An apology without an apology, though she supposed it was the best she would get. He stepped up to her, towering over her as his wings shrouded them, brushing her skin.
“You will–hm…CanI show you something?” he asked, and she nodded, her mouth as dry as the strange desert worlds within le Jardin.
A request this time, so different from his usual barked orders.
He took her hand, pulling her toward the back wall, tracing his fingers in an arched pathway. Everywhere he touched glowed with dark energy, the wall dissolving in an instant, leaving a doorway in its wake.
Bellinor pulled her along as she felt her anxiety creeping up, not knowing what he was so eager to show her. He seemed remorseful about what had happened, but she didn’t forget the threat he’d hissed at Rul.
There were whispers up ahead as they walked down a dark corridor, a light in the distance guiding their way. Eventually, they passed through another archway and into a spectacular garden frozen in perpetual twilight.
Ivy clung to enigmatic marble statues, like the ones Rul had shown her, their whispering words a constant background hum in her ears. Soft patches of luminous moss lit their way as Bellinor led her through the dense hedges, flowers both familiar and not providing dazzling pops of color. There was something peculiar about this place, and soon she realized that everything was in bloom at once, unnatural and bountiful.
Bellinor stopped near a patch of purple foxgloves, cocking his head as if admiring the beauty.
Beauty and danger, just like him, like this place.
“Did you make all of this?” she asked, though she already knew the answer, eyeing him carefully.
He hadn’t dropped her hand, just turned to face her with a grim smile.
“This was the first room I created after I was left here.” Bellinor paused, as if weighing whether to continue. “I was a florist when I lived in Marilet. Foxgloves were one of my favorites to use in arrangements. Their beauty is deadly.”
She could not have been more surprised at the fact that the broody demon standing before her was aflorist,of all things.
“I have a difficult time picturing you digging around in the dirt,” she said, and he chuckled.
“Well, believe it.”
“Are they real?” she asked, leaning down and cupping her free hand around the delicate petals, but not touching them.
“Is anything here real?”
She looked up at him, his somber expression knotting emotion in her throat. So many meanings behind his question, but she understood what he wanted to know.
Le Voile was an illusion, but there were people here, living, breathing people. Was he so fearful of rejection that he would push her away so harshly, even when she was begging for him to come back?
“Perhaps it could be,” she said, standing up to her full height again.
Bellinor pulled her into his arms, and she sighed against his chest, relishing the touch.
“I loved someone once,” he said, placing his chin on the top of her head.
The statement shocked her yet again, the candor so unlike what she’d come to expect from him.
“Rul?”
He chuckled, the sound reverberating through her and filling her with lightness.
“I still love him. But there was another. Before Rul, before le Voile.”
The background hum of the whispering statues tingled her ears, the cool air prickling goosebumps along her exposed flesh. She waited for him to continue and spoke when he remained silent.
“What happened?”
Bellinor waited a long while to answer.
“She betrayed me, sent me here.”
