Her last line. Her Crow.
Was he in the trees last night too, hidden behind citrus? Appointed saviour, just waiting for his moment to swoop in and comfort his drunken cousin after her birthday cake went wrong. Except I intercepted, and she found comfort inmyarms.
So where was he on the night of her candle? No Edmund then. Unless he did come. Unless he knocked politely, waited for her permission and stormed into an empty room. Into a mess hecouldn’t help with because she already reached forme. Maybe his knock went unheard because the world was the size of my bathtub. Charlie’s right about only one thing right now; I truly never was supposed to be part of this equation.
This game of Edmund’s.
Some anger shifts off him, and without a proper target in sight, it fills my lungs instead. The fucker beneath me is nothing but evidence, even as my knuckles itch to continue.
And Edmund, shit, Iwantto believe he’s penned this story.
But logic cuts through all anger because Godwyn’s traitor doesn’t save—they destroy. They want her broken. Want her gone. It’s the one rule that can’t be twisted, that hatred, and Edmundloveshis cousin. It’s a rotten form of love, sure, but still leagues away from hatred. I don’t know what’s scarier, that someone else has written Edmund’s part this monstrously or that he plays it so well.
The door bangs open. Tommy’s scent fades as if she were never here. I look down and—fuck—I didn’t even realise Charlie went slack beneath me. Mouth ajar, breathing heavily, but unconscious.
Edmund, all decked out in riding gear, yells for somebody to get help and storms inside. I don’t hear any of it because I’m focused on this incestuous little fuck closing in. His hands find the back of my shirt, yanking me to my feet. Taking advantage of his one and only opportunity, he turns me and crashes his fist against my lip so forcefully that it splits. It lands flawlessly, as if he’s been practising on a punching bag with my face printed in the middle.
Metal floods my mouth. I lick along my teeth and spit it back into his face. I’m grinning as he wipes it, and that grin becomes a deep laugh. I laugh at Edmund and his silly little fantasy where he plays saviour.
I wipe my mouth with the back of an equally bloody hand. “You want to try again, sweetheart? Either make it hurt or stop wasting my time.”
His expression pinches as my laughter grows louder. “You fucking psycho.”
“Good oldGiovanni Malatesta,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s who you think you are, isn’t it? The man owed what he believes ishisFrancesca. Was wondering when you’d stop pretending.”
“You think this is funny—whatever performance it is you’re playing at?”
“Tell me, when you convinced yourself you were her Giovanni… Paolo was always faceless, right? Anybody would do, any man who stood between you and your prize, giving you a reason to remain possessive. Gabriel when he was chosen for her. Maybe even Charlie when he lingers too long. All of them become Paolo, until one of them gives you a reason to become your favourite, right?”
“Stop, you don’t know?—”
I grin. “Now I’m curious, Cousin Edmund, how long did it take you to realiseIwas your Paolo?”
That does it. I see the words stick.
Edmund lunges and slams his full weight into me, and the air punches from my lungs as I hit the wall. Shorter than me by a good bit, I can’t help but think he looks like an angry rabbit trying to claw at me.
I shove him off with little trouble, spitting, “It’s so damn obvious. Did you really think nobody would notice?”
He swings with blind anger, and I drop beneath his fist, feeling his muttered curse and the breeze of his miss before I come up and deliver a punch to his right eye. An animalistic grunt escapes him as he staggers back, slipping on the shattered glass of Charlie’s candle before landing ass first in the emptysuitcase. His hand shoots to the new wound, blood seeping between his fingers.
Before I can speak, he’s already rasping, “You’ll ruin her. Sully her good name.”
“Sully her? You’ve been circling her like carrion since childhood—don’t you dare try and pin your disease on me.” My attention ping-pongs between him and Charlie’s supine form. “Curious that you didn’t even ask why I’ve beaten your lackey to a pulp. Because your first thought is always her, isn’t it? But if you gave a fuck, you wouldn’t have let this little pervert attack her in the first place. Youknew, and you let it happen anyway because you wanted to play saviour.”
“God, you really are mad, aren’t you?” He wheezes a laugh, and my jaw tightens despite the ache there. “You don’t know a fucking thing about meorher. Been here five minutes, and now you think you’ve seen her, that you see what goes on here. Delusion, that’s what this is.”
“Is it?”
The suitcase slips when he wobbles to his feet, slowly backtracking towards his unconscious friend. Poor thing practically trembles upon seeing what’s been done.
Fury bursts through his pain when he says, “Oh, you’refinishedfor this, Eric. They’ll drag you back to the capital in chains. Chief Inspector Henderson will make sure of it.”
“Last I checked, Cousin Edmund, I’m still the Prince of Marzod. Do I look worried to you?”
“You should be.”
I step closer, hands lifting to free the top two buttons of my shirt. “If I cared about consequences, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. Check the headlines once in a while, why don’t you? Search my name. See how many scandals they tried to bury me in. Maybe then you’ll understand the man you’re threatening.”
