Page 97 of Realm of Thieves

His expression falls slightly. He knows what I’m about to say.

“I heard what was said about the princess,” I go on. “About the woman you’re going to marry. The woman that…isn’t me.” It pains me even more to say that last bit, to even admit that I think it should be me.

Fuck, how did I fall for this man so hard and so fast?

“Brynla,” he says, his grip tightening on my shoulders. “I’m not marrying her.”

“I heard your father. That this is your one and only duty. I heard your uncle tell you that you’re jeopardizing your relationship with her. Relationship, Andor. You never even told me…”

I look away, the anger I felt earlier turning into something more pliable, into a hurt that sinks in deep and makes my chest feel hollow.

“I’m not marrying her,” he says again. “Yes, I was promised to her but it was a promise I never made. I never agreed to it. It was decided for me by my father, by my uncle, and by the king of Norland. I’ve never had any intention in following through.”

“And yet they still think you did.”

“Because they don’t know how to take no for an answer.”

A coal of anger begins to simmer inside. “You never told me. At any point that we’ve known each other, you could have told me. You could have said you were betrothed to someone else. Instead you kept it a secret.”

“Which I know was wrong of me,” he says imploringly. “But you have to believe me when I say that I didn’t spend any time thinking about the betrothal. Not even a little. The idea of their stupid bargain disappeared the moment I laid eyes on you.”

I want to believe him. I think I believe him. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling betrayed, from feeling sick that this was going on, something huge that was kept from me. Even if Andor had forgotten, his family sure hadn’t. His father sounded livid. They certainly believed that Andor will follow through, or they did until today.

And all this time I really was just a pawn for their syndikat, a toy to be used and tossed away while he marries into royalty. How could I have thought anything else? As he told me last night, his life has been one of privilege and mine has been of pain. He’s part of one of the most powerful and prestigious families in Norland, if not the world, and I am a poor Eslander who’s been scraping by for most of her life.

“Brynla,” he says again, his hands cupping my face now, his palms warm. He stares deeply into my eyes, forcing me to look into their amber depths, to take in his sincerity. “I care about you. A great deal. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. And that might not seem like much coming from someone like me, but believe me…I didn’t think I had it in me. I didn’t think I could…”

He trails off, licking his lips. “Please, just know that this whole marriage isn’t happening. I don’t want it, and I’m pretty sure the princess doesn’t want it either. It’s just a thing our families do here, but today I made it clear that I won’t be a part of it. No matter what. Didn’t you hear that part of the conversation?”

I shake my head, though his hands still grip me in place. “I left.”

He nods, taking that in. Then he kisses me, hard and quick, enough to put my emotions back into a spin.

He breaks away and rests his forehead against mine. “They know where I stand,” he says. “But I don’t think you do.”

I stare at his lips, feeling too many things bubbling up inside me. Grief, fear, desire, comfort, need—and hope. It always comes down to hope with him.

“So tell me,” I whisper, knowing I’m putting my heart on the line by asking for it. “Tell me where you stand.”

He takes in a deep breath and runs his thumb over my lips. “I stand where you stand. And you stand at the forefront of my life. Everything else falls to the wayside. Every thought, every feeling, it revolves around you, like you’ve embedded yourself under my skin, deep enough that I couldn’t get you out even if I tried. And it has been killing me this last week that I can’t reach you, can’t push away your pain, can’t make it all go away, make it better. I know it’s selfish of me to think like that, but it’s true.”

“I know,” I say softly. “I’m sorry that—”

“No. You have nothing to be sorry for. Never with me. You are grieving and I will continue to do what I can to make you feel that you’re not alone. I just wish…I just want…”

“What?”

“What I really want more than anything is to matter to you. To be something to you, to beeverythingto you.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I want to be your better tomorrow.”

My eyes fall closed, my heart tumbling in my chest at his words.

“I want that too,” I whisper.

Which is why this whole thing has caught me off guard. Hope can be such a dangerous thing when it’s all you have left.

“Then let me,” he says, running his hands through my hair. “Letme be your better tomorrow. Let me be whatever it is that you need me to be. Please.”

I find myself nodding. I should be making him grovel for keeping secrets, but I’m so emotionally wiped that I can’t seem to find the strength to keep being angry.

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