“More times than I can count.” I rose and crossed to where I’d thrown my leathers onto the chair. “And yet when I was taken, all I wanted was to be back.”
Silence fell. The song swelled from downstairs. Then, her voice gentler than I’d ever heard it, “It’s one thing to go on a journey. It’s another thing entirely to be forced.”
I closed my eyes; she wasn’t only referring to me.“Eury…”
“I only mean to say I understand. That’s all.”
She and I weren’t made for long, heartfelt apologies. I picked up my doublet and stared down at it. Fae-made stitching. Meant for a ball, but as tough as human-made leather, practically unrippable. Mirek’s hand. “You still want to go back to Feyreign?”
“Yes. And this time I’m making that choice.” A pause. “Dorian?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to avert your eyes.”
I squeezed the doublet in my hand and released a low, audible breath. She had no idea how much one flippant sentence affected me.
“Don’t say things like that unless you mean it, Eurydice.”
“Why’s that?”
Because if I turn around now, I don’t know if we’ll ever leave this room.“If I get to look at you, then I want to be the only man who does.”
A small laugh. “Are you claiming me?”
“A queen can’t be claimed,” I said. “But I’m also not one for sharing.”
Her footsteps sounded behind me. She came to within a foot of my back and stopped. “I’m not declaring a consort or a king, Dorian.”
“I know?—”
“But,” she said, “what happens behind closed doors is up to us.”
I didn’t move. My eyes closed against the blood thrumming through me. “You have no idea the power you hold over me.”
Her fingers touched my back, raising the hairs there. “Tell me, then.”
“I—” I had never been good with words. Especially not around her. “I can’t think when I’m near you. My words turn into a slurry. I hear your voice even when you’re not there. When you look at me…”
Her finger stroked along my spine. “Yes?”
I shuddered. “When you look at me, I can’t breathe until you look away.”
“That seems hazardous.”
But I was already onto a deeper truth, one that had ricocheted inside me since the Thorn Rite: “When I told you my life is yours, I meant it. Now, tomorrow, every tomorrow until I’m gone.”
Her finger stopped moving. She didn’t speak.
Finally, I said, “I’m going to turn around now.”
When I did, she stood with her leathers on, untied, and tears on her cheeks. Her hair still hung loose over her shoulders. Her arms wrapped over her chest like she was cold.
Everything in me—the heat of my blood, the pulsing in my veins—shifted at once. All that mattered was the wetness on her cheeks.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“I told myself I’d never trust you again.” One tear slipped to her jaw, held there in the candlelight. “But I think that’s not true anymore. And…”