Page 93 of The Black Table
No sooner does she get the word out than a fresh round of tears takes her over.
“I…Gwenna.” Everything in me slackens, collapses, desperate in my need to comfort her, and before I can think, I’ve wrapped my arms around her, taking her shaking form to my chest and holding her still.
And she lets me.
I am more awake and alive and alert than I think I’ve ever been. My entire being is focused on being here, with her,forher. Slowly, gradually, I lift a hand to stroke the back of her head, and my fingertips meet damp hair, snarled in tangles so fierce I almost hiss at the sensation.
Gwenna startles. Like it hurts her.
LikeIhurt her.
Just by touching her head.
“I—” My heart rate skyrockets. Thinkingnowshe’ll push away.
But she doesn’t.
Just rests her head back against my chest.
Breathes in. Out. In.
And fuck me, but it’s intoxicating.
“Shh,” I say. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Nothing else matters. Nothing else exists—not fencing, notCamlann House, not the vow or the quest or anything beyond this girl and whatever she needs that I can give her. I want to hold her tighter, deeper in my arms, stroking her head and keeping her safe for as long as she needs. As long as she’ll let me.
“I…God.” She pushes away, gently, scrubs at her eye as she slowly shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess. I’m…I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to be fine,” I murmur. That gets me another head shake, firmer.
“I do,” she insists, “and I am. Now.” She exhales. Blinks. Looks up at me, and her expression shifts, just the smallest bit, like she’s just now piecing together what just happened. “I…you…” She blinks again. “Oh my God. I’m throwing this…thispity partyand I didn’t even say congratulations.”
A pang grabs at my chest.Who cares about my stupid fencing victory?I want to say.I would’ve forfeited the whole season just to keep you from feeling like this.
But a smile breaks across her face, so genuine and excited, that I can’t help but feel excited too.
“Granted, I know zero percent about fencing,” she says, giving a watery laugh. “But that was…” She shakes her head. “Wow.”
“Yeah?” I can’t help but ask.
“I mean, it was, and you were…” She shakes her head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I can’t handle it. Can’t handle even the barest words of praise from her.
My heart is pounding. Myheadis pounding with being near her, with the thrill of actual, literal victory, victory thatIclaimed withmysword.
And standing there, even in the dim light of the field house hallway, she looks…radiant. Looks every inch the woman destined to break my heart and leave me to die.
Ever since I learned about the Dell’Acqua curse, I’d imagined what she’d look like—the woman who’d be my undoing. I alwaysfigured she would be beautiful, but in a sort of generic sense. Some vague assemblage of supermodel parts, bouncy hair, clear skin, white teeth. But now that she’s here and real and flesh and blood, she’s different. Not what I expected, or knew I wanted.
She’s better. She’s everything.
And as I look at her, my mind starts spinning with excuses. Explanations.
I have to. I had to. I couldn’t not.
It’s too much. My traitorous body seizes control.
