She just wanted to burn.

That fact dominated her every waking moment, from dawn til dusk as each night the full moon drew closer. To distract from the urge, Regan had kept herself busy, though that was proving difficult to do today. With so many witches preoccupied with the tournament, Regan had found herself rather useless. She’d trained, working herself into exhaustion so that the overwhelming need might be lessened.

Regan was returning to the room to change. She heard the tournament was over but didn’t yet know the results. There was a good chance Othello would be there, which was good. Regan wanted to see him; both for the distraction and because they had matters to discuss.

Regan didn’t think to knock. She pushed into the room and smiled upon seeing Othello’s filthy form. “I’ll take it the tournament was a messy affair, then?”

“Wash that mouth while you’re at it,” Regan said smirking as she rolled her eyes, “You’re filthy.”

She went to her bed, dropping down on it to sit with a sigh.

“I got good news for ya. The king’s pleased with your progress. Says to set you up with your own place.”

She got it all out, like ripping off a bandage. Why was it hard to say? It was good news, wasn’t it?

Regan grinned, though the smile was strained.

“Yeah, the both of you. Proper family home. And especially since, uh, Ögge’s going back…he’ll need you. It’ll be good. And as for me…” It was easier the longer she spoke to seem at ease and upbeat, “I’ll just go back to where I was. Maybe get some sleep without your snoring for a change.”

She chanced a joke, struggling to read Othello.

“We’ll help find you somewhere you’ll like. That you’ll both like,” Regan said, trying to be reassuring, though it didn’t come naturally. That is what the king had offered, and Regan knew he’d make good on it. Othello, though he’d been with her long enough to form a strange, inexplicable bond, had not been in Nevermere long—all things considered.

After a moment, Regan’s face changed. Softened in a way not often seen. “I’m not going anywhere you know,” She said quietly, as if the words had to be handled with care, “I hope you won’t either.”

A place to crash. Regan’s cheeks turned pink, her eyes assuming a lost-puppy quality. She thought of Othello’s kitchen, of his wife at the fire, and her child underfoot. It felt like a home, and to have one offered now…Regan felt like a kid again, one whose dreams of adoption had not ever faded.

“Yeah, sure,” She mumbled with a smile, “You’re still a piece of shit, but you’re my piece of shit so…” Regan softened and, after hesitating for a moment, she walked forward and—unless he protested—would wrap her arms around Othello in a hug.

“Well fine then,” Regan sighed theatrically, grinning crookedly as she pulled back from the embrace, “I guess you can save me a room.” She smirked, looking Othello up and down.

“You do like it here, don’t you? I mean, really?”

Regan was surprised to find a tear dropped unbidden down her cheek. Her eyes were round and glassy, like a hungry pup that had finally found a home. Home. She’d never stopped being the orphan. Kennet had told her that when she had been laid up in the infirmary with a broken leg.

But maybe now she could let it go.

“Then I’m glad,” Regan smiled, “I’m glad you’re here. And I’m glad you’re not going anywhere.” She grinned, “Cause I’d have to hunt you down again. And we both know what a mess that was.”