“Er,” said Stephen.
She flung the pillow aside and glared at him. “Listen to me carefully. I am not a system to observe and optimize. I don’t need to be tinkered. I do not needyou.”
“I just want—”
“It’s not about what you want. You are not helping. Your presence is hurting me. You. Are. Hurting me.” Her green eyes glistened with unshed tears. “If you care about me at all, then go… the hell… away.”
“I…” He faltered, his heart tripping. Or perhaps it was Elizabeth’s words, finally catching up to him. He replayed them, slower. She was right. Her lack of consent was the variable he ought to have been paying attention to.
Whenever there was a problem, Stephen immediately wanted to remedy the matter. But this wasn’t about him, or what he wished. It wasn’t even his problem.
If Elizabeth wanted him to know what she was struggling with, she would have told him. On her own terms. On her own time. When she was ready to do so. When she feltsafeto do so.
Safety he’d taken from her, by barging in andfixing.
Instead of his fussing making her feel cared for, he’d made her feel diminished. Less than. Useless. Hurt.
He’d made a stoic berserker cry, for God’s sake. Broken the fragile bond of trust between himself and the woman he was starting to fall for. Who might one day have lovedhim… if he had bothered to treat her like the capable woman she was. All she’d needed was for him to listen to her.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out, backing away from the machine, from the bed, from her. “You’re right. I should’ve left when you… I should never have entered. I won’t come back unless you ask for me. And if you never ask for me, if you never want to see me again… That’s your right, too. As it always should have been. I’m sorry.”
He shut the door and leaned against it, his heart pounding. Ormaybe breaking. If he’d just ruined his chances with the one person he cared about more than any other…
Oh, what was this “if”? Of course he had. She’d told him so, plainly:Get out. I don’t need you.
He finally listened. A little too late.
24
Elizabeth gazed up at the ceiling and did her best to calm her breath and racing heart. It wasn’t working.
Stephen had finally left her alone, just as she wanted. He had also now seen her at her worst. A cringing, pathetic lump. Exactly as shedidn’twant. Not only had she been incapable of ejecting him from her bedchamber by force, but she had also appeared so feeble and worthless that even her repeated commands packed no more punch than a gnat.
Now that he’d seen the truth, he would no longer view her as strong. The image of her helpless and weak would be forever burned into his brain, just like the expression of pity on his face would be forever burned into hers.
Her eyes welled up with tears. She glared at the ceiling, refusing to blink until the disgraceful wetness went away. A warrior did not cry. A warrior showed no weakness. A warriorhadno weakness.
Which meant Elizabeth…
She turned her head toward the window. The perpetual tea machine came into view instead. Another sign that Stephen found her helpless and weak. He hadn’t asked if she’dwantedtea. He had decided what she needed and presumed with a single glance that she was incapable of performing even the most basic functions for herself.
It wasn’t a romantic gift. It was a baby bottle.
Things would never again be the same as before. How could they be? The illusion of invincibility had been shattered.
God, she wished her family were here. She missed them with every aching cell of her body. The castle felt like a mausoleum, not a mission. She was so isolated and alone. Her family would know how to make her feel like a worthy human. They understood that fifteen percent could be as normal as sixty-five. To them, she was never too much or too little. They took in stride whatever percentage Elizabeth happened to be on any given day, and loved her back one hundred percent, regardless.
Her fingers dug into the blanket at her sides as her heart struggled to find its rhythm. The idea that Stephen might never admire her the same way again was too gut-wrenching to contemplate.
Elizabethknew she wasn’t broken or helpless or useless. There were times when she could take on an army, and times when she couldn’t win a fight with a flea. But nobody in the world was constantly vanquishing something, twenty-four hours a day.
Others could think what they wanted, but they couldn’t make her feel ashamed of her body. Elizabeth chose to take pride in all the things itcoulddo. She was proud of her whole self. Not just when she was swashbuckling, but always. Including here and now.
She propped herself up on her elbows, gingerly. Her muscles were tight, but did not immediately contract in agonizing pain. She was almost at twenty percent. Maybe soon to be twenty-five, if this perpetual tea machine worked as claimed.
Three levers protruded from the right-hand side. She stared at them. Which one had Stephen said to press? She decided to begin with the first one and see what happened.
The machine whirred and clacked as pieces began to move. The wick beneath the teapot did not light. Rather than boil water, at theend of a series of movements, a trapdoor sprang open, and a wooden arm punched through.
