Page 73 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

When she reached the edge of the trees, she climbed the gentle rise of the hill to the bluff overlooking the sea and sat on the cold ground, her arms wrapped around her stomach. The thunder of the waves crashing against the shore calmed her, and she reached for that elusive sense of peace and held on to it with desperate fingers.

Maybe the Montevallian prince wouldn’t be a terrible person.

Maybe those who hated her would stop trying to kill her now that peace had been achieved.

Maybe Tal would talk to her again once the idea of peace became real.

And maybe the loneliness and hurt inside of her could be caged the way she imprisoned her rage until she needed it. If she could build a wall strong enough and thick enough to separate herself from the ache, it would be like it wasn’t even real.

She lost track of how long she sat gazing out at the sea. The darkness within shivered, and she rocked herself back and forth as something raw and painful blossomed out of it. A tear slipped free, scalding her cold cheek with its heat, followed by another.

How could she survive being the ruthless, dangerous princess every minute of every day if she couldn’t even survive losing a friendship or two?

She was stronger than this. Better than this. She had to be.

Something rustled in the trees behind her, and a twig snapped. Charis froze, terribly aware that she’d come out here alone and weaponless.

She scrambled to her feet and faced the orchard as a dark shape raced out of the trees and then skidded to a stop.

“Charis?” Tal’s voice, laced with furious worry, echoed across the bluff.

Hastily, she wiped the tears from her cheeks as he made his way up the hill until they were face-to-face. “How did you find me?”

“That’s it?” He sounded out of breath. “You disappear out of your locked bedroom almost two hours ago, and that’s what you say to me?”

“I guess you’re angry with me.” She was too weary, too spent to argue. Let him tell her she’d been foolish. Let him remind her that she was his job, and he needed to do that job well to keep his future secure.

“I am unbelievably angry.” He took a step closer. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this furious.”

She turned away. Starlight danced on the water, tiny sparkles in the vast darkness of the sea. “I understand.”

“You don’t understand me at all.”

She shrugged. Did it matter? He’d chosen distance. She’d honored that. And now her life was permanently on a different path.

The emptiness within ached. She pressed her hands against her heart to still the hurt.

“I’m angry, Charis, but not with you.”

She turned toward him. “Who else is there to be angry with?”

He laughed, but it was full of pain. “Me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t, and I’m sorry I didn’t see that clearly until today. I should have. All the signs were there, but I was too caught up in my own pain to see yours.” He began pacing. “You’re so used to being what others need you to be. So careful to be responsible and do your duty by others. I thought you were carelessly misunderstanding me, when really you were drowning, and it never occurs to you to call out for help. Instead, you use your last breath to take care of others.”

“I’m not drowning.” Her voice betrayed her, a hoarse, broken whisper that scraped against the hurt like a knife.

He stopped in front of her and said with infinite gentleness, “You’ve been drowning since you decided to sacrifice your future for the safety of your kingdom. But you went under for the last time last week when I couldn’t look past the fact that you didn’t tell me, your friend, about such a huge decision. I thought we were closer than that, and it was like getting tossed into an icy lake when I was surprised by the news in front of the council.”

Charis’s eyes stung. “I didn’t tell you because you’re my friend. I know that doesn’t make sense, but—”

“It makes perfect sense.” He moved closer, and she could see his face, limned with starlight, lines of misery on his brow. “At least, it made sense to me once I remembered how you dealt with the death of your friend Milla. How you couldn’t put it into words for your father, the person you are closest to in all the world. You cried with him, something you won’t do with anyone else, but even then, you couldn’t say the words. You couldn’t say the words to Holland and Nalani, either.”

“Because then it becomes real,” she whispered.

“I know.” He reached out a hand and waited to see if she would take it. She hesitated, and he said quietly, “You didn’t tell me because it felt like a door closing on all the things you’d hoped for, and you could avoid thinking about the finality of that if you never put it into words. And then it became a reality today, and I saw you.”

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