“Does King Altair know whoyouare?”
“Yes, one of many reasons I didn’t want to be engaged to his daughter and stuck in Nevaeh. He loathes my birth father.” He runs a hand through his hair. “The royals know where I hail from, but no one else does. It’s … complicated for me to talk about.”
His arms fold, tucking tightly across his chest. “I thought you were in danger because of the prophecy alone, but for Altair it’s more than that. You’re the daughter of a rebellion leader, the alchemist who developed the Curse alongside my father. If he finds out she’s alive, then you’re crucial to forcing her into compliance. And not just her.” He runs his hands through his hair in frustration.
He can’t seem to look at me, my heart is pounding so hard I can barely stand up straight.
“Equal partners, Draven,” I remind him. “I’m not your blackmail, not your weakness on a path to power. Partners.”
Draven shakes his head, rubbing his temples, lost in his own thoughts. “Altair knows the truth, but no one can know she’s alive, or who she is. If it gets out, there’s no place safe for you. Your brother might be hunted down, too, as leverage to get her to cure it.”
I hate the truth of his words. My frustration spills over. “I guess our deal is at an end then. If you can’t bring my family to me or protect us, I’m not throwing myself into danger to help you secure a crown I don’t even want—”
“I’m the only chance you have, and Iwillreturn your family to you. I just need time to think.” His arms fold across his chest as if he’s not sure whether he wants to plead or argue. “And I still fucking need you, Rune. We made a vow. At the end of this, I want you seated on the throne with me. So, we can see this through. Vengeance for us, justice for everyone. I thought that was your wish?”
What I’ve learned weighs me down slowly—what he hid, what she did.
“What do you wish for, Draven? Beyond power?”
He blinks at the question. “I told you. I want a partner.”
“Why?” I throw up my hands. With his ancestry, it seems whatever life throws at him, a crown awaits at the end of every road. Son of a rebel leader. Son of a goddess. Son of a king.
“I’ve never had an equal until you walked into my life. Never someone I could trust.”
“What about your friends? They practically worship you—”
“Myassignedfriends, you mean. Every person I’ve known has been cultivated and chosen by my father, or a royal advisor, or some manipulative courtier. Except you.” He pauses, swallowing. “I thought you wanted this, too.”
“That was before—” But I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence. Before what, before I started falling for him? Pathetic. I flinch, changing the subject. “Why should I believe your greed won’t lead you to using me to get to the throne and wanting it all to yourself in the end? You see an equal in me? Or equal power to be used?”
He steps back as if I’ve slapped him. He asks in a pained whisper, “Is it really so hard for you to believe that I don’t want to do this alone? That I don’t want to be abandoned by yet another person? That I just … want …” He swallows hard, but confesses, so quiet it’s like a prayer hissed at the gallows, “to be loved?”
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that, not that kind of vulnerability, nor the truth dropped into the room like a bomb. I’m stunned, silent.
His jaw clenches, nose scrunching like he’s suppressing a growl, and I’ve never seen him fidget so much. “Am I always going to be a monster to you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” He flinches and his voice breaks. “Keep your shields up.”
My tattoo burns like I’ve been branded. Shit. Do I really think of him like that? Like he’s just one of them? And who isthem? The immortals? The rebels? The gods themselves? He’s all and none.
“Draven,” I say, but he stalks up the stairs instead, spine straight, shutting the door with a snap.
This space seems too large suddenly without Draven here, like dangers could lurk in any shadow. Breathing hard, I cross over to the hidden spying closet, opening it and slipping inside, the walls around me a comfort, like shields at my back. I slump onto the floor, trying to gather my breath. My hands combthrough my hair, and the overwhelming emotions of everything that happened come flooding out of me.
I’m glad he’s not here to see me break.
I’m dying that he’s not here to make it better.
Knowing what my mother’s done … what does it say about me if I still love her? What’s it say if I don’t?
And Draven … I need to talk to him. I should go up those stairs right now. I need his apology. I need to apologize. Yell. Anything. All of it.
Yet I feel glued to this space, terrified to cross the threshold of that door. Not because he’s a monster.
But because I’m afraidIam.
