I latch onto his statement, let it slice through me like an iron blade. Fury rises in my chest, crashing against my bones. “You weren’t ready?” I say through my teeth. “That’s what you have to say to me? I did what needed to be done, andyouweren’tready? How long were you planning on stringing me along? Until the final night? Until I watched you walk down the aisle with your new bride? Are you truly so cruel and unfeeling?”
His chest heaves as he studies my face. He places a hand just inches from my head, propped on the wardrobe door, and leans in. “Would that have hurt you? To see me take someone else as my partner?”
“Yes,” I say, my confession barbed with iron as the word grates against my tongue. “Which should have been reason enough for you to let me go.”
He narrows his eyes. “Then you admit it. You have feelings for me.”
I want to scream in his face that I don’t, but I can’t fool myself enough to believe it. “It doesn’t matter what I feel. We can’t be together. I will not be responsible for you losing everything you’ve sacrificed for.”
He hangs his head and growls in frustration. When he returns his eyes to mine, there’s grief in them. “I spoke with Father Viktor after the party tonight. He was coming close to giving me the freedom to choose—toreallychoose—the woman I want. You just destroyed all of that.”
My heart flutters at the thought of him bargaining with Viktor—about me, aboutus—despite knowing it could endanger his standing with the brotherhood. Hope threatens to swell in my chest, but I drown it, cursing it to be dashed upon the jagged rocks of reason. “I would have destroyed more had I stayed, trust me.”
His expression softens. “Maisie—”
“You can’t want me. I’m not what you think.”
“Then tell me what you are.” He brings his other hand next to my head, framing me between both hands now. Lowering his face, he stops when our foreheads nearly touch. I angle my chin, keeping my lips firmly out of his reach. I know I should push him away. Shove him hard before this ends badly. But I can’t find it in me to move. His proximity is intoxicating, sending fire roaring in my belly. A smile creeps into his voice as he speaks again. “I already know you’re a temptress. A selkie. A woman. A beautiful, frustrating, complicated creature. What else are you?”
I could tell him. I could tell him everything. Ishouldtell him everything. Instead, I stay silent, keeping my secrets buried in my heart. Secrets that could wipe away the desire burning in his eyes and make him hate me forevermore. But I don’t have forevermore. I only have a few more days. Am I a monster for wanting his memory of me to stay how it is now? With him wanting me?
“Tell me you don’t have feelings for me,” he whispers.
“I…” Words turn to ash in my throat.
“Tell me you don’t love me at least a little.”
My stomach flips at the wordlove. He can’t mean that. He couldn’t possibly feel anything like love for me. We hardly know one another. I can’t love him.
Can I?
Is love the reason I’m willing to sacrifice myself to a curse just to save his life? Or would I do that for anyone?
I already know the answer. Memories of last night when we confided in each other under the willow tree flood my mind. I told him things—things about my past, about what I did to Luther—that I’ve hardly told anyone. He shared truths with me as well. Even before that, when we laughed and cheered and cursed at the boxing match, I felt something. I hadn’t allowed myself to admit it then, but I enjoyed my time with him. Just like I enjoyed dancing in his arms at Club Scorpius, being pressed against him when he caught me under the lyra.
I don’t know when I started falling for him, but I have. Maybe it’s only a tumble. Maybe it’s more. Whatever it is, it feels bigger than anything I’ve let myself feel before.
And now…
The treacherous wave of hope rises again, but I drag it down, reminding myself that nothing has changed. None of this matters.
Not how he feels.
Not how I feel.
In allowing him to live, I accept my death.
But…perhaps I can die with one final gift. A place to leave my heart when I trade this world for the realm of death.
I take a deep breath. “Dorian, I—”
The door opens without any pretense of subtlety and closes with a slam. Dorian and I startle and pull away. Whirling around, I find Vanessa staring daggers from across the room. She doesn’t look at all like someone who has been ill all day. Instead, she looks at the peak of health with rosy cheeks, dark hair meticulously curled, her burgundy satin gown without a single wrinkle.
She props a hand on her hip and leans against my closed door. “What a compromising position,” she says. Her voice holds far more malice than I’ve ever heard. Even her expression is twisted in an unfamiliar smirk.
“Miss Courter,” Dorian says, voice strained. “Please stay out of this. This is a private matter between me and Miss Maisie. I’ll ask you to step out and return to your room.”
“Oh, did I interrupt?” she says with mock innocence. “Wait…were you going to kiss her? Don’t mind me. That’s something I’m more than eager to see.”
