His scowl intensifies. “Oh, don’t stop there. What do you regret, Emilia? I’d love to hear it.”
I bite my lip and glance away, unable to hold his stare when he’s looking at me with such contempt.
When he speaks again, his voice is vibrating with barely-leashed violence. “You say you don’t recognize yourself anymore? That you feel powerless? Suffocated by everyone trying to force you to become someone you don’t want to be? That’s called life. It’s called being an adult.” He laughs, but there’s no joy in the sound. “You no longer have the luxury of doing whatever you want?No one does.Whether they’re a prince on a throne or a fucking pauper on the streets, at some point everyone is forced to change — usually by shitty circumstances outside their control. So, I’m sorry your life didn’t work out according to your picture-perfect plans, Your Highness. But show me one person on this fucking planet whose did.”
I glance back at him. My heart is pounding so hard, I’m worried it’ll leave bruises on my ribs. “Did you ask me to open up just so you could yell at me? Just to make me feel selfish and small?Congratulations! You succeeded.”
“I’m not yelling to belittle you, Emilia. I’m yelling because I want you to understand that you are not exempt from change being thrust upon you just because you’re royalty now. I’m yelling because you don’t seem to realize that change isn’t one-directional. You have the power to change things too.”
“Power? Sure, let’s talk about that. I have all thissupposedpower. Right?” I laugh, though there’s nothing funny about this situation. “I have a title and a birthright and a massive future sprawling out in front of me with crowns and thrones and coronations… All the trappings of authority. Except it’s notreallyauthority if you can’t actually do anything with it. It’s notreallya weapon if you can’t wield it. So, tell me — how the hell am I supposed to change a damn thing, Carter? By asking politely?”
“I never said it would be easy. It won’t be easy. Because it’s the hardest thing in the world — figuring out who you are and refusing to apologize for it. Being yourself in the face of great opposition.” He takes that final step, bringing our faces into direct orbit. His voice is low with intensity. “You don’t like people tearing pieces of you away, replacing them with traits of their own design? Thentake your pieces back. Remake yourself. And when you do, make sure you use more than staples and glue. Use iron and blood and stone. Use something so strong, they can’t break you apart ever again.”
Twin tears streak down each of my cheeks. I reach up to brush them away, but Carter beats me to it — cupping my face with his big hands, gently swiping his thumbs across my skin. I feel his touch everywhere, radiating through my body, warming me despite the bitter wind that whips around us. It takes all my strength not to lean into the feeling. Into his arms.
“Carter,” I whisper shakily, still crying.
“What?”
I blink up at him. He’s close — so unbearably close — and yet still so far away. “Earlier, when I said I regret it—”
His hands fall away from my face; I instantly mourn their loss. “I remember,” he grits out.
“I didn’t mean I regret being with you. That night, what we shared — I’ll never regret it.” I swallow, trying to find the right way to say this. My words are cautious and so quiet, I’m not even sure he can hear them. “What I do regret, more deeply than I can ever express… is that, afterward, things changed between us so drastically. What I regret is the aftermath. What I regret is this unbearable distance between us. I don’t know how to close it. And I don’t want it there, Carter. I can’t stand that it’s there, because—”
I never finish the rest of my sentence.
Because Carter reaches out, yanks me into his arms, and slams his mouth down on mine… effectively erasing any distance that existed between us in the blink of a bold blue eye.