The prince leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I cannot tell if I want to be alone or if I am afraid to be,” he confessed. “There is little I am certain of anymore.”
Levee had no words to offer him. If there were answers, she didn’t know them, and the gypsy wouldn’t pretend to. But there was an unspoken plea inside his brief reply that didn’t slip past her. She lowered herself onto the grass beside him, their elbows brushing together as they shared the heavy silence.
As I was editing Rogue for it’s second edition, I came across this excerpt and paused. For a solid work of fantasy, Rogue can be very human. Jaycent is a basket of emotional issues, sure. Though I think any of us who face heavy trials in life can admit we’ve been there.
This moment between Jaycent and Levee still moves me because it illustrates our most basic human needs. Feeling crushed by the weight of responsibility in a world he no longer understands, Levee’s presence let’s him know he’s not alone. And that, sometimes, is the thread that keeps us holding on when we’re drowning in a storm.