I melt anyway, and...oh.
This kiss.
It’s different somehow, and when he finally pulls back—
"You," he murmurs, "are impossible."
His gaze drops to my mouth.
Eighth time. I'm still counting.
And then I stop counting, because his hands are in my hair and his body is pressing me into the wall and I forget everything except the way he feels against me, around me, overwhelming every sense until there's nothing left but him.
THAT NIGHT, I FINALLYfind the courage to tell him everything.
I leave nothing out. Abigail’s last words. My fears about him being her murderer. But also...how I came to realize that I need to make a choice. And so I chose to trust him.
I trust him. Because...I’m in love with him.
“There’s something else.”
And my king, being astute as always—
“I...um...”
I try thinking of something to distract him, and for once, my brain actuallyworks.
“I want to know more about you. Your world.” I find myself nervously tracing a line along his collarbone as I speak, unable to quite meet his eyes because my words, while not a lie, aren’t exactly the truth as well.
“What do you want to know?”
“Were you and the other kings...also friends there? What kind of life did you—”
"We were in prison."
The words have me forgetting my discomfort, and my heart aches when my gaze meets his.
The past still hurts him, and that hurts me, too.
“All four of us were." His voice is flat. Matter-of-fact. Like he's reciting someone else's history. "Different cells. Same facility. We'd been framed—each of us, separately—for crimes we didn't commit."
As he speaks, his words frame a photograph in my mind. Monochromatic. Black and white and shades of grey, because I don't think my heart can bear seeing what happened to him in full color.
A young man. Beaten nearly to death. Framed for killing his employer—all because someone wanted the employer's wife. Thrown into a cell for a crime that was never his. Left to rot while the real monster walked free.
"One night, there was a riot."
I find myself wrapping my arms around him as he speaks, a childish attempt to protect him from his memories.
"A storm outside, chaos inside.” His voice continues above me, steady and distant. “The power went out. Doors opened." His jaw tightens—I feel it more than see it, the shift of muscle beneath skin. "It was a chance to escape. The kind of chance that doesn't come twice."
"But you didn't take it."
"We stayed. All four of us. We didn't know each other then. Didn't know we'd made the same choice until later. But we stayed."
I don't ask why.
I don't need to.
