I let out a shaky breath and turn my hand in the dim light, looking at the ring he gave me.Thesapphire and emerald catch the first pale hint of dawn filtering around the shutters, blue and green glinting together.
The past and the present…but never any future.
I press my lips together hard.Well, fine.Ifhe doesn’t want a future with me—or thinks he can’t have one—thenIhave no business lying here wishing for something that was never truly mine.
Still…whatIfelt from him last night was real—Iknowit was.
A person can fake words.Theycan hide behind them—twist them or even use them like walls.Butemotions aren’t so easily controlled—not through whatever strange bond has formed between us.
He was hurting last night.Hehated himself.Andhe wanted me so badly it almost hurt to feel it.
So why would he push me away?Whywould he tell me no when everything inside him was saying yes?
I don’t know and he doesn’t seem inclined to tell me.
The thought hardens something inside me.Fine.Ifhe won’t tell me the truth, thenIcan’t keep twisting myself into knots trying to guess it.Theplain truth is this—whatever conflict he’s fighting, it still ended with me lying beside him in the dark, feeling humiliated and unwanted and foolish for opening my heart to him.
I wince inwardly.Ipractically handed him my heart on a platter, and he rejected it—rejectedme.
I throw back the covers beforeIcan lie there another minute thinking myself into misery.Thefloor is cool beneath my bare feet asIstand and gather my robe around me.Fora secondIjust stand there, listening toTheron’sbreathing behind me and wondering ifIought to leave him sleeping.
Part of me wants to.Partof me wants to walk out right now, ask the innkeeper for directions to theKing’sCourt, and go alone.Ican do the spell beforeTheroncan stop me or look at me with those sorrowful, conflicted eyes that make me want to throw all my plans away.
The impulse is strong enough thatIeven take a few steps toward the door…thenIstop.
Because no matter what happened last night…no matter how badly he hurt me…he still brought me here.Hestill protected me.Hestill gave up something precious to buy me the ring soIwouldn’t be shamed with my green eyes in public.
And because, for all his contradictions and all the confusion between us…Istill trust him.Hestarted this journey with me, and he deserves for us to finish it together.
I turn away and go to the basin to wash my face.Thewater is cool and sharp, chasing away the last of my drowsiness.Ismooth my hair, belt my robe, and slip on my sandals.WhenIturn back,Theronis still lying there, looking as though the weight of the world is pressing down on him.
For one absurd, aching moment,Iwant to go back to him.Iwant to curl up against him and ask him again—ask him what’s wrong, why he feels like this, why he can’t let himself have what he so clearly wants.
ButIdon’t.I’veasked enough.I’vebledenough.
Today,Ineed to be practical…today,Ineed to finish this.
66
ELOWEN
We leave the inn without speaking.
The morning air is cool and faintly damp, carrying the scent of stone and distant smoke as theKing’sCitywakes around us.Apale gold light spills over the rooftops, catching on banners and tiled spires, and for a moment everything looks almost…peaceful.Likenothing in the world has ever gone wrong here.
It feels like a lie.
Theron walks beside me, close enough thatIcan feel the heat of him, but he doesn’t reach for my hand the way he did last night.Doesn’tbrush his fingers against mine or pull me close or murmur anything low and amusing in my ear.He’ssilent, his expression shuttered, his jaw tight.Ifeel nothing but determination from him to see this final quest through to the end.
SoImatch him.Ifhe wants silence,I’llgive it to him.
We make our way up the winding road that leads to the castle, its gray stone walls rising higher and higher above us as we climb.Thepath curves gently through the heart of the city, passing through streets already alive with merchants setting up their wares and craftsmen opening their shops.
A glassblower coaxes a glowing orb into shape at the end of a long pipe, the molten surface swirling with colors like captured sunset.Ablacksmith hammers rhythmically at a piece of red-hot metal, sparks flying like fireflies into the air.Awoman sits behind a stall of embroidered cloth, her fingers moving deftly as she adds a line of gold thread to a deep blue shawl.
The world is waking…and we walk through it like ghosts.
I can’t help comparing it to last night.Thememory comes unbidden—lantern light glowing warm and soft, laughter spilling from my lips beforeIcould stop it.Theron’shand wrapped around mine, his thumb brushing over my skin as though he couldn’t help himself.Theway he looked at me, likeIwas something he wanted.Somethinghe cherished.