Page 28 of The Rebel's Prize

"You left because you didn't trust me," he said flatly, and she didn't need the bond to read the anger that lay beneath those words.

Her gut twisted. She'd never had Lucien doubt her before—or at least not doubt her honesty—but he was a man who lived by the truth, and perhaps she had finally pushed him beyond his limits of tolerance. "What will it take for you to believe me?"

He shook his head, mouth a thin line. "I don't know."

"And where does that leave us?"

This time his gaze didn't shift. "I don't know that either."

"You could use your magic," she said. "Know that I'm telling the truth."

The flinch was almost imperceptible, but she saw it. "I promised you I would never use my magic on you."

"I'm asking you to."

"Is there any point? With these memory magics, I can't be certain of the truth from anyone."

"I'm not asking you to read a memory," she said. "I'm asking you to see the truth of a statement that I'm making now."

He shrugged. "You can believe it now and then make a different choice in the future."

"That's always been true. Why is it bothering you now?"

His mouth flattened again, and he shook his head. "That's not something I'm willing to discuss."

Her throat tightened. Lucien didn'ttrusther. It felt like the ground shifted beneath her. She'd always been able to rely on him, knowing his honor was the bedrock of everything he did, even when it had come to Charl. Honor and duty that he had clung to, regardless of what it had cost him. But maybe she had finally pushed him too far.

She let her arms go, throat tightening with regret, and slid under the covers. "Well, then," she said, "I guess we may as well go to sleep. This is not something we can solve tonight, it seems."

"No," Lucien agreed. And something in his voice made her wish for another blanket, despite the warm air.

CHAPTER7

Chloe looked tense, even asleep. Curled up on the far side of the pallet, her back to him, clearly determined that they shouldn't touch. Probably just as well. Lucien wasn't sure he trusted himself if she touched him.

Even in the faint light in the tent, she was beautiful. And heartbreaking.

He couldn't let himself touch her if she was going to leave again. He'd learned that when the bond broke, when he thought she was dead, and it had felt like the world was shattering around him. If he was going to lose her for real, then he needed to ward his heart away. Prepare himself.

Not possible if he took her to bed again.

No matter how much he wanted to.

Which made lying next to her, the soft, steady breaths she took seemingly setting the rhythm of his own heartbeat, a peculiar kind of torture.

Even the other sounds of the camp couldn't distract him. The rustle of the tents, the occasional far-off nicker of a horse, and the soft footfalls of the night guards passing by at regular intervals all registered but didn't shift his focus from her.

So close. Close enough to touch the smooth skin he remembered so well. Close enough that the faint floral scent of her perfume floated in the air, taunting him. He gritted his teeth, staring up at the canvas roof.

It had been a long time since he'd traveled with one of the family’s caravans—not since he was a youngster, still at the Academe, sharing a tent with his father. No thought of the magic that would change his life.

Then he'd been excited, eager to travel and learn. Now it felt as though the weight of the empire rode his shoulders. He couldn't trust his magic. He couldn't trust his wife. Someone was trying to kill his emperor.

It made him want to...well, he didn't know exactly what, but one of the things was probably to touch Chloe in all the ways he shouldn't. If only to make himself forget for a while. But no, that wasn't fair on either of them.

She shifted, burrowing deeper into her pillow. His breath caught, wondering if she would wake, perhaps, and they could talk some more, see if they could manage not to be so angry with each other. But she didn't rouse.

She'd been angry with him before, of course.

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