My chest hurts.
I hunch over her. She’s too heavy in my arms. Too fast asleep for me to wake her.
She’s so fucking beautiful right now, but this perfect face she wears isn’t the one I fell in love with. I love her heart and her soul and her small smiles and her kindness in the face of my brutality.
But staying…
Already, my vampyric impulses are nudging at my consciousness. Already, I’m becoming aware of the steady beat of her heart and the flow of blood pulsing at her neck and the ugly fact that I’ll need to feed soon.
Fighting myself, I say, “I am not the one to love her.”
Stellen stiffens, but I keep my gaze on Thyra, drinking her in as I ask, quietly, “Frost King, what do you see when you look at her right now?”
“I see a Frost Fae,” he says, his blades lowering. “Her appearance is flawless. But untrue. Thyra is far more complex than that.”
I bow my head over her, drawing the aching perfume of white roses into my chest while I can. “I see an Iron Fae. The way I imagined, before I met her, that she would be. But this perfection, I want it to fade. I wantherback. I want my hope back.”
I drag my focus away from her, my voice hardening. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’ve placed the burden of my hope on her shoulders, and what have I given her in return but pain?”
I expected Stellen to be as frozen as ice, but his weapons have fully lowered.
“She is all things to all people,” he says and as he speaks, the air hums with a dangerous note.
I nod, my fingers tangling in her hair, my cheek pressing to hers. “We have power over her fate. The least we can do is ask ourselves: will she ever be whatshewants? Or will she forever bend to what we need?”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Stellen
Antony’s fucking alive.
What’s more, his eyes are clear. No sign of the black poison that would indicate he’s going to lose his mind to his vampyric impulses.
If there were any warning that he was about to attack Thyra, I would have struck him down by now. I raced to this spot fearing I’d find his fangs at her throat, but he’s holding her carefully.
I may not know how he revived after our fight in the bloodlands, but that information isn’t my priority right now. I heard what Thyra said to him. Whatever happens next will have consequences for her.
Despite how fucking complicated it would be for Antony to remain in my kingdom, the fallout of him leaving could be worse.
Now he’s asking me a question that’s harder to face than another fight between us.
Battle requires strategy.
His question demandsheart.
Does Thyra truly have choices?
That question feeds into the rules I set myself. I wanted Thyra to come to me free of coercion. Free even of the need to survive.
I convinced myself she was no longer influenced by either. I told myself it was okay for her to fill my gaps, my dark hollows, and my unfeeling chasms.
Antony calls her hishope, where he clearly has none.
To me, she is a beating heart where I am heartless.
But…is that what she wants?
The only answer I can truthfully give Antony is silence. A long silence that stretches between us.
