Page 15 of Marked By the Enemy
“You could have stopped it.” He peered at me from across the room with those cold, pale eyes.
Heat roiled in my belly, and a flush crept up my neck, making my ears impossibly hot. “I did.”
“Too late.” He stood. “The bond isn’t a weapon to sheath. It’s a living channel.”
“It used me. It moved my body without my free will or intention.”
“It responded to what you buried. That’s different.”
“What I buried? What the hell does that even mean? You’re blaming me for the way it acted?”
“I’m saying it won’t stay quiet just because you pretend it isn’t there.”
I turned away before I said something worse. The gloves from the trial remained tucked into my waistband. I dropped them on the table. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“Neither did I.” His voice was so even it nearly slipped past me—stripped of heat, stripped of bitterness.
I turned back, trying to hold back the tears welling in my eyes. “Then why accept it?”
His eyes met mine. “Because denying it wouldn’t change it.”
We stared at each other. His jaw was tight. Mine was locked. The bond pulled between us, wanting contact. I didn’t want it. But it was there. And some part of me leaned toward it anyway, like warmth in winter. Foolish. Dangerous.
“If it fuses,” I said quietly, “will it keep doing that?”
“I’m uncertain. Perhaps the Council understands it better than me.” He turned to the door, paused there, hand on the knob. “You did well today. But if you wait too long to face what’s inside you, the bond will stop waiting.”
“What if I face it and still don’t want it?”
He opened the door. “Then we break. And the pieces decide the rest.” He left.
I stood alone in the middle of a room that still smelled like fire.
Did Darian seriously believe that if I brought up all my worst memories—laid them bare for the vow-magic to devour—it would stop controlling my body? Where did that idea even come from? He’d already admitted he knew little about the bond. So how could he make claims like that without evidence? Without experience? Unless...
Had the Bone Seat told him? Had the Bone Seat said that if I fed my memories to the bond, it would stop taking over? Was that what Darian believed? Or what he was told to believe? In the fighting ring, the bond might have seized control to protect me. But why would Darian want me to surrender to that same control—and then also offer solutions to stop it? He couldn’t have it both ways.
If I gave the bond my memories, he might see them. Might feel them. That might have been all this amounted to. The court was clearly curious. The council whispered. The nobles watched. Why had the bond chosen me? It was possible Darian wished to know as well.
And then there was the rebel group behind my assassination attempt. They would surely want to know about the Boundless, where its hideout was, and all its secrets and plans against the Fae Realms of Caldaen.
Chapter five
The Name I Buried
The following day, I walked the gardens and practiced my fighting skills on a patch of grass. In the early evening, with my stomach growling and no food in sight, the maid came and told me to put on a dress.
The dress was green. Deep, forest-dark, trimmed in silver at the collar and cuffs. It fit too well. Whoever had sent it either guessed my size perfectly or had taken it from one of the bond’s pulses. Perhaps Darian had searched my memories to find out my measurements to send to the seamstress.
I crossed and uncrossed my arms. Had he seen the reflection of my naked body in the mirror? Shame didn’t exist for the bond. It extended past intent, past privacy. My thoughts felt taken—like they were never mine to begin with. What else had he seen? What pieces of me did he carry now—without permission, without care?
The maid fastened the back. Her fingers were cold against my spine. “You’ve been summoned to the Silver Table.”
I met her gaze in the mirror. “What is it?”
“A court feast.”
I frowned. “Why?”
