Which sparks a question in me. “Why do you care, Thorne?”
He lowers his brows. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, why do you want to cheer me up in the first place? Why do you care whether I’m hurt or sad? I can understand why you saved me from the horse during the race, for if I die or am gravely injured, our bargain will be compromised. But cleaning my wounds after I fell in the garden, buying me dancing slippers because you know I love to dance, gifting them to me early just because you thought I needed cheering up—none of that matters to our bargain.” I take a step closer to him, and he stiffens. “So why do you care?”
“Do I need a reason?” His voice is low, deep, barely audible over the quiet of the night.
“After what we’ve been through, I need a reason.Ineed to know why you care when there’s nothing in it for you.”
He huffs a dark laugh. “I carebecausethere’s nothing in it for me.”
“What does that even mean? Is it guilt? You apologized for what you did to me. Is that why you’re doing this? Out of some false sense of compensation?”
“I do feel guilty for what I did. It pained me to hurt you even while I was doing it, and it didn’t abate after. I hate myself for what I did. I hate the methods I used. I cannot make excuses because I don’t deserve to be seen in any other light than how you see me. But that’s not why I care about you.”
“Then why?”
He pushes off from the balustrade and takes a step toward me. Several feet of space separate us, but even the inches that he’s closed make me feel warmer. He holds my gaze as he speaks, each word pointed. Deliberate. “I care because you deserve to be cared about, exactly as you are. You don’t have to earn that. You just have it. My care is yours.”
My pulse thrums at his words, my chest tightening. Something warm and peaceful threatens to unravel inside me, but it’s too wrapped in brambles. Too guarded. I retreat a step back. “We’re supposed to be enemies. You’re supposed to hate me.”
“Well, I don’t, and it doesn’t matter what we’re supposed to be.” He runs a hand over his face. Then, eyes distant, he speaks. “Before all this, we were friends. Or something like it. We may have thought we were merely the substance of dreams, but we danced. Talked now and then. Enjoyed each other’s company, and I’m not making an innuendo this time. Even now, after the hurt I caused you, and in between our fights and teasing, I still feel the same. That here and now, we don’t have to be Vintarys and Rosaline. We don’t have to wear the masks our families have designed for us. We can be Thorne and Briony. Just as we are.”
My heart thrills at how he saysThorne and Briony. That warmth threatens to flood my chest once more. I nibble my bottom lip. “Is it really that simple? That we can just…be who we are, regardless of the pasts and our familial ties?”
“I don’t know, but I want it to be.” His gaze slides to mine. “What I’m trying to say is…I don’t know what will happen after this is all over. Whether we go our separate ways or manage to end the rivalry between our families by some miracle. I just need you to know—no matter what happens—that you never have to earn anyone’s care. Not Monty’s. Not your family’s. Not mine. No one’s. You deserve to be cared about. You, my enemy. You, my friend. You, the girl who haunted my dreams. You are worthy as you are in every form.”
I can no longer hold it back. The warmth spills from its cage in my chest, devouring the brambles that had kept it locked away. It sends my heart thudding, my breaths sharpening. My knees are almost weak with it, but I try to keep it from showing on my face. I’m not ready for that. Not ready for Thorne to know how deeply his words have moved me. Not ready to admit what I’ve yet to name—the honey-sweet feeling that fills my heart.
I breathe in a slow intake of midnight air and state the only thing I’m willing to confess. “You do too, Thorne.”
He arches a questioning brow.
“You deserve to be cared—”
“I don’t.”
I narrow my eyes. “You do. If I do, then so do you, and you just have to accept that. Got it?”
He tightens his jaw, lips pursed.
I step closer to him, chin lifted, and poke him in the chest with my forefinger. “I said,got it? You aren’t a tool for vengeance. You weren’t born to be used. You were born to live, same as the rest of us. You’re a baker, a villain, and a pain in the ass, and you deserve to be—” I almost say a word that rose so naturally to my lips, but I stop myself. Not because it isn’t true, but because…it’s frightening. Vast. Overwhelming. So I repeat the safer term we’ve already used, with another poke to the chest. “Cared for.”
He studies my face, his expression hard. Empty. Finally, it breaks with a crooked grin. “All right,” he whispers. “I’ll accept that.”
I return the smile. “Good.”
“Now,” he says, extending his arms and wings, “will you let me take you to see the damn stars already?”
My breath catches. I’m still wary about his invitation, but after the sweetness of our conversation, I find a budding excitement in me as well. I’ve never seen the stars from anything higher than the rooftop balcony at the convent. This isn’t something I can pass up. Swallowing back my fears, I wade through the mire of my hesitation, and close the remaining distance between us. “Take me, then.”
His throat bobs as he looks down at me. Then, in a graceful motion, he crouches slightly, lifts me behind my knees and back, and hefts me into his arms. My own encircle his neck, tightening as he takes a leaping stride onto the railing. His wings spread wider, and moonlight catches on the glint in his eyes. I glance at the garden two stories down, my stomach turning as I realize we’re about to be even higher. Before I can change my mind, Thorne bends at the knees and leaps off the balcony.
I bite back a scream as his wings catch the air, my arms going even tighter around his neck. His chest rumbles with laughter, and if I weren’t so horrified right now, I’d punch him for finding amusement in my terror. Thorne’s wings continue to beat the air, lifting us higher and higher. I don’t dare look down and have now shifted my face into the crook of his neck, but I can still tell we’re gaining altitude. After a few terrifying minutes, I begin to get used to the feel of Thorne holding me, of the air snatching tendrils of my hair, of my stomach lurching as we fly higher and higher. Not once do I feel Thorne’s grip loosen, and the flight is far smoother than I expected.
Soon our momentum shifts and Thorne whispers into my ear, “We’re here.”
I lift my face from his neck and find darkness all around. There’s no sign of the ground, but that’s probably because I refuse to look down. Instead, I stare straight over Thorne’s shoulder, certain I just might pass out if I discover how high we’ve flown. The sight of his wings rhythmically pulsing in the air to maintain our place in the sky interrupts my line of sight, but it serves as a comfort too. He’s still flying. We’re steady. We’re safe.
