The chaos of war. Cannons detonating in his eardrums, waves swamping a boat. The screams of people he’d sat with, played cards with, just the night before, writhing in the dirt. Their blood, their limbs, littering the ground. He sat down on the nearest chair, without feeling it under him.
“It’s dark. Chaotic. Empty.”
“Surely not empty, Dex. Tell me what you see. Let me in. Say the words out loud. I can help, by listening, by lightening your load. Please let me carry some of your burden, Dex.”
“No.”
“Speak, damn you!”
“Is this what you want to hear?” His voice a razor-sharp bitterness, an ocean of emptiness. “Do you like knowing that my hands are soaked with blood? The hands that touch you have strangled, have murdered in the name of King and country. Do you like knowing that I hate what I’ve done? That I wish I’d been born in an era of peace. That the only thing that stopped me from running away and taking a coward’s way out was my sense of honor and duty and that’s all I have. Do you understand that? All I have is my duty. And I am the reason for your father’s death.”
“I cling to the hope that he may still be alive.”
“He’s not, Ana. Stop saying that!”
“But how do youknow? Because my heart tells me otherwise.”
“I know because I held him in my arms as he bled. He’s buried in a shallow grave somewhere, along with a heap of other bodies. Ana, I’m speaking plainly because I believe it’s best for you. You wanted to hear my truth, and this is part of it. Your father is dead.”
She started weeping softly. “You don’t know that for certain.”
“I do.”
“You’re saying it because I forced you to relive the hurt of having your heart broken—you’re saying it to wound me, to bring me down to your level. I won’t come down there with you, Dex. I can’t. I believe in living life.”
“Then you must live it alone. Because I can’t. And I never will.”
Her breathing quieted, and he saw a familiar look of concentration form on her tearstained face. It was a look he knew well, one that vexed him, but filled him with so much pride that his heart threatened to push out of his rib cage whenever it appeared.
She was quickly analyzing all the information in front of her, her writer’s brain busily plotting possible moves. Her instincts for self-preservation were remarkable, her knack for thinking her way out of situations part of what made her so formidable, so unforgettable.
“But I have seen you live, watched you come alive. I have lived with you. Nobody is perfectly divided into separate boxes. The passion you share with me in bed, the pleasure you take in sparring with me—yes, pleasure! That’s life. Your honesty and directness would make you a terrible actor. It’s not an act. Iseethe warmth in your eyes andhearthe amusement in your voice when we talk.”
She paced toward the fireplace and back to him, her voice as agitated as her walk. “And as for your brother and Celestia—you’ve forgiven them, and you don’t even know it. You didn’t look at her with any love, but there wasn’t any hatred there either. Just habit. You’ve made this way of being your habitual mode. And I’ve discovered the truth. At last, Dex. The truth is that you’re already alive and healing, you just won’t admit it yet.”
The pink-clad woman in front of him, eyes snapping, certainty ringing in her voice, angered him in a way he couldn’t explain. Had she struck the main nerve, the heart of the thing? Was thatwhy he felt his fists clenching? His fury mounting, that dependable weapon—or crutch, perhaps—something strong enough to lean on.
“I am telling you for the last time. And you must mark my words, Ana.” He drew himself up, towering over her. “I can’t be redeemed. This is our last battle on this front. You cannot win.”
“I’ve already won, you’re just too cowardly to admit it!”
“Then I am a coward. One who doesn’t require or seek deep emotional connections. I don’t need romance, I need an heir. A tranquil home life. You need the comfort and security I can give you, the space in which to pursue your writing. It’s a good and sensible arrangement. It’s the arrangement we both agreed upon.”
She shook her head, sadness filling her eyes. “I’ve changed since we made our arrangement.”
“And I remain the same. This isn’t a fairy tale, Ana. This fire-breathing dragon will never transform into a doting, handsome prince.”
“Then leave me alone, Dex!” she cried wildly. “Slink back into your cave and live your cold, solitary existence. I’ll honor our arrangement, but I’ll continue to live my life on my own terms. I’ll build a relationship with Rupert and Celestia, I’ll wrestle the joy out of living. I need life—beautiful, awful, messy, heartbreaking life! And I’ll have it with or without you.”
The challenge of her words rang in the air. An opportunity for him to bend to her will, take her into his arms. Kiss her and tell her that he wanted to live life with her.
The old darkness dragging him down, stealing the words from his lips. Filling his mouth with soil. Sending him back to the grave that should have been his.
“As you will.” He squared his shoulders, feeling a hundred yearsolder than when he’d entered the room. “I’m headed to London at daybreak. Be well, Ana.”
He left behind a heap of rose-colored silk on the divan, shoulders shaking with the effort to contain her sobs.
Nobody had won the war.