He grimaces, and before his mouth even begins forming the word no, her heart sinks in her chest like a stone in water, settling cold and still and very far away.

I'm not the wise and gentle lady on her throne, she remembers saying to Erin once. I'm not the Everlight.

She's never wanted so desperately to be what she's not.

Maybe she shouldn't even be trying to help. Maybe she's a fool for thinking she ought to. Maybe there's nothing that could help, nothing she or anyone else could do, and trying will only make things worse --

(I have strong reasons, she told Darcy not long ago, to be wary of despair.)

"Suppose," she says, and it comes out almost inaudible, and she tries again. "Suppose I told you to come talk with me again, in a week's time. Nothing more than that, for now."

Nothing more than a commitment, on his part, to still be here in a week.