She wasn’t, not for the kiss. But there was no sense in correcting him. What was done, was done. And they couldn’t do this again. No matter how much she might long to. How much she might want things to be different, when she was alone, without a need to pretend otherwise.

He uncurled her fingers from his robe, stepping away, and she did the same, retreating a step or two, her arms folding across her ribcage. “I know,” she murmured quietly, dropping her gaze to the floor of her quarters. “I know.” Regret filled every word.