Page 94 of Promise of Darkness
She has taken, and taken, and taken from me, and I don’t know how to fix any of this. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to believe.
Until this revelation, I thought I’d somehow disappointed her by not being ruthless enough, calculating enough to be her heir. All I’ve ever wanted is her approval, but I lost her respect all those years ago.
And she’s manipulated me ever since, knowing I have no memory of the past. She’s whispered poison in my ear and pulled my strings while I blithely sought her approval. Her… love.
I’ve been nothing more than a puppet to her, a blind, foolish puppet.
And Andraste knew all along.
The taste of betrayal leaves my mouth dry and ashen.
Helplessly, I look to the prince. I want to make sense of this new world I’ve found myself in, but he’s a whirlpool, spinning me further into confusion.
“I don’t know you,” I whisper.
“I know.”
Thiago stops just shy of reaching for me. Water beads on his skin. I lick my lips, half tempted to touch him.Thisis the only thing I can make sense of.
“No. I’m done playing this game. I’m donechasingyou, as you say.” He captures my chin and tilts my face to his. “So stop looking at me with those eyes, Vi, unless you mean to cursed well do something about it.”
I press a hesitant hand flat against his chest. His heart kicks right beneath my palm, causing my breath to hitch.
But he makes no move to touch me.
To reach for me.
And I understand then. If I want him to kiss me, then I have to make the first move. If I want his hands on my skin, then I have to put them there.
“Ihatethis.” I brush my palm down his chest, confused by the heat of his skin and the urge to wrap myself in his arms, when he feels like a stranger to me.
“My chest?” he teases, but there’s a hint of roughness in his voice, as if he can sense my hurt.
The humor startles me. I lift my eyes to his. “You know I don’t hate your body.”
“Don’t you?” This time, his voice is a purr. His knuckles brush against my hips. “I do know you look at me quite often. Even when you profess to hate me.”
“You’re the one parading yourself in front of me at every opportunity.”
He’s getting closer, leaning into me. We stand before each other, his breath stirring over my skin and tension igniting the air between us.
“If it’s any consolation,” he whispers, “it gets better.”
“Do they ever return?”
He pauses.
“My memories. Do they ever return? Do I ever remember the past?”
Dark silky lashes obliterate his eyes. “No.”
Thirteen years’ worth of memories. Gone.
It’s not their loss that hurts so much—you can’t miss what you can’t remember—but the fact she stole them aches.
And maybe that’s the reason I stroke my hands down his chest. I need something to anchor me, and right now, that’s him.
“Help me remember, then,” I whisper before pressing my lips to his.
