I don’t know what they talked about, and that makes me feel frustrated and untethered. I don’t have control over the situation anymore. In fact, it feels like since I brought Tressa to the palace, I have lost control over everything. Myself, my family, the servants, even my affairs. It’s all slipping through my fingers.
I tear through the palace looking for her, my wings spread wide and my tail lashing behind me. For a moment, I consider summoning her with the gold cuff. But that’s over now. I’ll never use it again.
I find her in the rose garden, sitting on a blanket under one of the old trees, with a book in her lap. She looks peaceful and at ease, while I am boiling inside. The contrast makes my fury burn hotter.
My tail whips from side to side, slashing away at the roses in my path. Petals scatter across the ground, and thorny stems fall broken at my feet.
She looks up when she hears me coming. Her expression shifts from calm to wary.
“Why did you go to see my parents?” I demand. “Did you see my father?”
She sets her book down and stands, brushing off her skirt.
“Yes, I saw him. I’m sorry for the state that he’s in. How long has he been ill?”
“That is none of your business,” I snap, stepping closer. My wings flare wide, casting shadows across her face. “In fact, nothing that’s happening at the palace concerns you. I made a mistake when I bought you. You should go back to where you came from.”
The words are out before I can stop them. I watch her face change. Her eyes narrow, and her jaw tightens.
She slaps me hard across the face.
I stumble back, not because she hit me hard enough to make me, but because the anger and hurt I see in her eyes make me feel so deliciously ashamed of myself. It’s like every time she slaps me or assaults me in any way, I fall in love with her more. I am already hard just watching her shake with fury.
I can’t stop pushing her and punishing myself. I can’t. I want her here, yet I send her away. I tell her that I am sorry, then I behave like a brute again, and again.
I want her to be my wife…
I want her to leave…
I want her to hurt me…
I want this nightmare to end.
“You’re unbelievable,” she says. “You torture me, then tell me you want me as your wife. The moment I try to understand you and your family, you tell me to leave? You’re a coward, Altair. A pathetic coward.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” I snarl, but my voice lacks conviction.
“I know,” she says, stepping even closer. “I know about the wounds on your back. I know you’re doing it to yourself. I knowabout you crying yourself to sleep on the floor of my family’s old room.”
“No,” I say, my throat tightening. “No…”
“Yes!” Her green eyes are blazing. “I saw all of it. I saw you last night, Altair. I saw you curled up on that floor, bleeding and broken, and crying like a child.”
My chest constricts. I can’t breathe.
She saw me.
She saw me in my most pathetic state, when I was so destroyed and wretched that I could barely live with myself. The idea that she witnessed that shreds me.
“Is this why you didn’t leave?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Of course,” she says, and her voice cracks. “How could I leave when I saw you… When I saw you…”
She can’t finish her sentence. She looks away from me, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
I think back to last night, to the cold stone floor and the whip in my hand, the blood running down my back. I think about kneeling before the mirror and counting each strike aloud, forcing myself to watch my own degradation. And she saw the result of it.
“How long have you been doing this to yourself?” she asks, her voice softer. “How long have you been hurting yourself?”
