Page 80 of This Cruel Fate

Atlas shook his head. “I had to stop him, Xolia. Don’t you see? It was the only thing to do.”

“You fought him?” Things she had never stopped to think about slid into place. Why hadn’t Atlas been a part of the conversation with Peter in the tent? She had assumed he had been in the medical tents, not trying to save the country right after she had saved it.

He nodded. “I almost had him, but I wasn’t strong enough. It took me seven years, but I made sure he could never hurt anyone. I did that, Xolia. I sacrificed and I worked with FAR. Peter can’t see what’s in front of him, but you’re going to do the same thing as Silas.”

It was too much. How could Atlas tell her how disgusted Silas was by her and then turn around and say she was just like him? He kept ripping her heart out of her chest with each sentence he uttered.

“I’m not him. And I’m not you. If you care about Peter so much, why are you abandoning him?”

“I’m not abandoning him.” For the first time that day, anger poured from Atlas. “I was done. I served my country, and I was ready to do something else, but then he chose you. He’s always had this soft spot for you. I had to fight back. I’ll admit I was rash, but come on, would you have done anything differently?”

Bile rose in Xolia’s throat. She wanted to yell, run. Something. She balled her hands into fists. Or something indeed. For the second time in her life, Xolia punched Atlas.

He groaned in pain. Anger flashed in his eyes. “I should have tried harder to kill you,” he snarled and launched at Xolia. They fell in a tumble of fists and kicks. Hospital equipment clattered to the ground as they pulled away and reconnected from each other in a furious and violent dance.

Even if fighting sans elements was crude and very human, there was a certain catharsis to the base depravity of it. Xolia’s lip was busted, and at least one of her ribs was broken, but she leaned into the pain, allowing it to push her punches just a little further. Just a little less restrained.

Suddenly, hands were pulling her away from Atlas, and his entourage of suited men were pulling him off her. Xolia tried to shake Emily off her, but the woman had a viselike grip.

“Let go,” Xolia demanded, trying to shake Emily off of her.

Atlas was similarly protesting his people manhandling him and yelling curt commands. Emily dragged Xolia from the hospital room and threw her against the wall of the elevator. “Sel, you didn’t have to do that.” Xolia struggled to her feet and rubbed at her tailbone. She winced and moved to coddle her ribs instead.

“Are you stupid?” Emily hissed. “Do you think Peter would be proud of you for getting into a fistfight with the vice chancellor?”

“Don’t talk to me about Peter.” She crossed her arms and tried to control her breathing, but it came out as more of a wheeze than anything. Xolia was aware she was pouting like a child, but it was hard not to act like one when that’s what Emily was treating her as. “Just get me home.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Xolia sat on the living room couch in complete darkness. Relatively speaking. Once she had gotten home, she’d slipped into her Persion hoodie, dragged the hood over her head, and pulled on the drawstrings until she was cocooned in a soft and peaceful darkness.

Emily was somewhere in the building, and Bridget would turn up soon enough with more plans and public appearances for Xolia to show her face as if it wasn’t all meaningless. Had Silas really hated her that much? She didn’t want to believe it, but she couldn’t deny that it made sense. The picture of Silas and Atlas in Atlas’s home was proof enough. There was nothing she could have done that would have impressed Silas enough to throw his arm around her shoulder and take a picture with her.

Xolia groaned and fell onto the couch, kicking her feet off the ground and lying down against the moderately uncomfortable cushions. She had almost killed Peter for Silas. Sure, Peter had forgiven her, but was that enough? Atlas was wrong about one thing; she wasn’t going to continue what Silas started. She wasn’t taking the vice chancellorship for the sake of her own power but because the country needed her. No one else was suited to the job.

The sound of the front door disrupted the oppressive silence of Xolia’s solitude. Xolia suppressed another groan. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to Bridget, or in the mood to talk at all. Warm hands grabbed her shoulders. “Xo, I got your text. Are you okay? Were you able to see him?”

Adonis. Half of her relaxed against him while the other half couldn’t stop from repeating Atlas’s words. Everyone knew how Silas felt about me. Did that everyone include Adonis? With lethargic limbs, Xolia pulled the hoodie back to re-emerge into the real world.

He brushed tangled hair away from her face and frowned. “How bad is it still?” Xolia asked. It hadn’t been more than an hour since she and Atlas had fought. Some of the more superficial bruising would be gone, but Atlas hadn’t held back in his punches.

“It’s bad,” he said softly.

Xolia sat up, wincing. She grabbed at her ribs again, and Adonis immediately dropped to his knees to assess her. She brushed off his hands. “Did Silas really hate me that much?”

Adonis stopped and looked up at her, his brows furrowed.

“Atlas said everyone knew. Was it obvious? Was I really that stupid?”

“Xolia. . .”

“Never mind.” Xolia shook her head. “I don’t want your pity.”

“I’m not pitying you.” Adonis pulled at her wrist and helped her stand. “You told me that I shouldn’t be ashamed of my family’s history. You shouldn’t be ashamed of being loyal to someone. I think he loved you, in the way he knew how.” He led her through the living room to the bedroom. Bridget would be here any minute, she didn’t have time to rest.

“I was loyal to someone who didn’t deserve it,” Xolia refuted. I didn’t even realize it. How can that be anything other than weakness?

Adonis arched a brow. “You’re right.”

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