“Do you feel anything for him?” His gaze returns to mine, imploring.
“Aside from mistrust? No.” Then I do something utterly foolish, and glance down at his mouth.
It curves slightly, as though he senses where my attention has shifted. “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you,” he says.
“Oh?” I am calm, absolutely calm. “About what?”
“The kiss.”
I tilt my head curiously. “Which one?”
The South Wind scans my face. His eyes drop, dragging across my bared neck to the neckline of my dress. Lower, to where the fabric bands across my breasts and waist. My mouth goes parchment dry. Only by sheer force of will do I manage not to faint. “Does it matter?” he asks.
I’m not a corpse. I’ve thought of both kisses an embarrassing amount. But I refuse to informhimof that. This immortal, who has more power over me than he knows. And now I question if the mistake was mine, to have invited him on a walk through the city at dusk, placing myself within arm’s reach of his heat and scent.
“I’m telling myself to let it go,” he murmurs. “To not look too deeply into something. But—” And then he lifts his head, eyes very dark. “I wanted it. And you wanted it, too.”
The ground slowly slips from under me, the world skewed at an angle. “You’re sure about that?” It’s the first thing out of my mouth—and it’s the wrong sentiment entirely.
Notus tilts back his head, scrubs his face, hard. I’m given barely a glimpse of his wounded expression before he strides ahead.
“And there you go walking away,” I snap, stomach dropping toward my toes at the sight of his retreating back. “It’s what you do best.”
“That’s unfair.” He pivots, glaring with hot eyes. “No matter how many times I attempt to communicate with you, you either deflect or place undue blame onto me.”
“Undue?” My eyes all but bulge from their sockets. “Are you ser—”
“Half the time, I don’t understand what you want,” he cuts in, tossing up a hand. “You want me close. You want me gone. You want me to kiss you. You want me to stop. You want my company, you despise my company.”
Does he think he is alone in his confusion?
“Do you think this is easy for me?” I hiss. “I want to be near you, but then sometimes, I feel like I need to run. I can’t explain it. It’s like my body remembers what it was like when you were gone, and I need to leave before you make that choice for me.”
He scoffs. “So this is my fault, is that what you’re saying?”
“What? No!”
“So what do you want?” he demands.
“I don’t know.” The words are thrust through gritted teeth. “I’m trying to tell you—”
“You do know,” he says. “But you’re afraid.”
Why do I fail to speak plainly? Stupid question. I know why. What might Notus think if he were to see how deep my fear of driving him —or anyone—away runs?
The South Wind stares down the deserted road, his expression cast in shadow. The public garden, so near yet so far. If only we had reached the iron gates. Might this miscommunication have been smoothed over? “I think I understand,” he says.
How could he? If he knew my heart, he would never have left. So he must have seen something that he did not want, some flaw in me.
“You know what? This was a mistake.” Arms crossed, I angle away from him. “We should return to the palace, discuss whatever it is Father wants to discuss.” Though that only succeeds in plunging my mood into a darker place. “It might be better if we spoke with him separately.”
He shakes his head. If I were not absolutely certain of Notus’ restraint, I might worry that he would put a hole through the wall of a nearby shop. “And how will that look to everyone?” he demands, voice rising. “We’re engaged.”
“It doesn’t matter!” I scream. “It was never real to begin with!”
I have misstepped. That is made absolutely clear as Notus’ eyes shutter and he retreats a few paces. A small, pained sound falls from his mouth. It is too broken to be a laugh. “You know why I returned, Sarai? Not because your father sent for me. Because I believed our story remained unfinished. But you have made it clear since I walked through those throne room doors that I am not welcome in your life. So why do I continue to fight?” he grinds out, every shattered word forced from his throat. “Why do I continue clinging to hope?”
I fight for breath. It hurts to witness his pain. “Hope for what?”
