Page 81 of This Cruel Fate

Xolia scoffed and bypassed the bed for the windows that had once so entranced her and now were commonplace. The people on the street below were small, so far beneath her. Did Peter ever feel this way? That the weight of his responsibilities was the very thing that vaulted him above everyone else? Had Silas?

She slammed an open right palm against the glass while her left hand felt for the scar along her neck. Sel, why can’t anything just work out? Why can’t I make things work? Why can’t I be happy? She clawed at her neck. It was the scar’s fault. It made her less than she should be. She scratched until the burn of ripped skin calmed her frayed nerves.

That and the strong hands of Adonis ripping her hand away from her neck. “Stop.” He spun her around until she was facing him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Xolia pushed him with her free hand, but he didn’t budge. “What am I doing, Adonis? Silas was everything to me, the closest thing I had to a father, and I lost him. He was horrible.”

He leveled her with a look and guided her to the bed, gently laying her down with extra consideration for her ribs. “You’re not the only one with a shitty dad.”

Xolia blanched. Of course he understood an unloving parent. A biological parent at that. Silas was never a real father to her, and they both knew that, even if Xolia wished she didn’t. Adonis pressed a soft kiss to her jawline.

“You’re not going to turn out like Silas.”

“How do you know?” Xolia asked. She closed her eyes, trying to drown out all the doubts and fear. What would it take for her to be over them? She was supposed to be over them.

“Silas wasn’t as strong as you are. He wasn’t the Selermine.” Adonis kissed the scar. Lightly. Reverently. Her shallow scratches had healed, though she felt the phantom grip of pain ghost around the press of his lips.

She couldn’t separate herself from the events of the day. From Peter. How he’d looked. But neither could she bring herself to tell Adonis to stop. It was only in the safety of this bedroom that she could let her guard fall.

The loud bang of a door being closed made the two of them flinch. “It must be Bridget.” Xolia pushed Adonis off her. The pain in her ribs was slight when she rolled off the bed to walk out into the apartment’s foyer.

A frazzled Bridget greeted her and Adonis, who had followed her. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.” What else could Xolia say? Bridget wouldn’t understand. She’d call her young and shortsighted.

Bridget tsked. “No, you weren’t. Sel, things are all muddy right now. The Senate is convening tomorrow, and both you and Atlas need to be there.”

“What?” Xolia stepped back. Was it because they’d gotten into a fight? Or had Peter. . .? She couldn’t finish the question, though it didn’t stop her chest from growing tight.

“Peter changed the order of succession, but not all the senators agree with it. And they want to know who the chancellor will be if. . .” Xolia wondered if the horror she felt was so clearly written across her face.

“He’s still alive?” asked Adonis.

Bridget nodded. “He’s still unresponsive.”

Xolia sagged against Adonis’s solid frame. He’s still alive.

“I can get a meeting with General DuBois tonight,” Adonis whispered against the crown of her head.

“I’ve been working with Peter every day,” Xolia said. “I know his policies and all the campaign plans. He named me as his successor. What power does the Senate hold over that?”

“You need the Senate as your ally,” Bridget countered. “Peter picked every one of them, and they still stall his plans. We don’t know Atlas’s relationship to any of them either.”

Did any of them know the truth about Atlas? He was so much better at talking than her, and they already knew him. Xolia stared at the floor thinking; if she could talk to General DuBois, she might get an idea of how much of the Senate supported Atlas. Maybe she could sway the general to back her; as one of the most powerful men in the country, other senators would be sure to follow his lead.

“Set the meeting with the general,” Xolia told Adonis. He flicked his eyes briefly at Bridget before nodding and walking away from them. “What should we prepare for tomorrow?”

Bridget pulled her tablet from her bag that she used for anything pertaining to Xolia’s political career. “We need to stress how much Chancellor Bellevue wants you to succeed him as well as how closely your values align with his.”

“What happens if they choose Atlas to succeed him?” Xolia asked.

“Then you pray to Sel that Peter lives.”

Xolia stood outside the Armistice, though this time she was next to Adonis and they were meeting the most prolific general in Ris. Warm lights spilled out onto the darkening street whenever some well-to-do person exited the building.

Apprehension trickled down her spine. The last time she’d been here she had snorted the obruo and had one of the worst experiences of her life. Beneath the high-collared coat she wore, her scar burned.

Sel, it was annoying to have such a visceral reminder of her insecurities. She caressed the scar along the side of her neck with the backs of her fingers.

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