As they moved, Kian stayed close enough that his arm brushed her side with every step. His body was warm despite the cold corridor, and the sharp winter air slipping through the cracks could not really reach her because he kept himself between her and the worst of it. It was such a small thing, and yet it made her chest soften again.
"You trust me that much?" she suddenly asked.
Kian glanced down. "Yes."
The answer came so simply that Isabella was the one who became quiet.
She had expected him to say something cold, something king-like, something practical. Instead, he said yes, like there was nothing to think about. Like trusting her was as natural as breathing.
So she looked away and cleared her throat. "Good. You should. I am usually right."
Kian's mouth moved slightly. "Usually?"
Isabella turned to him. "Do you want to fight a pregnant woman?"
"No."
"Then I am always right."
This time, Kian actually let out a low breath that sounded dangerously close to amusement.
