“Thank you,” I say finally, weakly. “Thank you for bringing me to this place. It’s a wonderful gift.”
He places a hand on each of my cheeks and draws me to him for a kiss.
It’s soft and slow, gentler than our kisses usually are.
When he pulls back, he looks me deep in the eye, his gaze piercing. Consuming. “I’m in love with you, Sylvie. I knew I would love you before I opened that door the first time. I’ve been waiting all my life for you.”
The feeling reflects between us again, but how I can say it back? How can I when I know what I am? When I know what I deserve, despite his beautiful words to the contrary?
But then again, how can I let it go unsaid? How can I keep it from him when I know in my heart that I love him as much as he loves me?
“Don’t say it now,” he says, sensing the conflict in me. “Say it when you’re ready. I’ll wait for you, as long as you need. I just needed to say it to you. I couldn’t hold it in any longer.”
I kiss it onto his lips instead. I pull him back to me, pull him down on me as he shoves aside the books, the maps, the quill. It crashes to the floor, and I don’t care. I need him on me, in me, everywhere.
“Oh, and Sylvie?” he says as he kisses down my neck, lifting my dress. “Happy Birthday.”
I return to the chambers I share with Adria before dawn. As much as I’d love to stay with Ronan, I need to speak with Adria.
I can’t imagine how I can convince her not to start this war, but I’m just going to have to try. Delaying it isn’t good enough. I can’t keep lying to Ronan, and I can’t let the war happen. If I come out and tell her that directly, I’ll risk forcing her into action, but I can’t go on like this any longer, knowing that he loves me and trusts me.
I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I have to give my sister this one final opportunity to make things right before I give her up.
Adria stumbles down the hall, heeled shoes in hand. She’s just getting back herself. “I’ll give it to the Selarans. They know how to throw a party,” she says.
Her mask is off, and her knuckles look a bit bloody. “Good night?” I ask.
“Not bad at all.”
We undress quickly inside, freeing ourselves from the tight fabrics and getting comfortable in our nightgowns. As I remove the necklace, Adria joins me at my dresser.
“I wanted to say this when I gave it to you, but Quinn was there. You remind me of her. Mother, not Quinn.”
“I hope not Quinn.” I laugh, but my heart rate is increasing. Adria never talks about Mother.
This is my chance.
“She was kind, like you,” she says. “Too kind. It cost her her life. I hope the same won’t happen to you, Sylvie.”
This is the nicest thing she’s ever said to me.
Maybe there is hope. Maybe she could see reason.
But I don’t understand part of what she said, and it bothers me. “What do you mean, it cost her her life?” Mother was a spy. She was killed in her sleep by King Aurelian when they discovered her. I don’t see what that has to do with kindness.
“She infiltrated Ronan’s forces. She could have killed him. But instead of doing what she should have done and taking him out to give Father an easier road to victory, she gave Aurelian a chance to surrender before killing his son. She knew how much Ronan meant to him, his only child. She thought it would spare more bloodshed. Instead, Aurelian murdered her in her sleep.”
“I didn’t know that.” I knew she’d been killed for spying, but not for threatening Ronan, and I also didn’t know she had given Aurelian a chance to stop it.
And he had chosen the war over Ronan, just as my parents had chosen the war over me. And I know that they all felt like they were doing the right thing, that they made those sacrifices for the greater good, but I’m sure that offered little comfort toRonan, just as it offered little comfort to me on the sleepless nights when I wondered if they’d ever come home.
Adria nods. “Of course, her spies were instructed to kill Ronan if they didn’t hear from her after a certain amount of time. And they very nearly succeeded. They killed all of his guards but one. That Orsan of his. Both of them nearly died before the spies had to flee. It was so close. Can you imagine if they’d succeeded? How different things would have been?”
I can’t bear to hear her talk about him dying that way. “I do think things would have been different. But I’m not sure they would have been any better.” I say it as diplomatically as I can, trying not to let venom enter my voice, trying not to let the rage I’m feeling rise to the surface. “If we had won, we might be here defending Father against people like us.”
“No, we wouldn’t have been. Because we’re not fool enough to let them try.”
I do believe she’s right about that, but I’m not sure that it’s a good thing. “Do you think Mother was a fool?”
