Chapter Eighteen
Altair
The fire crackles in front of us, casting dancing shadows across the walls.
Tressa sits on my lap, and her fingers thread through my hair in slow, soothing strokes. I have my arms wrapped around her waist, and my tail coiled around her leg, holding her as close as I can manage without crushing her.
We’ve been talking about the funeral. I feel grief that it had to end this way, and I’m worried about my mother. What she did was hard on her, even though she held strong today, standing beside the pyre with her spine straight and her chin high.
But underneath the grief and worry, there’s relief spreading through me. I don’t have to worry about my father’s schemes or hatred anymore, and I can just focus on my bride.
Tressa shifts in my lap and looks at me with those bright green eyes that have haunted me since childhood.
“I’m sorry about your father,” she says. “But I have to confess something. I feel like a weight has been lifted off my heart, and I can breathe more easily.”
“Don’t feel guilty about it. My father was a horrible man who destroyed many lives, including ours. I often wonder what my life would’ve been like had my father not been cruel and raised me to be a cold, heartless bastard.”
“Oh, Altair,” she whispers.
“Because of what my father did to us, we almost didn’t find each other,” I continue. “I wouldn’t have been able to go on without you. At some point, I would have destroyed myself.”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and I can feel her heartbeat against my chest, steady and warm.
“I love you, Tressa. I’ve been in love with you since we were children.”
She laughs, and her smile makes my heart stutter.
“Your mother mentioned something about it.”
“I love you, Tressa, please believe me. I love you.”
The words come out pleading, almost desperate, because I need her to understand the depth of what I feel.
She smiles and nods, then hides her face into the crook of my neck, her breath warm against my skin.
I hold her close and try not to feel disappointed that she hasn’t said it back, try not to let the old insecurities creep in. It’s too early for her, I remind myself, and too many things have happened in such a short time. I will give her all the time she needs, and if she never says it back, I will be okay with it. Because having her here, in my arms, is already more than I deserve.
The fire pops and hisses, filling the silence between us, and I’m content to just hold her like this forever. After a few moments, she lifts her head.
“What about the painting? The one in the… um… room…”
I know which one she means.
“I commissioned it a few years ago. I described you and Brandon to the painter. I wanted something to hold onto, some proof that you both existed and I didn’t imagine the best parts of my childhood.”
“I love it,” she says. “Take it out of that room, please. I would love to have it in my own chambers.”
The request surprises me. Something loosens in my chest at the thought of her wanting it displayed instead of hidden away. That painting represents everything that was good in my life and that I lost.
“We’re going to move to another wing of the palace,” I tell her. “We need bigger and greater chambers, and I can’t sleep here anymore.”
She looks at me with something that resembles pride in her eyes. In response, I spread my wings behind me. Her approval is so sweet.
“I agree. When will we move?”
“Soon,” I promise her. “But first, I need to clear that room.” I gesture toward the bookshelf that hides my shrine of shame. “Will you help me?”
“Of course I will,” she says.
