She grinned, feeling wolfish.
“I told her I would ask,” Jacin added, “but you’re not obligated to say yes. You need to take care of yourself first.”
“Would you be with me?”
“Of course.” He crossed one ankle over the other. “But you could say no, and I’ll be with you then too. I’m done serving everyone else.” He leaned back onto his elbows. “Who knows. Maybe someday I’ll take up studying to be a doctor again. But until then, I’m your guard, to do with as you will.”
“So it will be like playing the Princess and the Guard,” she said—a game they’d played when they were kids. She’d act out a much bossier version of herself, while Jacin would model himself after their fathers, all stoic and serious and scrambling to do her bidding. When Winter ran out of commands to give him, they would pretend there were murderers and kidnappers coming for the princess and he would protect her from them.
Jacin grinned. “Hopefully with fewer kidnappings.”
She pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “If Cinder wishes it, I would be honored to charm the people of Earth.”
“I had a feeling you’d say that.” Lying all the way back, he rubbed a hand over his forehead.
Ryu howled, crying his soul up to the menagerie’s vine-covered glass ceiling. He was not usually so restless. Maybe it was Jacin’s presence. Maybe Ryu was trying to speak to her.
Maybe this was her own insanity, signifying nothing.
Winter started to speak, but hesitated. She looked down at Jacin, but he had his hand covering his eyes. She wondered if he’d been sleeping much lately.
“Dr. Nandez says she may have a prototype of Cinder’s device ready within the next week.”
Jacin’s hand lifted. “Already?”
“She doesn’t know yet if it will work. She needs a test subject first.”
“Princess—”
“I’ve already volunteered. You can try to talk me out of it, but I’m fully prepared to ignore you.”
Jaw tensing, Jacin sat up again. “The test subject? We don’t know what the side effects will be. We don’t know if it will even work. Let someone else try it first.”
“I want to do it. I am one of the most severe cases of Lunar sickness to date.” She lost her fingers in the wolf’s fur. “But it’s occurred to me that, if it works, I won’t see Ryu again.” She smiled sadly. “And what if … what if people don’t like me anymore?”
Jacin shook his head. “They don’t like you because you’re crazy. They like you because…”
She waited.
“Because you were good to them when no one else was. Because you care. This device won’t change who you are.”
“You want me to be fixed, don’t you?”
Jacin drew back, as if she’d thrown something at him. “You’re not broken.”
Her vision began to blur. “Yes, Jacin. I am.”
“No, you’re—” He growled, a throaty, frustrated sound that made her feel giddy. “Look, I would love to not have to worry about you anymore. That you’ll hurt yourself or that someone will take advantage of you. But you’re not—you’re—”
“I’m delusional, and crazy, and damaged. I’ve known it a long time, we both have. Scarlet tells me all the time.”
“You’re perfect,” he said, finishing his thought as if she hadn’t interrupted. “I don’t care if you see dead wolves and turn into a living ice sculpture when you’re having a bad day. I don’t care if I have an imprint of your teeth on my shoulder. I don’t care if you’re … fixed.” He spat the word like it tasted bad. “I want you to be safe and happy. That’s all.”
Winter fluttered her lashes at him, and he turned away. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“I want to be the test subject.” She reached for his hand. “I’ll be safe and happy when I’m no longer afraid of my own mind.”
Pressing his lips into a thin line, Jacin nodded. Slowly. “I just don’t like the idea of you going first,” he grumbled.
“Jacin?”
He met her gaze again.
Winter scooted closer and linked her arm with his. “You think I’m perfect?”
He didn’t look away. Didn’t look bashful or even nervous. Just stared at her, like she’d asked him if Luna orbited the Earth.
Then he leaned over and brushed a kiss against her forehead. “Just sort of,” he said. “You know. On a good day.”
Ninety-Seven
“All of them?”
Cinder smiled at Iko’s exuberance. She had already gotten more joy out of the way Iko was beaming at the rows and rows and rows of dresses than she ever would have gotten from the dresses themselves.
“Every last one,” said Cinder. “I never want to look at them again.”
She had already spent more time surrounded by Levana than she’d intended. Her perfume, her gowns, her jewelry. She had no interest in her aunt’s wardrobe—but Iko did, so Iko could have them all.
She had never seen Iko so pleased. Not even when Thorne had brought her that escort-droid body he’d found in the desert. Not even when the shipment from Earth had finally arrived with the spare parts to fix her near-destroyed body. Cinder had told her that with so much damage it would be more cost effective to install her personality chip into a brand-new body. She could have had her pick of any model she wanted. But Iko had refused. She had grown attached to this one, she’d said, and besides—none of her friends’ bodies were disposable, so why should hers be?