I continue, fighting the quaver in my voice. “I thought you were married. Even though I made you promise me you’d do it, it crushed me. Killed me inside. The fact that I found the will to smile or dance or kiss anyone that night is a miracle. I can’t regret that I managed to find joy on your wedding night, even if it hurt us both in the end. Regret doesn’t change what happened, and the truth is, I don’t owe you an explanation. The same way you wouldn’t owe me an explanation if you’d gone through with marrying Maddie Coleman. We aren’t each other’s property.”
“Is that how you see me?” he growls. “As someone who wants to own you?”
“No, and that’s exactly why I’m not going to debase myself before you. I’ve never wanted to be another male’s property, nor have I wanted someone else to be mine. You and I have made our choices in the past, but our relationship—if we have one—is in the present. I’m sorry things haven’t felt right between us since I used your name against you, but I can’t apologize for the snippets of peace I’ve found between then and now, even the ones I found with another male when I thought we were over.”
My truth sizzles between us, and the hard look on his face makes me wonder if I should have gone with my first instinct to beg.No,I tell myself.I do not beg for love.
Finally, he takes a step closer to me, his chest a mere inch from mine. Even beneath the pale moonlight, I can see the full color of his eyes, the browns, rubies, emeralds, and golds. “You’re terrible at apologies,” he says.
“I know. That I’m very sorry for.”
His lips pull into a tentative grin and the sight of it fills me with more comfort than I think I’ve ever felt. He lifts a hand to the side of my face, and this time he doesn’t snatch it back. With trembling fingers, he brushes a strand of hair away from my forehead as he stares deep into my eyes. The gesture is gentler and more heartwarming than any kiss could be in this moment. But a kiss is what I yearn for. My lips tingle with their craving as my gaze falls to his full mouth.
“The day you left Bircharbor, you wouldn’t let me hold you,” he says. “You pulled away from me when I asked for more time together. Do you still feel the same? Or will you allow me this before the end?”
Another truth is on my lips. One I’ve been fighting not to tell him for days. Do I dare give him hope? Giveushope? “This might not be the end.”
His eyes widen. “What do you mean?”
I open my mouth, but I don’t want to talk. I just want to feel his lips on mine already. My fingers reach for the collar of his shirt, and I pull him down to me. He pushes me against the alley wall as a furious passion unleashes between us. We gasp for air as our lips lock together. His tongue brushes mine with tangible need, each stroke a plea for more. My hands twine in his hair while his move to my lower back, my hips. I arch against him, needing more of his warmth, his strength.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” a voice calls overhead. Aspen and I pull away, breathless, to find Prince Franco perched on the roof of the bakery.
“What?” Aspen growls.
“I have bad news. The trial is happening now.”
30
Ifurrow my brow, staring up at the prince. “What do you mean the trial is happening now? How is that possible?”
“I don’t know,” Franco says, “but I watched the guards escort your mother down from the prison to a courtroom.”
“But it’s midnight. Her trial isn’t supposed to be until noon.”
He shrugs. “You’ll have to tell them that. The trial has already begun.”
My heart pounds in my chest as my mouth goes dry. All the pleasant feelings conjured by my kiss with Aspen have evaporated.
“Take her,” Aspen says. “Take Evelyn and fly her back to the Spire at once.”
The prince leaps from the roof of the bakery and lands in a crouch with surprising ease. His wings spout from his back as he rights himself and extends his hand.
I reach to accept but hesitate for a moment. There’s still so much left unsaid between me and Aspen. So much I wanted to tell him before the trial. “Aspen—”
“I’ll be there,” he whispers. “I’ll be with you the entire time. Now go. Hurry.”
With a nod, I allow Franco to pull me close. In a matter of seconds, we’re high above the alley and flying toward the Spire.
When we land, we dart toward the front doors of the building. “I know where the courtroom is,” Franco says. I pull open the doors. The lobby of the Spire is quiet and empty, with not a soul in sight. Franco shifts fully into a raven and darts down one of the halls. My feet fly beneath me as I follow, pulse pounding with every step.
He stops outside a closed door, then circles in the air in front of it, cawing wildly. I push it open and find a courtroom in full session. On one side of the room sits a gathering of men in black robes. Jurors, I can only assume. On the other side are men in black suits. I recognize one as Mayor Coleman. These must be the men of Eisleigh’s council.
At the center of the room stands Henry Duveau, outfitted in a black robe like the jurors wear, but upon his head rests a black cap. A judge’s cap.
He’s the judge?Fury sparks within me, but only for a moment. My attention is quickly diverted to what’s behind him—my mother.
Flanked by several guards, her arms are extended to each side of her, wrists strapped in iron cuffs which are secured to two marble columns. The lower half of her is submerged in an iron tub of water. By the way she shivers and the blue tinge of her skin, I can only assume the water is ice-cold.
