He was halfway to the stairs before I couldn’t take it anymore. Morrigan knew I had my reasons to keep my distance from him. But this was getting out of hand. Rogan hadn’t slept; he hadn’t shaved; he was drunk every day by noon. And much as I told myself I didn’t care what he did with his free time, I had to admit I wasworriedabout him.
“If you want to spend the night alone, spiraling to the bottom of a wine jug,” I snapped, “be my guest.”
His shoulders hunched. “You’ve made it very clear you have no interest in what I want, Fia.”
The words would have sounded confrontational, except his voice cracked on my name, and cracked my rib cage open with it. Tangled roots squeezed my heart, unearthing feelings I’d meticulously kept at bay—sympathy, worry, guilt, desire.
“We may not see eye to eye on everything, princeling,” I said softly. “But I’m still your friend.”
It was what he needed to hear. He crossed the room. The jug fell from his fingers with a thunk as he dropped to his knees before me. He slid his hands around my waist and buried his head against my stomach. I froze, my snarl of emotions tangling into something sharp and complicated. Memories pummeled me—his tongue, sliding between lips that tasted like archive dust; his hands, lifting me against a crofter’s cottage; his body, thrusting over mine in the gold-strewn fade of a long-gone twilight. Hesitantly, I rested my hand atop his blond head. He sighed against my stomach.
“I need you, Fia.” The words were vehement, albeit muffled. “I’ve always needed you. And I can’t—I can’t do any of this without you.”
“I’m right here.”
“You’re not.” Rogan lifted his head, and his blue-green eyes on my face were wide, wretched, artless. The motion brought us close—too close. His hard torso pressed heavy between my legs; his warm palms circled my waist; his face rested inches below mine. “Not in the way I want you to be.”
Lust and loathing quickened my pulse. “I told you, Rogan—”
“And I told you—you’re so much more to me than any word can capture,” he interrupted. “You remind me who I am and who I want to be. You have always seen the best in me, even when I have not seen it in myself.”
My laugh was harsh. “So I am no more than a blank mirror to show you your finest self?”
“That’s not—” Rogan’s brow furrowed. “You’re twisting my words.”
“Surely Eala recognizes all your estimable qualities.” I conjured her up, the radiant princess between us. “She is to be your wife, after all.”
“She doesn’t know me like you do. And I don’t think she wants to.” His eyes roved my face. “The few times we have interacted, she is a new woman every time. Cold, then hot. Coy, then cruel. She is beautiful as the moon and just as distant. She is making it very hard on me, changeling.”
I stiffened. Eala’s words from the Nameless Day echoed in my head:Tell me, Sister—do you think I ought to make things easy on him?
And I remembered my own petty response:No need to make it easy.
Guilt settled oily in my stomach, glossing over my resentment. I had wanted Rogan to taste a little of the heartache I’d glutted myself on—the heartache of having the person you wanted most in the world be always out of reach. But he was a prince—he had not been raised for disappointment or rejection the way I had.
“Come, princeling.” I forced a smile and tried to ignore how close his lips were to mine. “What is it you’re always telling me? ‘The joy is in the thrill of a fight, not the promise of a kill.’”
“Not this time, changeling. Sometimes I wish—” He paused. I waited. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to marry her.”
It was the worst thing he could have said. Hurt bloomed inside me, fresh and sharp as that morning he left, over four years ago. Because he didn’t have to marry Eala. Yes, he’d been betrothed to her as a child. But Mother had given him a choice. And he’d chosen her over me. Once, twice—a hundred times.
“No one’s forcing you to do anything, princeling.” My voice was hardwood pith. “This is your choice.”
Rogan’s broad shoulders bunched. “If there’s one thing I’ve never had in this situation, Fia, it’s a choice.”
I extricated myself from him roughly. His arms fell from my waist, and my skin felt cold where his palms had been. I picked up the discarded jug of mead, taking a long swallow to banish the tight, hot words clogging my throat. But they refused to subside.
“But you did. You chose her over me, when I was standing right there.” My voice sounded strangled to my own ears. “I gave you everything and would have given more. But you walked away from me. Youleftme.”
“I chose—” A muscle jumped high on Rogan’s cheek. “When did I choose?”
“After we—” I was suddenly trying not to cry. “After Mother found out what we’d done, and she summoned you. She made you decide which of her daughters you preferred. And you chose Eala.”
Rogan’s expression became ferocious. “Isthatwhat she told you?”
“Was there more to tell?”
“That’snot what happened.” Suddenly, he was right in front of me. I reeled back a step, but he gripped my upper arms hard enough to leave marks. “The queen didn’t summon me. I went to her of my own accord. I’d been in love with you for years, Fia, but until we—” He broke off. “I asked her to dissolve my betrothal to Eala, since the princess had been gone for so many years. I asked her to grant me your hand instead. I told her I knew what I hadn’t before—that my love for you was returned. And do you know what she said to me?”
