“They really … hurt you,” he said, “didn’t they?” Not the men tonight. But the Palace. The last two and half years.
“They did.” He wasn’t Ka Kormac. He wasn’t even close. And he needed to know that. Know that I was sorry. And that I did trust him. Slowly, I pulled up the skirts of my dress. Not so anything could happen between us, nor to test him any further. But because I trusted him. I trusted him enough to show him the proof–the physical proof.
He watched warily as I pulled the fabric to just below my hips.
There were several raised pink lines across both of my thighs. Lines that had come from a very thin whip, used to humiliate and torture me.
Dario gasped, looking more closely, his hand fisting again, his nostrils flaring, the muscles in his jaw clenching. “Those aren’t from tonight.”
I shook my head. “From before.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not showing you for pity.”
Dario’s eyes darkened, something still and murderous behind his irises. “I don’t pity you. I understand you.” He met my gaze. “The man who did this to you,” he said slowly. He was seething, almost too angry to get the words out, “Does he still live?”
“The man?” I said, and shook my head. “You mean the men. There’s more where this came from. Other scars I carry.”
A tear rolled down my cheek. That hadn’t happened in a long time. Not for this. But it had also been a long time since anyone had seen my scars with my permission—seen them and looked sorry. Not excited. Not eager to add more.
“The one who did this,” I gestured to the top row of scars, “who started it, he was killed. By Lyr actually.”
“Good,” Dario growled.
I shook my head. “No. She didn’t kill him enough.”
He nodded slowly. “The others who hurt you?”
“They live.”
His neck reddened, his gaze sweeping back over the scars. “Not for long. Not after they meet me.”
I met his eyes, and for the first time since I’d seen him, I truly began to see the kindness behind them. The generosity. The care. The protectiveness. I thought I’d seen that back at the inn. Seen that I could trust him, and yet, this, this was something else. Like I was seeing a glimpse of his soul. His eyes, were so dark, so endless looking, I thought for the first time in what felt like forever, that I could lose myself in them.
I blinked. A different set of eyes flashed in my mind. Just as kind, protective, passionate.
Seth’s.
My heart clenched, and I was suddenly pushing my skirts down, smoothing the material over my legs and crossing my arms over my chest.
Dario shifted onto one knee, his hand fisted. “You tell me the next man I come across who hurt you, who touched you. And I will kill him. Thoroughly.Me sha, me ka.” He pressed his fist to his heart, tapping it twice, then flattened his palm across his chest, his eyes blazing.
I nodded, and held out my arm, where I’d been scratched by a tree. “This is from tonight.” “May I?” Dario said.
I nodded, and he continued addressing my wounds, covering my arms, and my calves, and one scratch between my shoulders.
When he was done, he helped me fold up his cloak into a bed, and covered me, making sure I was comfortable.
“What about you?” I asked, sleepily.
He shook his head. “I’m going to watch over you, Jules. All night. Go ahead, close your eyes. You’re safe.”
And I did. Because for the first time in forever, I believed it. I believed him.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
