Page 153 of Between Fear and Favor

“I’ve wronged you, Nor. I’ve led you to believe the impossible. That there could be something between us.”

The world shrank to the size of his study. When he’d broken down in the courtyard, I knew. Earlier, really. When he’d left the fortress without a word, it had been fear ruling him, just as his sister had predicted. I’d been a fool to think that had changed just because we’d both nearly met our end a few hours prior.

“Youare the only impossibility,” I said, voice sounding foreign to my own ears. A horrible, oily sensation oozed down my throat and began to burn.

“I cannot love you, Nor,” he said, refusing to look me in the eye. Instead, he watched my lips, focus narrowed. “There are things you don’t know.”

“Then tell me.” I frowned, hating how pitiful I sounded. I’d yearned for love and affection my entire life, only sustained by the tiniest of scraps. But I wouldn’t do that here, no matter how much it would hurt me to let him go. When he didn’t answer, I pulled my dressing robe tighter. It felt as if I had to, to hold my heart at bay. If I didn’t, it would burst out of me. Landing on the table between us, I would bleed out on the parchment. “I will not beg,” I told him. “I will not beg to be loved by you. I will not beg to understand. But I will ask you for the truth—and only this once.”

He turned, grabbing a cane which leaned against his chair. Using it to move around the desk, he directed me toward the small sofa in the corner.

“Has the paralytic not worn off?” I asked, unable to suppress my concern for him even now.

“Ah, yes. And no. It—it’s not important,” he said, and I watched as he lifted one foot higher than the other to walk, his toe dragging on the ground.

“I think it best if you let me decide what is and isn’t important to me,” I snapped, instantly regretting my harshness.

But he only nodded before sitting down on the threadbare sofa. “It’s no longer numb. However, my foot refuses to cooperate. The healer thinks I might have injured a nerve when I pulled out the dart.”

I’d had a feeling he’d done damage, and my stomach tightened. “They couldn’t fix it?”

Palms up, his hands rested in his lap, and I noticed they shook. It took everything in me not to sit beside him and draw those beautiful hands which had touched me so reverently into my own lap for comfort.

“No. Perhaps Emma might be able to do something. I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll manage either way, so it doesn’t matter.” My heart broke for him, hoping he was right about the queen. If he had to adjust his life for this, I knew it wouldn’t be as simple as he seemed to think. Before I had a chance to speak, he continued. “I needed to tell you I’m sorry for any dishonor I’ve brought upon you.”

“Dishonor?” I asked, incredulous.

Heat stained his cheeks. “The night after you fell in the water?—”

“I asked for that. Don’t taint it with whatever choice you’ve made about us.”

“Thereisno choice,” he said. “To love me is to remove it.”

I scoffed, moving to sit beside him. “Are you so vain to think I have no choice in the matter? Because I—” My voice died on my tongue. Did I have a choice, though? Did I want someone who had been so broken by his past that he thought himself incapable of love? Would I want someone who would need to convince himself to be with me? If those were the only factors, I might have said no. I might have told myself I’d never choose him. But that wasn’t the sum of Dewalt—not at all.

A wry smile tipped the corner of his mouth. If it weren’t for the missing glint of mischief in his eye, I’d have thought he was back to his normal self. “See? You don’t have a choice in how you feel, do you?”

“Does anyone?” I retorted, exasperated. “Just get to the heart of what you want to say, Dewalt.”

“What I mean to say is that I know how important having a choice is to you, now that you are free from the Myriad.”

“Yes, and?” Impatience flickered through me, urging my foot to tap on the ground without my consent. He adjusted, stretching out his leg, no longer looking at me.

“I hadn’t intended to tell you this, but I don’t want to hurt you. Perhaps it will make you understand.”

“What—” I nearly shouted, growing more irate by the moment. But he raised his hand, stopping me. He appeared haunted, dark circles beneath his eyes.

“You remember Lucia appeared to me? When the shifter stabbed me?”

“Yes,” I said, staring toward the fireplace to avoid his gaze. Crossing my arms over my chest, I adjusted my weight to one leg. There had been nothing to dwell on regarding what he’d seen at the precipice of death. Often, I’d heard of people seeing things they wanted to see at the moment of Damia’s approach; perhaps death’s servant offered the visions as a gift before escorting souls to the eternal lands. It had made sense he’d seen Lucia.

“There were many things she said, but only one of them applied to you. Tous.” His brows lowered, and his jaw clenched. I swallowed, aware of the growing solemnity in his tone. “She said we would become more important to each other than any other. That I would mean more to you than I had to anyone else.” The confession of her words exhausted him, his posture curling inward. I blinked at him, unsure of what to say.

“And this is a bad thing? To mean such a thing to someone?” I asked, so very carefully. It was clear this had brought him untold turmoil. But I couldn’t quite understand.

“Yes,” he said, staring at me. I refused to look at him. I didn’t trust myself not to yell or cry. “Because by telling you, I have removed your choice. How could you know if it’s what you truly want if it has been foretold?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pick at his clothing, as if it offended him.

“And by not telling me, you also removed my choice. So either way, I don’t get to choose?”

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