Page 106 of Fearless

“Well, your body broke one of my ribs,” I counter. “Besides, it was your idea to test my theory.”

“That doesn’t mean you should do it.”

I catch Paedyn’s eye, aware of what it is she sees. We are so very free in this moment—laughing together like old times and living like life never got in the way. Cheeks flushed and duties forgotten, we sit here as brothers who bear no titles.

“I like you two like this,” she says softly.

I bring the bottle to my lips, swallowing the dark wine. “Like what? Drunk bastards off our asses?”

Kitt laughs, clinking his flagon against mine. “I’ll drink to that.”

Paedyn shakes her head at us. “No—well, maybe—but I just like the two of you being so… carefree. Together.”

That has Kitt looking suddenly serious despite the ruffled hair and unbuttoned shirt. His gaze is earnest as it slides to mine. “Just like old times.”

“Just like old times,” I echo.

“I missed you, Brother.” Kitt sighs. “I miss us.”

“I’m right here, Kitty.” My smile is soft. “I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“Haven’t you?” The words are a startling snap. And then the king is laughing, smothering that accusatory tone with a smile. It’s an odd flickering of emotions I doubt he intended to show us. But when he turns to Paedyn, bottle lifted sloppily into the air, his tired eyes are bright. “To old times.”

CHAPTER 37Paedyn

I stare blankly at the dozens of fabric squares surrounding me atop the bed.

“These all look the same,” I blurt in Ellie’s direction. “They are all… white.”

She pulls the thick curtains together, blocking out the starry night beyond. “Well, wedding dresses typically are.”

My mouth goes dry at the reminder of what one of these little squares will soon become. I shake my head, admitting defeat. “Here. You just pick for me.”

“Paedyn.” Ellie’s tone is surprisingly scolding, enough so to have me smiling with pride. “This is your big day. I refuse to pick out the fabric of your wedding dress.”

I run a finger across the strip of samples, feeling each texture and pattern alongside the growing pit in my stomach. “What if I don’t even live to wear it, hmm? I mean, there is still the final Trial and—”

“And you’ll be just fine,” Ellie reassures gently.

“Why, because I have no problem being brutal?”

The words come out in a rush, like an uprooted fear typically does. She walks over to me, sitting on the edge of the bed only after I pat the quilt insistently. “There is no shame in that when justified,” Ellie states. “It’s not knowing an end to your brutality that’s the problem.”

My eyes fall to the surrounding fabrics and each finger gliding over them. It feels wrong to touch something so blindingly pure with such bloody hands. My soul is stained with death and drenched in the regret of it.

I never asked for this brutality, this darkness. It was asked of me.

Clearing my constricting throat, I lift one of the squares into the lamplight. “How about this one?”

Ellie leans in, her brown eyes tracing the faint pattern of twining vines etched in white thread. “It’s beautiful.” With a sad smile, she adds, “Adena would have loved it.”

“She would have been jealous of the needlework,” I agree with a light laugh. “She always did hate doing that herself.”

Ellie watches me run my thumb over the fabric a few dozen times before saying, “I’ll let the seamstress know what you picked.”

I nod and numbly collect the fabric into a pile that Ellie tucks beneath her arm. “Tomorrow,” she insists sweetly, “we will pick the flowers for the ceremony.”

Groaning, I tip my head back against the wall. “If I pick now, will I be free of these decisions?”

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