But I’m still holding back. I know I can’t get carried away. I know I can’t love this moment—this thing between us, whatever it is—too much. Obstacles remain. Our bargain. Our families. Her wedding.
Fury ripples through me, tensing my muscles. I find my fists curling, so I force my hands to relax, force my fingers to splay over Briony’s stomach once more and resume drawing circles over her skin.
She shudders. “You said I’m one of the very few who’s seen your unseelie form. Is that true? Have you truly no friends who know the truth? What about…lovers?”
The hesitation in her tone has my lips curling wickedly. She truly is interested in my romantic exploits. I suppose my earlier answer wasn’t enough to sate her curiosity. This time I deliver my reply without teasing.
“I have no lovers at present, Briony, and every courtship I’ve had before this has been short-lived. I’ve never felt right lying about my past, especially when I knew the day would come—be it five years or a hundred—when my family would awaken and I’d have to merge my identities. I didn’t want to be loved for someone I wasn’t, and I’ve never trusted anyone enough to divulge my secrets. As a result, no past lover has ever known the truth about me.”
“That must have been lonely.”
“It was, especially after my father died, leaving only Trentas to know the truth.”
“That was the dragon who allied with Morgana, right? The fae everyone thinks is your true father?”
“Yes, and I don’t see him often anymore.” Dread forms in my gut. There’s something I should tell her, but I fear it will spoil the sweetness of the moment. Still, it must be said. “That will change after we break the curse. I’ll see Trentas again and…so will you.”
She tilts her head to cast me a questioning look.
I release a sigh. “He’ll want to challenge your father to the throne as soon as he knows there’s a chance he’ll win. And I…I told him when that would be. I sent a missive after we made our bargain informing him that he’d have a chance to challenge your father after your marriage to Monty Phillips.”
My heart hammers, each beat laced with guilt, with fear, as I wait for her response. Will she push away from me? Grab her clothing and storm back to the manor on her own? Tell me this was all a mistake?
Her expression is unreadable as she studies my face. Finally, she averts her gaze forward again. I wait for her to sit upright, to stride away, but she settles heavier against me instead. “That makes sense,” she says, her tone resigned if not a touch disappointed. “That’s an essential part of our bargain. Our task must benefit your family as well as mine. As Morgana’s ally, that applies to Trentas too. Of course you told him.”
I wrap my arms tighter around her waist, hugging her to my chest. I want to tell her I’m sorry, that I hate the divide that stands between us like a knife, wielded by others, and handed down to us too. But an apology feels flimsy against the transparency we’ve shown each other. The truth is, I wasn’t sorry when I sent the letter to Trentas. Guilty, yes, but I’d felt equally as guilty for withholding more information from Trentas. And even now, even with my feelings for Briony growing with every heartbeat, outpacing the loyalty I feel to Trentas, I still believe the seelie Lunar Court throne would be better served by a new ruler.
In my heart of hearts, I oppose Horus Briar. I oppose his neglect of humans and seelie fae. I oppose his plot to burn down the catacombs and my family with it.
I oppose Briony’s father.
I oppose the family she’s so desperate to be accepted by.
Stones below, why must it be like this? Why mustBriony and Thornealso beRosaline and Vintarys? Why must we be the Briars versus the Lemurias? If either of our families saw us like this, knew we cared for each other enough to kiss, make love, hold each other…what would they do? What would Briony’s family do? Rage at her? Disown her?
My blood runs cold as truth splinters my heart.
They canneverknow about this.
“You once said something about not honoring your father’s dying wish,” Briony says, rousing me from my unpleasant thoughts. Not that my father’s death is any better of a subject. “What did you mean by that?”
My muscles tense as I consider whether to answer her question. I don’t even remember confessing this to her in the first place…
No, I recall. I briefly mentioned it on our way to my estate.
I told you not to pity me. Were I deserving of it, I wouldn’t have sought vengeance on your family. I would have honored my father’s dying wish.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she says quickly. “It’s just…you seemed to consider it a reason for why you weren’t worthy of care. After what we talked about on the balcony tonight, I…I just want to know.”
I hang my head, burying my face in her hair. “It was six months ago, shortly after the first attempt to destroy the catacombs.”
Briony stiffens in my arms. She knows what I’m referencing, despite me calling ittheattempt and notyour parents’attempt.
“Father took ill around then. I knew he was sick, but I didn’t think he was ill enough to die, so I focused on my own problems. I was full of rage, craving revenge, desperate to protect my entombed family. When he asked me to promise him not to seek revenge, I denied him, having no idea it would be the last conversation we’d ever have.”
She shifts in my arms, laying sideways against me so she can see my face. Spreading one hand over my chest, she softly brushes her fingertips over my collarbone, tracing my tattoos.
“After he died and I realized that request he’d made of me was the last I’d ever get, I grew angrier. At myself, at…at your family. That was when I decided to put my all into revenge, if only to prove that the heartache I caused my father in his dying days was worth it.”
