“I healed you every night. I brought you food.” When I scoff, she adds, “I didn’t have to. I could’ve let you rot.”
It’s true. I still don’t understand why she did—it’s clear no one else knew about it.
“But I didn’t,” she presses. “Why do you think that is?”
“Because you’re a manipulative liar with your own agenda.” I rise to my feet. “Save your breath. I’ll never make the mistake of trusting you again.”
It begins to drizzle.
I gesture to the tent. “Get in.”
She stares at the too-small tent.
“I’m not sleeping in there with you,” she snaps.
“Why not? We’ve shared a bed before,wife.”
“That was different! I was—”
“Pretending? You’re good at it. One more night won’t kill you.”
I can’t look at her—can’t think about how close we’ll be. Turning on my heel, I duck into the tent. I’ve lost weight and muscle mass in my week of captivity, but even still, there’s hardly any space for her beside me.
I’m painfully aware of her every movement, her every breath as she lays down, her back brushing against mine. Skies have mercy. Her frost and winter rose scent coils around me, and for the briefest of moments, I close my eyes and pretend.
Pretend we’re in our bed at the palace.
Pretend there’s hope for a future together.
Pretend there’s love in her heart and truth on her tongue.
Raindrops pelt the thin canvas, steadily growing louder and faster. Thunder rumbles across the sky, and Mayah whimpers, the sound piercing through my heart.
I don’t move. Don’t breathe. She’s going to have a full-blown panic attack. Her breath shudders, deep inhales and shaky exhales as she tries to steady herself.
Lightning illuminates the darkness for a fleeting second, and Mayah’s sharp gasp has my fists clenching.
I want to help her.
I want her to suffer.
I don’t want to fuckingwantanymore.
Another loud boom of thunder. Another anguished whimper. Her breathing is shallow and panicked, and I know she can’t think past her fear. Can’t force her lungs to breathe, can’t force her heart to slow.
Lightning flashes again, and her breathing grows more erratic. She’ll pass out soon if I don’t do something.
I should let her.
I shouldn’t turn around.
Shouldn’t touch her. Shouldn’t comfort her.
I—
“Lightning strike me into the fucking dirt,” I mutter, rolling over to face her. She’s curled in on herself, shoulders hunched inward, as though to convince the storm she isn’t here. My arm bands around her waist, and I pull her flush against my chest.
“Wh—what are you doing?” she rasps, sucking in her first full breath since it began raining.
