The story is about a warrior princess with tired eyes and too many scars to count. A woman who has fought battles no one ever saw, and a broken prince who loves her anyway. Not despite the wounds, but because of them. Because she is all sharp edges and softness at once, and somehow, he finds refuge in the jagged places too.
Adhira’s legs begin to tingle from being folded so tightly. But she remains.
Because this story, the one she never asked to hear, is stitching something back together inside her. Thread byinvisible thread. His voice smoothing the frayed edges of her heart.
When the story ends and his call disconnects, the quiet settles again. But it’s different now. Not hollow, not heavy, just still.
And when the time comes for her to crawl into bed, she feels a little less lost and a lot more grateful for the green-eyed man who loves as fiercely as he fears.
CHAPTER
FIFTY-ONE
It’s been an entire week,and my resolve has snapped. I’ve only caught fleetingglimpsesof Adhira over the last seven days, and it’s never enough.
No matter how beaten down and exhausted she looks, she’s still the most ethereal woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I’d do anything to dull her pain. Even if it meant making it my own.
I’ve sent her friends updates all week, and they still have no answers or suggestions, telling me to wait it out and that she’ll find her way back to the land of the living. But I’m not so sure. The guys have offered their suggestions, too, but none of them makes sense.
And more than that, I’ve grown impatient.
Which is what has driven me to stand here, in the middle of our tiny living room, pushing furniture around, creating all sorts of noise that I’m sure Adhira wants to throttle me for. Frankly,I’d love nothing more than for her to stomp out here and bite my damn head off about it.
She doesn’t.
Not even when I slide the coffee table off the carpet, creating a shrill scraping sound that resounds through the room. She makes no noise. No effort tolive.
It angers me that if our roles were reversed, she wouldn’t put up with this from me. She’d force me to confront my emotions—and probably distract me from them when she thought I’d had enough. But she doesn’t do that for herself.
Does she not think she’s worth the same effort?
Today, that ends.
I pull the cushions from the sofa, grabbing blankets and pillows from my room, constructing the most perfect, sturdy, and comfortable pillow fort, skills honed by years of big-brothering.
I crawl inside, double-checking that it’s got enough room for both of us, and once I’m satisfied, I waste no time hauling myself up and swinging her door open.
I don’t bother with the pretence of a knock. She hasn’t moved, let alone decided to strip naked and sprawl across her bed for me to find. My chest aches when I see her, lying on her side, clutching a pillow to her chest. The glow from the moonlight tangles in her messy strands, her expression glazed as she ignores me, staring blankly at the wall.
I cross the room, the mattress dipping under my weight as I sit beside her and place a tentative hand over her much smaller one. Only then do those burnt-caramel eyes glance up at me, my heart stuttering for a beat.
“I know that you needed time to process your grief, but it’s been a week, and I’m done allowing you to rot away in your own misery while everyone around you worries about your wellbeing.”
“Then quit caring,” she mutters, flicking her gaze away, and I immediately miss her eyes.
“Even if that were within the realm of possibility, I simply don’t want to. So get up.”
“No,” she growls, and my lips twitch. An angry Adhira is something I can work with. I’d rather be on the receiving end of her ire than in the claws of her indifference.
“Get. Up,” I repeat, punctuating each word.
She rolls her eyes, and my grin widens.There she is.
“If you don’t get up on your own, I’ll pick you up and carry you out of here,” I tell her, and she doesn’t respond with words. Instead, she makes a show of rolling over, dragging her duvet with her.
“Really? You’re going to act like a child who doesn’t want to get up for school?”
I tug the duvet back and am met with a glare and a throaty scoff. Her reaction is so much more familiar than the week of silence I’ve endured, and I’m spurred on by it, welcoming her annoyance.
