She frowns and comes to a stop. “If that’s true, then why didn’t he do it earlier? Why’d he wait?”
“Well, because…” Why didn’t he do it earlier? We spent weeks in each other’s company while he tried to figure out how to get my magic to flourish. He could’ve done it then.
He could’ve done it at any time.
But he didn’t.
Realization hits me like a semitruck. “Oh my goodness! He loved me!”
“And probably still does,” she says, smiling sadly. “But the question is—do you love him?”
“Of course I don’t…”
As she watches me, my voice trails off. I’m angry at him, yes. Furious? Yes. But even with all of that, Feylin’s still the only man who ever accepted me just the way that I am. When I was with him, I felt whole, complete, and without him, I’m a hollowed-out shell.
My eyes widen because I’m realizing what’s been staring me in the face. I still love him. Even though I never said it outright, that doesn’t make it any less true.
“I do love him,” I tell her. “I was so…different with him. I could be myself and not worry about him being annoyed because of my picky eating habits or that most of my clothes are itchy.”
“Did you ever say it?”
“Well, no. But neither did he.”
As all these thoughts ping-pong in my head and I allow myself to feel what I’ve buried in my heart for weeks, I realize that I don’t care that Feylin destroyed the bookstore. He didn’t mean it. He was trying to say was that he’s in pain, and hurting, and loves me. And he doesn’t know how I feel about him because I never told him.
If anyone needs to hear that he’s loved, it’s Feylin—the broken king who, for so long, carried his burden of responsibility quietly, and who, out of all the people that I know, needs to hear that he’s loved.
Will it make a difference? Probably not. He may still hate me. But that’s okay, because he needs to know how hecompleted me. Even if he slams the castle door in my face when I’m done, it’ll have been worth it.
I jump out of my seat.
“Where’re you going?”
I spin around and puff up my chest. “To take a shower, and after that, I’m going to tell the man that I love exactly how I feel.”
47
FEYLIN
“Zandra, you came quickly.”
Her cherry-red lips twist into a sorrowful frown. “Feylin, I’m so sorry about what happened. I never thought that Addison could be so cruel.” She brushes her fingers across my collar. “How are you?”
“I’m…managing,” I reply, struggling to find the right word.
I wave her to the stuffy brocade couch. It’s the one place of furniture that I never sit on. It’s a leftover from my father’s office, who kept it because it had been passed down from his father.
She sits with a heavy sigh and crosses one glossy black high-heeled foot over the other. “I’m so glad you called.”
“Can I get you something to drink? Water? Whiskey?”
“Whiskey would be great.”
I ignore the fact that it’s eleven in the morning and pour her two fingers. She takes the tumbler from me, being sure to slide her hands over mine before topping the gesture off with a slow lick to her lower lip.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I sit in the plush leather sofa across from her.
