I weep for the woman I loved, the one who never existed.
And I weep for the man I was, desperate to earn her love.
I will never be him again.
I swear it by the Skies, by the Thunder, by anything and everything.
She will never fool me again.
Chapter Forty-Two
Mayahisstillunconscious.
I lost track of how long I’ve knelt here. Weeping.
I’m pathetic—just like my father said.
No. Fucking. More.
My hand shoots out, grabbing her limp hand and yanking off the betrothal ring. Out of spite, I unclasp her necklace—with more care than she deserves—and shove both into my pockets.
I need to figure out what to do with her.
She’s a secret waterwielder. I’ve despised Tormik for sending his defenseless daughter into the arms of his enemy, but this was their plan all along. He sent a weapon, not a sacrifice. She was biding her time, waiting for me to leave. Waiting for her fucking lover to help her enact her schemes.
I could tell my father everything. Bind her in iron and imprison her in the dungeons. Use her as leverage against Tormik like my father had originally planned. She’d live out her life in the dark underbelly of the palace, never see daylight again.
And Faramir would undoubtedly find his way into her cell.
Bile churns in my gut, threatening to spill over.
No.
My gaze rakes over her pale face, long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. The perfect curve of her lips, the smattering of freckles across her nose.
My traitorous heart flips over in my chest.
I know what I must do.
The waterwielder’s head lolls against my chest as I storm back through the dark passageway, stagnant air suffocating me.
Or maybe it’s the grief coiled around my heart that won’t let me draw a full breath.
Her familiar frost and winter rose scent envelops my senses. For the past week, I wanted nothing more than to breathe it again.
Now, I hate it. I’m tempted to toss her to the ground, leave her trapped with her lover’s corpse until the end of her days.
Instead, I emerge with her into our—my—chambers.
I can’t actually bring myself to throw her onto the floor, so I set her down on the bed, again with more care than she deserves. Raking a violent hand through my hair, I stride to the door.
“Gregoran. Freynk,” I rasp. “Get in here.”
The two men follow me inside, eyes cutting to Mayah’s prone figure on the bed, then back to me, brows furrowed.
“There’s a corpse in the tunnels. Dispose of it.”
Gregoran’s eyes bulge. Freynk’s jaw drops.
