Winter's lip quivered, but she refused to cry. She wouldn't do that to him.

Jacin's dingers curled around his knife.

It was torture. Jacin looked more afraid that when he'd stood on trail. More pained now than when his torso had been stripped raw from the lashings.

This was the last time she would ever see him.

This was her last moment. Her last breath.

Suddenly, all of the politics and all of the games stopped mattering. Suddenly, she felt daring.

"Jacin," she said, with a shaky smile. "You must know. I cannot remember a time when I didn't love you. I don't think such a time ever existed."

His eyes filled with a thousand emotions. But before he could say whatever he would say, before he could kill her, Winter grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and kissed him.

(From Winter, ch. 28)