The answer slides to the tip of my tongue, but an eternity passes before I let it fall. “Yes.”
He doesn’t respond. The darkness between us breathes, as if it’s waiting. For what, I don’t know.
“Come here,” Amriel says hoarsely. “Come closer.”
Hesitation pricks at the base of my spine. “Why?”
“Because. I want to see you.”
“That’s not really a reas?—”
“It’s the most honest reason there is,” he says. “And I hate being honest. So come here. Just let me look at you.”
Goddess, how much winehashe had? I swallow my fluttering heartbeat and make my way toward him, stopping amid a pool of starlight. Shadowy lines from the window frame stripe the floor between us.
Amriel exhales, long and slow. I can’t make out much more than a silhouette, a pair of gleaming yellow eyes. But his smell consumes me—icy metal and winter berries, the astringent tang of wine. Each note dances along my nerves, coaxing them into wakefulness.
“You have fae braids.” His voice sounds strained. “And a fae gown.”
I shift my weight. “Yes.”
“What about your leg? How is it?”
“Better. Fine.”
He makes a sound I can’t interpret, then lifts his bottle and drinks. His arm falls loosely to his side again, flopping over the side of the chair.
“You’re drunk,” I say.
He huffs. “Yes. Very.”
I gnaw at my lip. Just another transgression in his long list of sins, and yet… “Does it help? With the pain?”
He weighs that. “Not as much as some things. But yes. A little.”
Silence descends, freighted with the thousand questions smoldering in my throat. Seeing this side of him, thinking of him as young, once…I want to know how deeply he hurts, whether he remembers what it feels like not to. I want to know if he used to be kind, and what he used to dream about. If he’s ever wanted something so badly that his heart strained against his chest. If he’s everbelievedin anything.
And, if so, where those parts of him went when Alanna cursed him.
“Come closer,” he says. “Comehere.”
I swallow roughly. I already know what happens if I stray too near. I lose all sense of direction, can’t even tell which way is up.
But my toes inch forward, driven by a force I don’t understand. “Why?”
A faint growl emanates from his chest, twin embers flaring in his eyes. “I’ve already told you. I’m not going to say it again.”
My feet ignite with the need to move, to obey, but I fashion my willpower into an anchor and fasten myself to the floor. “I’m not a dog. If you can’t tell me why you want me, then I’m not coming to you.”
The rumble in his throat intensifies. A moment later, glass clinks against stone. The chair creaks, his outline shifting, his shadow looming as it unfolds. He stands there for a heartbeat—two—like he’s trying to talk himself out of being the one to concede. But eventually, he steps into the starlight, his mouth hard, a single lock of silver hair falling into his eyes.
All my internal workings go silent. Even my heartbeat, along with everything else—the sky, the stars, the world. Time itself, probably.
He looks so…different tonight. Anguished and hungry andalive, like the wine has stripped the deadness from his eyes.
“You’re so stubborn,” he says.
“Yes,” I breathe.
