Page 53 of Outcast’s Vow

I set my jaw, school my face, and return to my wife pretending nothing is wrong.

But for the first time in my life, I can’t see a way out.

* * *

“We should play,” Sylvie says, leaning forward in her chair.

“Play what?”

“Chess. I saw a chess board in a kitchen cupboard here.”

I look at her.

She really thinks she has me figured out. No, I won’t lose my power.

“You don’t want to play with me, Highness.”

“Why not? Are you too scared of being beaten by a girl?”

Sylvie’s laugh is cutting. It’s time to remind her who I am.

“No. Let’s not do this.”

“You’re actually scared, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t played chess in a long time.”

“Don’t make excuses...”

“I haven’t played since George Cote was murdered.”

“Oh.”

That silences Sylvie.

“And I’m not going to do it again,” I continue. “Let alone with you.”

She tilts her head away, hiding her reaction at my barb.

Good.

She needs to be reminded that I’m no pushover. That this... this forced marriage... is not real. I’m not that boy who had to play chess in the park to rise out of poverty.

Yeah, I’m burning with rage over the senator’s antics. But I am also burning with rage over how this woman sitting opposite me has somehow turned, in a few days, from a total stranger into someone who holds sway over my emotions. I don’t lose control over my emotions.

Our conversation before plays on my mind.

How did I give her so much power? Did I even consent to it? Why have I said the things I’ve said to her? Beautiful? So fucking weak of me to admit crap like that.

I’ve even opened up to her. Christ.

Everything about Sylvie defies the logic I’ve built up over the years. The rules I’ve followed for myself. Her presence alone makes me want to tell her everything.

And that scares the hell out of me.

We don’t say another word to each other after our chess talk. We go to bed in silence.

I don’t sleep. I lie awake as she drifts off. I stare at the ceiling, rolling over what I’ve said.