Page 165 of Psycho Pack

The sound of my real name on her lips sends a jolt through me. I take her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

"I'm here," I whisper. "Go back to sleep."

She hums contentedly, her eyes drifting closed again. Within moments, her breathing evens out, deep and steady.

We lie there in silence for a long time, the only sound the soft whisper of breath and the occasional rustle of sheets. I stare up at the ornate ceiling, tracing the familiar intricate geometric patterns with my eyes. Anything to distract myself from the storm of emotions raging inside me.

"You're thinking too loud," Whiskey murmurs beside me. "I can practically hear the gears grinding in that big brain of yours."

I turn my head to look at him, surprised to find his honey-brown eyes fixed on me. There's a softness in his gaze I've never seen before. It makes my stomach twist.

"Sorry," I whisper. "I'll try to think more quietly."

He snorts, the sound muffled against the pillow. "Smart ass." His hand finds mine under the covers, his fingertips brushing against mine. "Wanna talk about it?"

I hesitate. The words are there, bubbling up in my throat, but I can't seem to let them out. Years of careful control, of burying everything deep inside, make it almost impossible to open up.

But Whiskey just waits patiently, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the back of my hand. The simple touch anchors me to the present when I feel like I might float away on a sea of strange and uncomfortable nostalgia.

"I don't know how to do this," I admit finally, my voice barely audible. "How to be...meagain. Whoever that is."

Whiskey's quiet for a long moment, considering. Then he tugs gently on my hand. "Come on," he says softly. "Let's get some air."

"Not naked, we aren't," I mutter.

His low chuckle vibrates through me. "You don't wanna show our cocks to all of Surhiira?"

"No. I don't."

He rolls slowly out of bed, pulling me with him. I watch, amused, as he rifles clumsily through the wardrobe like a giant bear. He finds a couple of silky robes and tosses one to me without warning. I catch it, but not before it covers me like a damn sheet over a ghost.

He chokes back a laugh that surely would've woken everyone else up. "New Plague disguise just dropped."

"Shut up," I grumble, pulling the robe off my head and shrugging into it. But I'm laughing a little, too.

"Now Idolook like the princess of Reinmich," Whiskey says wryly, tying the sash around his waist. I can't help but let my gaze roam over his strong body, noting how he fills the robe out nicely, the fabric pooling on his broad shoulders and hanging open over his padded midsection.

"You know there isn't one, right?" I ask, suddenly not sure.

"Not yet," he says, grinning. "There might be if Surhiira takes over. Would you be the king then? Kind of a weird thought."

"I'm only third in line, but even if I wasn't, I have no interest in any crown," I say flatly.

"You sure got an interest in mine."

I arch an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you even know that word."

"I know plenty," he says, already heading out onto the balcony.

I follow Whiskey outside, the cool night air raising goosebumps on my skin. For a moment, we just stand there in silence, taking in the view of the gleaming white city of marble and stone spread out before us, our lake glistening like billions of diamonds in the light of the full moon.

It's strange how familiar and foreign it feels all at once.

Whiskey leans against the railing, his robe shifting open to reveal his brawny torso. "So, Your Highness," he says, a teasing lilt to his voice. "Care to give me the grand tour?"

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. "I thought you wanted air, not a midnight stroll."

He grins that insufferable grin that always manages to get under my skin. "Why not both? C'mon, show me your old stomping grounds."