Page 105 of The Princess Knight
It was all for nothing.
Shewas nothing.
Kordislaen had kept her there only because he thought shemight be “useful.” And any connections she’d made were formed only out of pity and obligation. Even Sárait had been sent by Ó Connor. She couldn’t help but wonder if Sárait’s friendship had been genuine, or another ruse. Another betrayal.
She so stupidly thought she was actually doing something right. That when she returned to Álainndore, she would return with friends and skills andhope.
The sword lying on her bed mocked her. When she held it, she felt stronger than ever before. She had almost been tempted to believe it could be something beyond this realm, that maybe the gods themselves had faith in her.
Only naive children believed in fairy tales.
Murphy was curled up on her bed, watching her with his soft eyes.
“We’re going home,” she whispered to him. She stroked his head, and he rested it on her blankets, going back to sleep.
She filled the trunk and began working on the next. When she reached her perfumes and lotions, she left them on the dresser. When she went home, she would find new scents, so she’d never have to be reminded of this place.
A knock on her door pulled her away from her planning.
She desperately wiped her cheeks. “Yes?” she called out.
“It’s me,” Ronan’s voice replied, and her traitorous heart leaped at the sound. “I wanted to see how you’re doing,” he added, quieter.
He betrayed you, she reminded herself.He wasn’t even the first to do so.
Ó Connor’s dead body. The blood staining the ground.
When she opened the door, she had her face schooled into an expression of nonchalance. Ronan’s brow furrowed, his thumb coming to rest on her cheek, wiping away a tear she’d missed. The touch was soft and familiar and reminded her of all the emotions she shouldn’t let herself feel. “What’s wrong? Have you been crying?”
“You’ve seen me. I’m doing fine. You can go now.” She stepped away, about to close the door when he grabbed it.
“No, I can’t. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Her voice was tight, fighting to stay in her throat. “My discussion with Kordislaen didn’t go as planned. I’m going home.”
He leaned closer, and she forced herself to step back. His warmth, his smell—it was too familiar. She needed distance. “For how long?”
“Forever,” she whispered, afraid her voice would break. Afraid she would break.
Ronan sucked in a breath. “No. No, you can’t justleave. I don’t care what that man said to you. You can’t give up like this.”
The words seeped into her, threatening to mend the holes Kordislaen tore. She couldn’t afford that.
She needed to go home. She needed to talk to her parents, tell them of Ó Connor’s betrayal, convince them to protect the kingdom. Have them do what she could not. And then she could return to her place and content herself staying there. Parties and gossip, clothes and dancing. A strategic marriage. That’s all she would ever be.
“You’ve done a lot for me, and I appreciate it. But it ends here.” When the tears started to burn in her eyes once more, shedidn’t bother to hide them. She was leaving—what would be the point?
Ronan stared down at her, his head shaking. She had never seen that look on his face. The raw hurt. The confusion and disbelief.
The urge to protect him, to share his burdens and lessen his pain, burned in her. Maybe she was a fool to still feel that way, but she couldn’t help it. This could be an elaborate act on his part, but if he could pretend what was between them was real, then for this moment, so could she.
“You did so much for me,” she admitted. “You put up with so much from me. I didn’t know what it felt like, before you—to have someone believe in me.”
As she turned back into her room, she felt his fingers wrap around her wrist. Electricity danced between them still.
“Don’t do this.” It was a whisper. A plea. “Clía, there’s a reason you’re here. You’re meant to stay and help us with this war.”
“I know the reason I’m here, and it’s not destiny or fate—”
