“I’m no one’s hope,” I whisper, feeling the weight of all of my defeats and disasters compounding into one.
“You’re mine.”
I’m stunned into silence. The way he looks at me sends a flutter through my chest, but I push it away, denying the desire. I tell myself that it’s only the mark that makes me feel this way, yet whenever we’re alone, I see a side of him that makes me doubt it.
“Now that I’ve answered your questions.” He reaches out, completing the swirl I made in the banister earlier. “You must answer one of mine.”
“What is it?”
“Why do you have those scars on your hands?”
My palm moves to instinctively cover my scarred flesh, even though I know he’s seen them. The weight of this burden drags me down like an anchor across the sea floor. Maybe it’s best to let go and float to the surface for air. Maybe, by the grace of Itheon, he’ll understand that we are both trying to survive in this court of curses and crowns, bound by the expectations around us.
“My governess enjoyed using physical punishment during my lessons,” I say vaguely, finally admitting what happened to me.
“How long was she with you?”
“Since I was ten.”
“Your governess harmed you for over a decade?” His anger is palpable.
I nod, trying my best not to let my emotions show on my face. It is strange to talk about this with anyone, let alone Wrath. I am ashamed that I was too weak to stand up for myself—that I let Margaret get away with it for all those years.
“I’m sorry.” Wrath’s words feel sincere. “You are not weak; you are resilient. Your pain will never be a measure of who you are, nor dictate your path.”
I built walls so high to protect myself that I forgot what it felt like to see past them. And yet Wrath found a way to break through, gentle where others were ruthless. His compassion runs deeper than anything I’ve known, and still, I can’t help but feel I don’t deserve it.
“Thank you…” I lower my hands, no longer shielding them.
Wrath's tender gaze sends a burning flush across my skin. Everything around me suddenly becomes attuned to him. Something stirs in my chest the longer he watches me. My pulse quickens as my gaze drops to his plush lips, wonderingwhat it would feel like to kiss him. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, replacing all common sense and logic with desire and want.
Get a hold of yourself, Raelys.
Wrath’s head tilts slightly, as if sensing my thoughts. A silky lock of his hair falls, brushing against his cheek. Wrath’s expression is unreadable as an invisible string slowly pulls us together. I go still. He is so close I can count every eyelash. Something curls in my stomach from anticipation as he nears, yet I don’t pull away.
The door opens suddenly, and Kieran steps onto the balcony. “Your Majesty?”
My breath catches, and I jump back slightly. Embarrassment scalds me like boiling water. I search for reprieve, my eyes darting to the floor, the mountains, the sky, anything. I was about to kiss Wrath. My adversary was a moment away from shattering the careful restraint we both held.
The urge to flee fills me, and panic slowly consumes all logical thought. My conflicting feelings send me into a tailspin of mortification. What am I doing, pining over the king? I must still be exhausted, my mind not yet back in order from the burnout, nothing more. I am surely misinterpreting the situation. There is not a chance in the seven kingdoms that Wrath would ever kissme.
“Goodnight, King Wrath.” I leave the balcony without another glance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I openmy door to depart for the day and find Serafina on the other side. Her brown eyes always hold a distant sorrow, and her shoulders slump slightly forward. Her fingers tremble around the slender, leather-bound folio in her grip.
“Serafina,” I say in surprise. “Hello.”
“The King asked me to deliver this to you.” She holds out the folio to me.
“Thank you.” I take it from her.
Serafina bows and walks away without another word. I step back and close the door, examining the delivery with curiosity. Untying the thick cord that binds the covers, I flip it open and see a thick stack of sheet music.
Wrath got me piles of sheet music to play on the pianoforte. A sweet gesture—his thoughtful nature beginning to feel more habitual than surprising. Over the past few weeks, I visited the pianoforte, cycling through the same ten or so songs I had memorized, pining for new material. Although I am eager to dash across the castle to play these, I promised Aurelia and Violet a visit this afternoon.
Setting down the folio on top of my copy of the WarlordChronicles, I head for the castle’s exit. As I descend the front steps, I see Aurelia and Violet waiting for me. Violet is bouncing with uncontainable joy, her face alight with a smile.
