Page 114 of Hollow Court

Before I could talk myself out of it, I was descending a different set of stairs on the other side of the roof, doubting my sanity with every muffled footfall.

What in the storms am I doing?

What if he’s sleeping?

Worse, what if he has company?

That last thought might have stopped me in my tracks if I weren’t already on the bottom stair. As it was, I looked up to see Davin, seated in a chair by his fireplace, very much alone.

I was rooted to the ground like one of the statues in the courtyard, remembering the words he had half-hurled at me on the rooftop.

Do you honestly think that I would do that to you?

Honestly?

I hadn’t thought he was capable of being chaste, let alone that he would want to. According to him, though, this wouldn’t have been the first time he had forsaken company for…my sake?

I did not sleep with Aino—or anyone, for that matter—after that night you saved me on the rooftop.

Der’mo. Why was everything so confusing where he was concerned?

Even now, he was…unexpected.

There was a half-empty glass of amber liquid in his hand and a book balanced on the arm of the chair. I watched, somewhat mesmerized, as he dipped his quill in an ink pot on the table to his left before scrawling something in the margins of his page.

It was jarring, realizing I had never before seen him hold a quill, would never have guessed he wrote with his left hand.What else didn’t I know about him?

Why did it feel so unspeakably wrong that I was running out of time to learn?

Only when he paused to run his fingers through his hair was I pulled back into the moment. The armor I usually kept in place lay in pieces on the ground around me, my emotions running wild in the chaos of my fatigue.

I knew it was a tremendously terrible idea to raise my hand and tap on the glass balcony door, rather than turn to walk away while I still could.

Davin always had brought out the reckless side of me.

It only took two taps for him to snap his head toward the window, sitting forward so rapidly he nearly spilled his drink.

Then he was at the door in a matter of seconds, pulling it open and searching my form with an inscrutable expression, almost like he was checking me for injuries. Perhaps he was only taken aback by the sight of my damp locks falling limply from my braid and my overall disheveled appearance.

Either way, he recovered himself quickly.

He stepped back, casually allowing me entrance like it was commonplace for me to show up at his rooms in the middle of the night. Then again, considering our history, perhaps that was truer than I wanted it to be.

He left the room, disappearing behind a door before returning with a towel. I took it and began to wipe the rain from my face as he spoke again.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any wine in here,” he said, turning to a liquor shelf. “But I do have several bottles of excellent whiskey.”

“I wouldn’t say no,” I replied.

He surveyed them for a moment before pulling down a tall bottle with squared edges and pouring me a glass. My heart was still pounding, so I took it from him gratefully, prepared to hide my distaste as I took a tentative sip.

He watched me, the corner of his mouth tilting up when I widened my eyes in surprise. It was smoother than I expected, sweeter and richer, but with an almost crisp finish.

“This is…good,” I told him truthfully.

At that, he smiled outright. “I thought you might think so. It was aged in a white wine barrel.”

He gestured for me to sit down, and I did.