I frown at her. "What happened?"
"What happened?" She stares at me like I've lost my mind. "Everything happened. Men died because of me. Because I suggested that meeting. Because I convinced you to let me try to negotiate. Because I thought I could fix this."
"That wasn't your fault."
"Yes it was!" Her voice rises, tears still streaming down her face. "It was my fault. Just like all of this is my fault. If your men hadn't grabbed me, if my father had just paid the ransom, if I hadn't—" She breaks off, sobbing again.
I don't think. I just reach for her, pulling her against my chest. She fights me for a moment, pushing against my shoulders, but I hold on. And then she collapses into me, crying so hard her whole body shakes.
I hold her. That's all I do. I don't try to kiss her or try to turn this into something sexual. I just hold her while she falls apart, one hand stroking her hair, the other wrapped around her back.
"I can't do this anymore," she whispers against my chest. "I can't be here. I can't be part of this. Please, Andrei. Please just let me go home."
The words cut deeper than any knife could. "It's past that," I say quietly. "It's been past that for a long time."
"Why?" She pulls back enough to look at me, her face blotchy and wet. "Why can't you just let me go? Why does it have to be like this?"
"Because your father chose war. He's arming my enemies. Letting you go now would be seen as weakness, and weakness gets you killed in this world."
"I don't care about your world!" More tears spill down her cheeks. "I don't care about your war or your enemies or yourreputation. I just want to go home. I want my life back. I want—" She stops, swallowing hard. "I want to stop feeling like this."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm complicit. Like I'm part of this. Like I'm—" She looks away.
I should use this—leverage it, turn it into something I can control. That's what I would have done a month ago. A week ago. But I can't. Not now, with her looking at me like that, broken so fucking vulnerable it makes my chest ache.
"This isn't your fault," I say again. "None of this is your fault, Liesl. You were walking down a street, living your life, and I took that from you. You didn't ask for this. You didn't choose this."
"Neither did you," she whispers. "You didn't choose to have your men grab the wrong woman. You didn't choose to have my father refuse to pay. You didn't choose—" She stops, looking at me. "Did you?"
"Choose what?"
"This. Us. Whatever this is."
I don't have an answer for that. My jaw tightens as I try to find the right words.
"Your father was selfish," I say finally. "He could have paid the ransom and brought you home safely. He chose not to. He chose to arm my enemies instead, to turn this into a war. That's on him, not you."
"You were selfish too." She sniffles again. "You could have just given me back. You could have released me without demanding anything. But you didn't."
"No," I agree. "I didn't."
She looks up at me, her eyes bright and teary in the dim light. "Why not?"
I look at her for a long moment before answering. "Because if I had released you without demanding payment, my menwould have seen it as weakness. They would have questioned my authority. Some of them would have turned on me."
Her eyes widen slightly. "They would have killed you."
I nod. "They would have tried. And maybe succeeded." I reach up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "This world isn't as safe for me as you think it is,ptitsa. I'm not untouchable. I'm not invincible. I'm just a man trying to survive in a world that eats the weak."
She stares at me, and I see understanding dawn in her eyes. Not forgiveness—I don't deserve that, and I don't think she's offering it. But understanding—recognition that I'm trapped too, in my own way.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
"For what?"
"For thinking you were invincible. For not seeing—" She pauses, biting her lip. Her eyes meet mine.
