And now she was going to have to lie to him.
“Can I see?”
The question was innocent enough. The memories she had regained were partly his, too. But as he lifted his hand to her temple, Bridget flinched.
“No.”
The word came out harsher than she intended. The slightly wounded shock on his face was worse than she could have ever imagined.
“I just mean not now,” Bridget corrected, then leaped toward him. She plastered her lips on his in a searing kiss. When he immediately responded, she tried to pour every ounce of longing she’d felt for him when she’d been trapped with Vega. The goodbye kiss she wished she would’ve been able to give to him.
When she finally pulled away, her entire body was on fire. “I’m sorry,” Bridget said, hands trembling. “I just need some more time to process it all. Promise me you won’t look until I’m ready.”
With his cheeks flushed and breath hot on her face, it was so hard not to tell him everything.
“I promise,” Cade said.
One day, when it was all over, she would let him see. Until then, she had to keep him out of her head.
Chapter twenty-seven
Bridget’s father stared back at her.
Well, not literally. A painting of him did. The moment Cade had finally drifted off to sleep beside her, she’d hopped out of bed. Tiptoeing across the hall, she’d peeked inside Nylah’s room. Her sister had been knocked out like a rock under a giant comforter. Alone, but Bridget had told herself that was okay. Finnhadsaid she’d drifted off to sleep soon after he’d checked on her. After that, her feet had taken her to the throne room before she had even processed what she was wanting to find.
Bridget grabbed the nearest flickering torch. Even though it was the middle of night, the king still kept the few scattered on the onyx columns burning. She held it above her head and squinted her eyes to get a better look at the painting looming on the marble wall. The last time she’d been in the throne room, she’d met Cade’s father and been forced into the tournament. Even with his intimidating gaze on her, she almost hadn’t been able to take her eyes off a faded portrait of a man with a mustache.
The portrait of her father.
Or herBeforefather. She wasn’t sure what to call him. There was still a man out there who could claim the title, too. Bridget couldn’t believe there was evidence of him at all in Astraeus. It was shocking that the old Tuathans, or whoever was left of Cade’s family, hadn’t scrubbed all evidence of humans from the palace once they took over. They’d already been halfway doing that before she was killed. But he had built and designed the throne room—an ode to his new wife and agenda, right after she’d turned sixteen. Perhaps it was their one last thanks to him before he disappeared to Andarre. Supposedly.
She wondered what he would say if he could see her and Vega now, both alive and still fighting five hundred years in the future.
“Where’s Cade?”
Bridget whipped around at the sound of Stellan’s voice. Unlike her, he hadn’t changed into any night clothes. Instead, his usually tidy blonde hair was sticking up at the temples, like he’d been wracking his brain as he read a difficult book. Or thinking about Marin.
“He’s asleep.”
Stellan froze. Frustration pinched his brows. “Then why did you ask me to meet you here?”
After placing the torch back in its rightful spot, Bridget met him underneath the glass chandelier. “You really did forget everything I needed you to remember.”
The words tasted bitter. Her entire plan had hinged on knowing who Vega was to her from the start. But she hadn’t. Now Vega was one step away from returning, and there was no one to blame but herself, no matter how she tried to dress it up as accusation.
Stellan frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I need to show you what you missed.”
He was the only person who could help her do what needed to be done. But she knew him well enough—at least, the old version of her did—to know that if he was going to agree, he needed every angle ofthe story. When he remained frozen, Bridget grabbed his hand and held it up to her temple. Stellan tried to pull away, but she tightened her grip. “Just do it.”
After a long pause, he entered her mind. A million needles traveled from her forehead to her spine as she focused on the memory she wanted to show him. Her nails dug into her palms as she relived casting the curse on the crown and him entering her cell. Once he disappeared out of sight, Bridget flung herself away from him.
“Wow.”
Rooted to the spot, Stellan stared at her wide-eyed, his voice almost a faint whisper.
A little dizzy, Bridget wiped away the blood dripping from her nose. “I’m so sorry I made you do that.”
