Beside me, Octavian was quiet for a long moment. Radven and Alastor had disappeared in the trees up ahead, and the only sound was our footsteps.
I risked a glance in his direction. He was no longer wearing the clothes he’d had on when I opened the portal—instead, he had on a simple shirt and sepia-hued pants that looked more appropriate for this world but were also clearly a size or two too small for him. The fabric pulled tight across his shoulders and chest, emphasizing his breadth and muscles. I wondered if he and Alastor had stolen clothes from someone just like Radven had for me. The new garments were certainly less conspicuous than anything from my world, but I had a hard time believing he wouldn’t drawsomeattention, walking around like a beefcake on legs with his muscles practically bursting out of that shirt.
He looked over at me, and I quickly averted my gaze again.
“The first time we met,” he said in his low, deep rumble, “I encouraged you to indulge in all of life’s little pleasures. Sometimes those little pleasures are all we have.” He paused, then added, “You are free to kiss whomever you choose, Marigold. In fact, it is perhaps best that you do. I’m afraid I cannot give you everything you might want.”
“It is true, then?” I asked without thinking. Was Octavian also incapable of love?
Octavian’s blue eyes snapped to me. “Is what true?”
I realized I’d inadvertently brought up something that was supposed to be a secret. My brain scrambled.
“I… It’s just I got the impression, from how flirtatious you were with me at the masquerade…”And from more than a few things that Radven said… “Well, that you might be something of a heartbreaker.”
That actually earned a smile from him, but there was a familiar bleakness in his eyes that made him look sad, rather than amused.
“I suppose some might call me that,” he said. “It’s why I always attempt to make my intentions clear from the start. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
I nodded, trying to ignore the bud of disappointment in my chest, the sense that I’d lost something I’d never even had in the first place. “Because you’re incapable of caring about a woman in that way.”
He actually missed a step, an uncharacteristically clumsy move for him.
“I’m not incapable of caring,” he corrected me. “In fact, my brothers would probably say I care too much about you, given the complicated circumstances of the last few days.”
My heartbeat quickened, despite my efforts not to read too much into his words.
“And I know it would be better for everyone—especially you—if I pretended that wasn’t the case. But lying about it doesn’t seem like the best solution, either.”
He looked over at me, his eyes as earnest as I’d ever seen them, shining at me with the same charming desire I’d noticed the very first night we met, when he took me in his arms and swept me around the dance floor.
“So yes, I was jealous when I saw you kissing my brother,” he said. “In fact, it took everything I have in me not to grab him and punch him for eventhinkingabout touching you. And in the name of honesty, I’ll admit that I was surprised by that reaction. I can’t remember the last time I felt jealousy over a woman. And I’veneverfought with Rad over one before.”
I was starting to feel guilty once more, so I said, again, “I’m sorry.”
“No, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he said. “This doesn’t change anything. I still can’t give you what you want.”
“How do you even know what I want?” I countered.
“I know I can’t give you my heart,” he said. “And perhaps I’m wrong, but you strike me as the kind of woman who might want more than momentary pleasure.”
Am I?A week ago, I would have readily agreed, but after the last day with Radven—when momentary pleasure seemed not only acceptable, but absolutely desirable—I wasn’t sure. So I avoided that question and asked another, quietly.
“Why can’t you give me your heart?”
He stopped, and I stopped, too. And to my surprise, he didn’t avoid the question. One side of his mouth curled in a way that made my heart ache with compassion.
“I wish I knew,” he rumbled. “All I know is that it isn’t mine to give. It’s already gone.”
27
The Prince of the Lost
Octavianlookedsosad,so bereft, that I found myself reaching up, placing my hand against his cheek.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “How can your heart begone?”
“Not literally, of course,” he explained, his azure eyes two deep, hollow pools. “I can’t explain it, and half the time I’m not sure I believe it, but I can feel it.” His big hand came up and rested against his chest. “Like I’ve given a piece of myself away to someone, and all that remains is a hole.” He dropped his hand, a wry look crossing his face. “You probably think I’m mad.”
