"We're surrounded by Surhiiran guards," she says, gesturing vaguely at the door. "We're all glorified prisoners here until the Queen decides what to do with us. You really think he's going to succeed at kidnapping me any more than he did the last time?"
I hate that she has a point.Reallyfucking hate it. But she's right. The palace is crawling with guards, all of whom are probably on high alert after our little stunt earlier. And his. If Azarel tries anything again, he'd have to get through them.
And us.
"Fine," I mutter, though every instinct screams against it. If she wants to talk to this prick, as much as I hate it, that's her choice. Even if the thought of her going back to him makes me want to go on a rampage that would make Knight's berserker episodes look like tantrums. "But we're staying close."
"No," she says, and there's steel in her voice now. "This is between him and me."
"Cosima—"
"I need to do this." She looks at each of us in turn, and there's something in her eyes that stops us all cold. "I need answers. Real ones. And I'm not going to get them with you four breathing down his neck."
Knight makes a low, rumbling sound of discontent. She reaches up to cup his mask, thumb stroking the metal where his cheekwould be. Azarel's eyes glint possessively at the gesture, and I can't help but smirk.
"I'll be fine," she murmurs to him. "I promise."
He leans into her touch, that massive frame practically melting at the contact. It would be pathetic if it wasn't so fucking relatable. We're all whipped for this omega, and she knows it.
I catch her arm as she moves past me, gentle but firm. She looks up at me, those violet eyes questioning, and I have to swallow past the lump in my throat.
"You don't owe that prick shit," I tell her, lowering my voice so only she can hear. "Remember that."
Something in her gaze softens, and for a moment she looks vulnerable in a way she rarely lets herself be. Her hand covers mine where it rests on her arm, squeezing gently.
I let her go, even though every fiber of my being wants to drag her back, lock her in a room, and stand guard until this whole fucking mess blows over. But that's not what she needs. What she needs is answers, closure, whatever the fuck else she thinks she's going to get from talking to that lying bastard.
She walks toward Azarel with her chin up, shoulders back, every inch the aristocrat she was raised to be even in someone else's palace. He steps aside to let her pass, and I don't miss the way his hand twitches like he wants to touch her but thinks better of it.
Good. Saves me the effort of separating it from his wrist.
Once the door closes, we all stand there staring at it like we can will ourselves to see through the wood.
"This is fucking stupid," Nikolai announces to no one in particular.
"Incredibly," Raven agrees, moving to lean against the window. "But it's her choice."
"Doesn't mean I have to like it," Nikolai counters.
I'm already watching the garden, since that's the only exit he'd have any prayer of escaping through with her. This window's locked—part of why they put us in here, I'm sure—but I could break it and be out there in four seconds flat if I had to.
Knight plants himself directly in front of the window, a mountain of muscle and metal that says he's thinking the same damn thing.
"How long do we give them?" Raven asks, his fingers tapping against his folded arms in that nervous habit that's always driven me fucking insane. I'm about to call him on it when I realize I'm tapping my foot on the floor for the same damn reason.
"Five minutes," Nikolai says immediately.
"That's not enough time for a conversation," I point out, even though I agree with the sentiment.
"Fine. Ten minutes."
"Still not?—"
"I don't give a fuck," Nikolai cuts me off, already pacing again. "Ten minutes, and then I rip his heart out of his chest and feed it to Knight. That's more than enough time for her to get the only answer he's going to give, which is utter bullshit."
He has a point.
Not one I feel compelled to argue.
