Page 65 of The False Vow

His speech halted. As he’d been talking, his tone had turned dreamy—like he was sifting through old memories, examining what he found there—but now he seemed to remember himself.

He arched a brow at me. “I’m trying to sympathize with you.”

My neck warmed. Was that what he was doing? I didn’t know how to reply to his confessions; it felt like I had been thrown into a dance, the steps to which I had not learned.

I searched my mind for some response but came up only with: “What sort of approval?”

Noé grimaced. “It’s difficult to explain,” he replied. “I was speaking with him just before I came up here. He said…” He hesitated again, then shook his head as if he’d thought better of the disclosure. I flushed. I already knew what Eliot said. “It doesn’t matter, actually.

“Eliot despises his father, Reginald, but in a different way than I do mine,” Noé went on after a beat had passed. “He hates that his father has made himself—and the Lear family, by extension—into a footstool for Bastian Alaire to step on. He hates that Reginald is willing to bend, to scrape, to retain my father’s support, which he needs to fund his own Parliamentary campaigns. He hates that his father has no principles.”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug.

“His entire life, Eliot has worked to build himself into the perfect gentleman, the perfect politician—someone able to detangle himself from his family’s crooked legacy. Meanwhile, I’ve always felt…directionless. I never wanted to be good enough for the world. Primarily, I wanted…” His throat bobbed. “Well, I suppose I wanted to be good enough for him.”

He exhaled.

“There were times in our friendship where I believed he kept me close to him only so that I might act as his shadow. A wicked reflection, against which he appeared…purer. Brighter.”

Without warning, he glanced back at me.

“I’m being harsh. Lear’s a good man, despite his faults,” Noé said suddenly. “His goodness is the trait he values most about himself. If he really despises you as Clio claims, it’s only because he loves you, and his pride won’t allow him to cope with the possibility of your loss.”

My throat was tight. Suddenly, I was glad it was dark, that night had obscured my reactions like a mask; I could not help how brazenly I was studying him.

“I’m not so sure,” I answered Noé after a minute had passed. “I…I deceived you before. Eliot and I aren’t together in that way anymore. He…” My speech hitched. “He left me, the day of your father’s bridal tea. He thinks me cruel. And I fear the same about myself.”

Noé inclined his head. “You worry you’re cruel?”

I flinched, looking away. “I know I am.”

He hummed. “And is that such a bad thing?” he asked. “I rather enjoy your cruelty.”

I felt a thrill go down my spine and could not understand the meaning of it. Some of his usual slyness had reentered his expression; when our gazes brushed, though, it was swept away.

Rising, Noé cleared his throat. “Go to sleep,” he said. “I’ll stay up for a while, ensure Clio doesn’t come back.”

Caught off guard, I nodded. “Noé,” I called after him as he started toward the door.

He twisted around. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spoken his name aloud; he seemed as surprised by the utterance as I was.

“I’m sorry about Ophelia,” I said, lowering my eyes. “And your mother.”

His expression strained, as close to tenderness as I’d seen from him. When he spoke again, his voice was thick. “Thank you, Tamerlane.”

I dipped my head in another shallow nod. Lowering myself onto my elbows, I began the process of settling into bed.

“Lovett.” I glanced up. Noé was watching me carefully; he appeared guarded, as if behind his eyes there existed a room he did not wish me to see.

Collecting himself, he jerked his chin to the door.

“We’ll get her back.”

Somehow, I understood he was referring to Clio—and revenge for her attack on me. Against my better judgment, I smiled. “Naturally.”

He returned my smirk, his softer. Facing away from him, I tucked myself beneath my sheets, laying my head on my pillow.

I remained there, eyes closed and unmoving, without speaking to him again, but I was aware of his presence until I fell asleep.