Page 53 of The Crown of Moonlight
I almost hope she’ll argue—snatch the remaining two plaids for herself and make a bed somewhere out of reach.Instead, she stands and watches until after I’m stretched out on my back.Then she lays down on the farthest edge of the heavy fabric, as far from me as possible.
My jaw tightens, and I draw her closer until the remaining plaids cover us both.Then I turn away.
“Goodnight, Flora.”
“It’s daylight,” she says.“Sleep well.”
Flora’s at once too close and too far away to make sleep likely.The heat of our bodies releases the smell of wet wool and hints of old smoke, but that doesn’t drown out the faint scent of rosemary and bog myrtle soap that still clings to her clothes and skin.
She lies unnaturally still, her every shallow breath brushing my back, her spine curved, and her muscles as taut as bowstrings.
Does she feel any of the pull I feel between us?
I think back to her conversation with the man in the village, and it’s impossible not to imagine her lying like this on her wedding night, tense and trying to make herself smaller.Afraid, but refusing to run away.
The thought of her throwing herself away on a man who doesn’t love her—on a man who could hurt her, control her, try to take away her fire and spirit—sends anger clawing at my chest.
I roll over onto my back and stare up at the granite slab above our heads.“You’re not actually thinking of marrying someone your Clan Council chooses for you, are you?”
“Dunhaelic is my home.It’s my responsibility.How do I walk away from my people and trust that whoever comes in will treat them well?Dughall wouldn’t.”Her voice sounds flat, as though she’s already given up.Then she rolls over, too, and lies on her back beside me.“I know my limitations, Chyr.I can keep good accounts and raise fast, sturdy horses, but I’m no warrior.Dunhaelic needs strength now more than ever.More strength than I can offer.Look what happened at Aknacaery.”
“What happened at Aknacaery is all the more reason you shouldn’t betray yourself,” I say.“Your life is too fragile to waste it giving yourself to someone you do not love.”
Her answer is slow in coming.“That’s survival,” she finally says, “not betrayal.”
“It’s madness, and you deserve better.”
“What do you know about what I deserve?”She pushes herself up on one elbow and turns to look at me, her breath coming faster.“You don’t know me.You don’t know us.You know nothing about having your choices stripped away, becauseyou’rethe ones who’ve stolen them from us.”
She’s right, but she’s also wrong.She’s prey caught in the cage of her circumstances, but I’m trapped just as surely by the layers of oaths that bind me.
Something cold and bleak settles in my chest.“I know that marriage should be sacred, and that keeping Dunhaelic will take more than strength.It isn’t a sword that makes a leader.Don’t sell yourself too lightly.”
“Don’t pretend Siorai never marry for convenience.The Compact required the true queens to take Riders as companions.That wasn’t about love.”
My oathbands flare a warning.
“I’m aware of the oaths I took, believe me.”
“If those oaths still follow the Compact, then you technically agreed to marry without love, didn’t you?To make a personal sacrifice for something greater, something you believe in.You have no right to judge me for doing the same.”
Her voice cracks on the last word, and her face begins to crumple towards tears, but she catches herself and smooths it back to a semblance of calm as though the mask had never broken.I’ve seen it now, though, and I recognize it.I know the cost of it.It’s the same sort of mask I’ve had to wear my entire life, never letting anyone see that there’s something vulnerable underneath.Showing weakness only gives your enemies the ammunition to defeat you.
My breath hitches, and my hands ball themselves into fists.It’s all I can do not to curse.Or close the short distance and kiss her until we both forget.The silence draws out between us until eventually, I’m forced to admit the truth.
“I’m not judging you,” I say.“I’m angry for you.I’mbreakingfor you.”I hate the idea of you with someone else.
She exhales, watching me with her eyes nearly black, the pupils blown wide open.Her breath is a whisper against my cheek, the long braid of her hair a rope of silk against my arm.
I want her to say something, to break the tension.To give me permission.
Instead, she turns away.
I can’t blame her.I’m everything she grew up fearing and hating.I’d be a fool to expect she feels any part of the need she wakes in me.
We lie back-to-back again in the heavy silence as the sun climbs higher outside.I feel every gossamer breath Flora takes, every minuscule shift of her body.It’s a sweet and bitter torment.
Then she clears her throat, her body tensing even more.
