I step toward her, slow and deliberate. I can feel the heat of her body, the tension rippling through her shoulders as I near, and all I want is to pull her into my arms. Although even I know that would be a monumental mistake right now.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I’m sorry, but you’ve got to understand, I had my reasons for lying to you, and it has nothing to do with trust. I had to protect you.”
She scoffs.
“You really are stubborn,” I say, clasping my hands in front of me to keep from reaching for her. “Are you saying I shouldn’t have protected you? Should I have been honest? Told Namreth how much you mean to me? Do you know what he does to people in there? What he does to the wives of men who’ve dared strike out against him?”
Aren sighs, and her shoulders fall as she wipes away more tears.
I know we’re both thinking of Lydia.
“If I hadn’t lied, you would have been right there with me. Starved and tortured by the mad king himself. If Namreth had done to you what he did to me…” My voice cracks. “I wasn’t going to let that happen. I wouldneverlet that happen. I would die before I let anyone hurt you, Aren. I thought you knew that.”
“Everything you said was really…?”
“A lie. Aren, I’m so sorry.” I would apologize a thousand times to take her hurt away.
I don’t love her. She’s nothing to me.
It’s the furthest thing from the truth.
“War means having to make hard choices, and I chose to hide the truth from you to keep you alive and unharmed,” I say.
Aren plants both fists on her hips and sighs. She turns to look at me, lips pressed together in a thin line, then rolls her eyes.
“Are we on the same page?” I ask tentatively.
“I don’t know. Are we?”
I give her a speaking glance, my heart in my throat. “I hope so.”
“And what page is that?” she asks.
“The one where we tell each other the truth.”
Aren chews at her bottom lip. “You wanna know why I’m angry?”
“Is there just one reason? Because I assumed…” I trail off.
“I’m so damned angry with you because…” She clams up, suddenly tongue-tied. “For Albion’s sake, Dietan, you’re going to make me say it?”
This time, my heart skips a beat, hope shining like daylight through the rain. “Say what?”
Aren lowers her gaze, her cheeks flushed, chest heaving, and an overwhelming wave of longing wells up in me, burning me all over.
When she meets my eyes once more, she says, “I care about you so much it hurts. I hate it. I want to be rid of these feelings, but I can’t seem to shake them. They’re killing me.”
Her words come fast, like water bursting through a dam, and I stare at her in wonder, afraid to even breathe, not wanting to stop their flow.
“I thought I’d lost you, not once, or twice, but three times. When they dragged me out of the throne room, I thought for sure they would kill you, and I couldn’t do a damned thing about it. I…have never felt so helpless, and I hated you for it. But I also grieved for you. I was so angry at…” She gazes skyward. “Everything. Because I thought you didn’t feel the same way that I felt about you, and then I was afraid I was never going to get to tell you. Especially when I couldn’t find your pulse after the devil’s breath. And then when you were burning up with fever, I didn’t think you would survive the night.”
I remain frozen, my heart hammering, blood racing. I broke her heart. So many times. And she’s still here. I love how stubborn she is.
Growing up, I was told I would marry a princess someday. To myself, I vowed not to marry, because my parents were so miserable together. But now I realize I wasn’t avoiding marriage, I just wasn’t interested in any of the haughty, dainty women at court who decked themselves in jewels and gossip. I wanted someone made of grit and steel who’d demand better from the world and those around her—even princes.
And this woman, a barmaid from a little town in the middle of nowhere, with calluses on her hands, lush, dark hair, and striking eyes—not to mention the coarsest language and the sharpest mind in all of Albion—is exactly that.
She’s more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever met.
