Page 202

All of it was real.

Across from me, Angela turns her wine glass between her fingers. “We’re survivors, Rowan. She took things from both of us. My sight. Your childhood.”

For once, nobody interrupts, not even Lucan.

“But we’re still here.”

The words sink deeper than they should, settling into places I didn’t realize were still carrying all those years of fear.

“And now they’ll have to live with that.”

For a second, I don’t understand. Then I remember the people who followed us, used us, and spent years believing they’d won. They’re gone, and we’re still here.

A servant places another plate in front of me as conversation gradually returns around the table. Rafe argues with one of the aunts while Damaris steals food from Lucan’s plate and Marius finally puts away his multi-slate.

Ciaran’s fingers find mine beneath the table, the conversation continuing around us as though it is the most natural thing in the world.

Sitting there with his hand wrapped around mine while laughter drifts through the room, I realize nobody is waiting for me to leave.

Maybe this is what staying looks like.

33

CIARAN

After a successful dinner, I steer an exhausted Rowan back to my room. He’s completely wiped from sitting on a chair and listening to my dumbass cousins trying to—what, impress him?—and my aunts gossiping.

He didn’t have to come down and meet Mom, and judging by the way he looks now, slumped on my sheets, perhaps he shouldn’t have. Although considering he let me kiss him in front of my entire family, I’m starting to think self-preservation isn’t one of his strengths.

I, on the other hand, am having an excellent evening.

So he was hunted by the same person who destroyed Mom’s life. Who tried to take everything our family owns, everything we stand for.

The worst part is that it wasn’t even about winning anymore.

First, she handed an innocent boy like Rowan the music sheet. Then she spent years making sure nobody could ever use it. And when the least likely possibility of all somehow happened—when Rowan Ashford ended up at Caervast on Sero—she started hunting him again.

Back fucking home where the music sheet came from. Home to the place where he should have been all along.

Here on my sheets, under my protection, and buried so deep in my heart that I don’t know what to do about it.

Thank Light Vera Orlov won’t ever be a fucking problem again.

While I sat beside Rowan’s bed, refusing to leave, Dad’s people swept the tunnels beneath Düren, and by sunrise they found Vera buried deep inside the ruins of her own operation, taking every last secret she had with her.

Doesn’t mean I don’t want to kick my two-months-ago self in the ass for not checking those damn shadows better and stabbing what was hiding behind the curtains.

I would have loved to be the hero before Rowan got himself injured.

Rowan coughs, and it’s like someone’s jammed a knife under his skin. He pants for breath, his bruised hand resting on my pillow, the white bandages a stark contrast to the forest green velvet—a constant reminder that his glorious talent was used for cruel intentions.

“Lie down.”

I help him onto his back. He looks devastatingly handsome—all doe-eyed, those ridiculous long lashes fluttering as he clearly fights sleep and allows me to position him the way I want.

“You did so well down there.”

His lips part as if he wants to reply to that, probably one of his haughty complaints, but then he glances up at the water on my bedside table instead. Oh, he’s so done for.