then I cannot let anything happen between us. It would be dishonorable.”
“Your sense of honor is misplaced.”
A quirked smile. “Perhaps. But it’s still mine to misplace.” He settled her cloak around her. “If my reaction felt like rejection, then you have very little experience of kissing. Quite clearly, it was reciprocated. I…” His gaze lifted to hers. “What I feel for you… It’s not anything…” He swallowed. “If you were mine and then he came back with an explanation, and you realized that you loved him —”