“I’ve been unable to sleep for… well, for weeks now, I suppose. When I sleep, sometimes it’s normal, dreamless or silly bits and snatches of dream. But sometimes I find myself in this…place. It’s like a whole realm made of shadow magic, the same one that I have…”
Stark regards me silently.
“…and that Killian has, too, because of this damn bracelet.” I gulp, take another sip of water. “It’s real. It’s not just an ordinary dream. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like my magic has been manipulated to create a place where we can talk and interact, even though he’s leagues away. He said he didn’t make it, but I don’t believe him. There was also… there was a voice once.”
Stark’s eyes narrow at this. “A voice?”
I set the glass down. “A deep, male voice.”
“Alistair?” Stark asks.
I shake my head. “No, Killian said that Alistair can’t access this space. I heard the voice before Killian started showing up. I…”
I don’t know what to make of it. I’m worried, even still, about the possibility of my mental health slipping. Of delusions setting in. Of my power taking me to the brink, and the possibility of crossing into a place I can’t return from.
My mother heard voices. And maybe it was because of suppressed magic and her unclaimed birthright, but… maybe it was something more.
“Perhaps that part really was a dream,” I eventually say.
I return to the foot of the bed and perch there, both comforted by and wary of Stark’s angry presence.
“This is only the second time that it’s happened,” I continue, looking up at him. “I can’t sleep. I’ve just been living in fear that if I close my eyes, I’ll end up back there. He was awful.”
I’m twisting my engagement bracelet around my wrist violently. The ruby that was once so beautiful to me now looks like an angry bloodstain clotted with darkness against my skin. I make myself stop.
“He was awful,” I repeat softly. “The things he said… he’s never going to let me go. He can get into my head. Literally get into my dreams. He has my powers.”
Stark is looking at me intensely, his mouth drawn tight.
“And I can’t get this fucking braceletoff!” My final word comes out as a wail, and I realize I’m spinning the bracelet again, over and over like it’ll make a difference.
The words from Venna’s contact echo in my mind even now—it might kill me if I tried to remove it.
Stark reaches out, stilling my hand with his. He’s shaking, and I look up in surprise to search his face. His features are taut with rage, and it comes off him in waves, like his magic and his physical power are gathering to strike.
He takes a breath and releases my hand, sitting down next to me on the bed. “You don’t need me to tell you that you’re strong.”
“I don’t,” I agree, and manage a weak smile. “Maybe Killian’s right. Maybe I’m arrogant. But IknowI’m strong. I’m stronger than that coddled asshole who was raised to believe that everything he sets eyes on is his for the taking. And I’m going to fucking show him that.”
Stark nods, and I turn to look at him directly again, our faces so close together in the dark room.
“And I know you don’t need me to tell you that I would kill him in this world and then chase him straight into death and kill him in any others.” His voice is coiled violence.
“No, I don’t,” I agree, staring into his eyes, letting that violence sink intomy skin, relishing it. “Because we both know that I’ll never rest easy until his blood is onmyhands.”
His eyes search mine. He nods again, and I’m close enough to see the muscles in his neck shift with the movement, tattoos seeming to dance in the lantern light. “So tell me what you need, Meryn.”
I loosen a tight breath, my mind reeling. His presence puts me on edge, makes it hard to think straight. But there’s one question I have to ask.
“Why do you care, Stark?”
My curiosity has been building. Half the time, I can tell he hates being around me. The other half, well… I’m not sure what to make of it.
He looks down, his dark hair falling in his face. I try not to think about its silky texture between my fingers.
“Seriously,” I continue. “You’ve fulfilled your duty. I’ve claimed my crown. I don’t—I don’t need someone by my side who feels obligated to be here. I know you didn’t choose this for yourself. So just know as far as I’m concerned, you owe me nothing.”
Stark folds his big hands, the tattoos and scars on them intertwining. “I’m not going anywhere.” He still won’t look at me.
