Page 67 of Wicked Dove
“To my room,” I rasp, nerves clogging my throat. I’m certain he’s about to holler for Kael, but when his lips part, he surprises me.
“Don’t worry, Rion distracted Kael this morning, so you have a clear path. But first, I have something for you.”
I frown, my eyebrows pinching as I blink at him. It’s like he knows what I’m thinking or something. It’s eerie, and I can’t say I like it.
He takes a step back, opening his bedroom door wider, but I shake my head.
“I think I’m okay, but thanks,” I start to turn the handle, but he grunts.
“It wasn’t a question,” he demands, his laser dark stare going past me to look at the door a moment before the sound of the latch echoes through the room.
I gape in disbelief, staring and twisting the handle with desperation to no avail. “You did not just do that,” I gasp, snapping my gaze back to his, but he doesn’t even bother to offer a response as he steps farther into his room, nodding for me to follow.
Nausea rises in my stomach as my pulse thrums even harder. I want to run, but it’s clear I have no option but to follow his command.
Fear claws at me as I cut the distance between us and step into his room, my body riddled with trepidation.
He closes the door behind me with a resounding thud, sending a shiver down my spine as I absorb every inch of his room. There’s not a hint of personality in here either. The walls are a dark navy, so dark I could swear it is black, except for the way it glows under the morning sun. Dark furniture fills the room, which is an identical layout to Rion’s with a walk-in closet and bathroom off to either side. The first difference I notice is the lack of a television. Actually, other than the sparse furnishings that dot the hollow space like afterthoughts, the only thing that stands out is a board pinned above the desk in the far corner.
My feet carry me away from him and toward the small splattering of color in search of safety. He watches me, seemingly unfazed by the fact I’m darting around his room without care, leaving me to channel all of my focus into the four items attached to the board.
There’s a photo. I immediately spot a younger version of him surrounded by a smaller girl, a man, and a woman. Is that his family? The way the little girl beams at the camera, her arms locked tight around Thorne, tells me she has to be. Beside the photo is a single piece of red ribbon that’s slightly frayed in the middle, along with a broken pocket watch hanging by its chain, and a cracked pocket mirror that’s too destroyed to show even a hint of my reflection.
The ribbon calls to me and I lift my hand, but before I can get anywhere near it, Thorne’s voice cuts through the air. “Don’t touch that.”
“I’m sorry,” I rush, lurching back, but the ribbon still holds my attention. It takes me a moment, but I quickly see why. It’s the same ribbon that’s tied in the little girl’s hair in the photo. “She’s so cute,” I breathe, and it instantly feels as though the room is drenched in grief before he even speaks.
“She’s dead.”
My heart aches. “I’m sorry.” I look at him this time, making sure he feels my apology, but when I latch onto his gaze, his eyes narrow.
“Did you kill her?” he bites sarcastically as tension continues to radiate from him, and I gulp.
“She was killed?” I breathe, my heart shattering for him and for her. My chest is so tight that it feels impossible to inhale a single molecule of oxygen.
It’s him, I have to turn away.
The air eases a little as I turn back to the board, but the ribbon captures me once again. “You kept her ribbon,” I blurt,wishing I could keep my goddamn mouth shut, but it feels impossible.
“That’s not your business,” he snarls, and I gulp, aware of just how right he is, but instead of apologizing again, I fight fire with fire.
“You invited me in here,” I state, cocking a brow at him as I find his gaze again.
“A fact I’m regretting.”
The suffocating feeling churns through me and I grab the desk to keep my balance. I need to get out of here right now, but instead, I open my damn mouth again.
“Thorne, how did she die? You don’t have to tell me, but I feel like I’m suffocating,” I rasp, unable to stand straight, and he tilts his head at me, or is it because I’m leaning?
Regardless, there’s a weird look on his face. One I don’t think I like.
“My homeland was attacked. She died in my parents’ arms moments before they joined her,” he whispers, and my jaw falls slack at the fact that he even answered.
“Where were you?” I push, willing myself to shut the fuck up, but I can’t.
“Locked away,” he mutters, shaking his head, and my eyebrows rise in confusion. “As the heir to the Shadow Fae throne, I had to be held separately.”
He exhales as he gets the words out, and the moment he does, I feel as though I can breathe again. Curling my hand around the edge of the desk, I lean back against it, heaving each breath into my lungs.
