It’s obvious. Expected.Normal.
I unsettle people. It’s just what I do. It’s just what I am.
But then…
Then, something else touches the corners of his emotions, and it overcomes the unsettle almost entirely.
Concern.
A swear hisses in and out of my brain, becauseof courseperfect angelic Cael isconcernedfor me. Hasn’t he always been? I’mconcerning. And…this thought process is remarkably unproductive, so I fight through the bitterness to set it behind me.
“It’s late,” Cael states the obvious.
“Where’s Alana?” I ask.
He bristles, checks in with his magic moth spies to ascertain her position, then relaxes—if minutely—after learning that she’s safe wherever she is because I haven’t bothered her. “I sent her to bed. Because. It’s late.”
Yeah, it sure is. But this conversation is happening far later than it should have.
“Do you hate me?” I ask.
Baffle joins the moth prince’s emotion cocktail. “Pardon?”
“Do you hate me?” I repeat.
Cael’s fist clenches. “I don’t understand the question.”
Which, I notice, isn’t an answer.
Yes, then?
I suppose that’s fine. I suppose I shouldn’t let his hatred feed my bitterness, not if I’m trying to be allchangedandgrownandbetter. As it stands, it’s not like I don’t hate myself.
“Why are you here?” he asks, ever wary, ever…righteous.
Why indeed? Closing my hands into fists, I say, “I’m here to apologize.”
“Apologize?” His muscles contract, and I sense his face scrunch as he no doubt combs through my words to search for loopholes.
I nod. “I’m sorry for how I’ve behaved in the past and all the ways I’ve hurt you and others. I’m sorry that I haven’t cared for so long. I’m sorry that, even now, I’m angry with you for things that are likely my own fault. I’m sorry that I am not an easy person to…” My mouth fills with bitterness I’m supposed to be abandoning, even though that is far easier thought of than put into practice. “…love.” It’s hard to breathe. Probably because this loser is filling this stupid room with incomprehensible amounts of magic, just in case he needs to kill me right where I stand. I continue, “I regret a lot of things. I don’t regret others that you’d probably think I should. I’m not like you. I don’t want to be like you. Even if I hate myself, I will always choose to be myself. I could not have hidden what I was like you did. I don’t know how it sat right with you. Pretending to not be a monster… I don’t even know how you managed it as a faerie. To lie with your entire body for so long… I do not know how you survived. And I’m not sure if I’m jealous of the fact you could or if I hate the way it burns like hypocrisy in my gut.”
“Castor—”
I turn my face from him. “I hated learning the truth. I hated not being a part of the secret. I hated thatpretendingworked for you when it could never work for me. I hated that we were thesame, but you never acted like it, and you never acted like it so perfectly, you fooledme. You fooled me when I have spentlifetimes growing so close to magic I can decode what people are from a single brush of their presence. Youliedto me…when part of the charm of being fae is supposed to mean safety from lies.”
Cael steps around his desk. “Little one…”
“Shut up,” I hiss. “I’m older than you. And an inch taller at least. I am notlittle. I am n—”
He reaches behind my head, sinks his fingers into my hair, and pulls me to his chest.
My throat closes as tears threaten to spill.
Low, Cael murmurs, “When did you become someone I have not met before?”
Probably at some point in those centuries when you were doing very well not meeting with me at all. “Who knows?” I mutter, voice breaking.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “For everything.”
