Page 48 of Lady of the Drowned Empire
“Which part? The part where my diadem was taken? Destroyed? The part where the Imperator threatened me? The part where Tristan showed off his engagement to my fucking enemy in front of the entire country?” I practically choked on the last words, my mouth tasting as bitter as I felt.
Rhyan’s eyes darkened. “That’s what you’re upset about? Lord Grey?”
“I just….” I closed my eyes, realizing how awkward this was and how much I’d hate it if our roles were reversed, if I had to console Rhyan over a past lover that wasn’t me. I hated the idea of him ever having kissed anyone else. Hated the idea of anyone else ever having had their hands on him. But…if he needed to talk to me about it, I’d do it. Because he was my friend.
Rhyan was watching me carefully, his nostrils flared, his hands fisting, a flash of anger in his aura as he sat straighter, shifting his body back from mine.
“Yes,” I gritted through my teeth. My heart felt like it was sinking as I recalled Tristan’s hands on Naria, the silver ring on her finger, the golden ring on his. “Okay? I am.”
Something dark flashed in his aura. “You still want to be with him?” Rhyan looked away from me, the hurt so clear in his voice, it felt like a punch to the gut.
“No.”
“Really,” he said, voice dull.
“No! Look, I’m not going to force you to believe anything. I’m not going to try and convince you that I don’t want to be with him if you don’t take me at my word.”
The hurt in Rhyan’s aura pulsed. “Sounds like you do.” He cracked his knuckles in his lap then reached for some pita bread and jammed it into the hummus.
“Well, I don’t! And I haven’t for a long time. Gods, Rhyan. Since the moment I laid eyes on you in the street. A part of me…. It’s just complicated. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I don’t want him. I want you. I told you I loved you, and I meant it. But seeing him with Naria just fucking hurts. And seeing everyone cheer. Everyone celebrating her and not me. I know it’s stupid, but it feels like, like a judgment on me. Like I was never worthy of him, and so I was never worthy of Bamaria, I’m not worthy of being here now. It just feels like…like I’ve lost everything.”
“That’s not true,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at me.
“Yes, it is. I don’t want to be with him. I never loved him the way I was supposed to. I don’t think I could have. But I can’t help but feel what it means that he’s not with me.”
Rhyan’s eyes softened. “What do you mean by that?”
“Do you know how it feels to realize you’re only as loveable as what you can do for someone, as loveable as the position you hold, how you look to the public or how you make them look, but not ever for who you are? Not because you are actually deserving of love, or worthy, or enough—never for just being…for being yourself. I tried so hard to be good.” My voice broke into a sob. “For years. I tried to prove I was smart enough, pretty enough, talented enough, kind enough, good enough. Now I have to prove I’m strong enough, and I’m not. No matter what I do, it’s never ever been enough.” I was crying now.
Rhyan rested his hand on my knee.
I shook my head, hysterical with all I’d done, all I sacrificed. “I followed all the rules. I did what they told me—what I thought I had to do. I was who I was expected to be. And I have never been enough. Even when I made strides, even when I got stronger, I still fell short. I still failed. I lost Jules. I lost my father. I lost Haleika. I lost my station. I lost Tristan. And now I’m terrified. What else is going to go wrong? What will I lose next? What if I lose you? I’m…I’m weak. And I’m worthless. The way they all cheered—”
“Stop. Lyr, stop!” Rhyan pulled me against him. “I know how hard today was for you. And if I could do anything to take the burden from you, to spare you the pain, I would. In a heartbeat. And I’m sorry I said anything. I didn’t mean to upset you more, he’s just such a shit—” He groaned. “My problem. I was—I got jealous. He got to be with you—openly. He got to…got to be with you in a way I haven’t. But you need to know, you’re not losing me, not ever. And you are enough, Lyr. You are so enough. You’re fucking everything to me.”
“I don’t deserve this. Any of this.”
“Yes, you do.” Rhyan stroked the back of my hair, still damp from the shower. “He never did any of this for you,” he said slowly, “did he?”
“What?”
“Did this ever happen before with him? The bleeding?” He practically growled despite the tenderness of his fingers in my hair.
I stared down at my hands. “Once.” It had been right after soturion training had started, and Tristan had nearly lost it. Luckily, he’d been in my bed. He’d gone home, though, in the middle of the night. “He can’t…he can’t handle blood. Because of his parents.”
Rhyan groaned but didn’t say anything, just continued to lightly massage my scalp and smooth my hair down my neck. “I’m not going to pretend I know the right answers or all of what you’re feeling. But just know I want to be here with you. I want to take care of you. And clean your dirty sheets and feed you and touch you.” His free hand found mine, threading our fingers together. “Because I love you. I love you. Not because of anything you’ve done, or how you look. I just…I love you, Lyr.”
I sniffled. “I love you, too. But I’m scared. Scared you’re going to see how imperfect I really am. I just keep losing things. I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t.” He looked away for a moment then took a deep breath. His eyes found mine again, and he looked shy. “Do you remember the day we read together in the library?”
“The Great Library?” I asked. I vaguely remembered taking him and his father on a tour for his last visit—back when we still had celebrations and made spectacles to show off to the visiting arkasvim. We’d done tours of the temple, the Katurium, the Great Library—whatever place we’d thought they’d be most impressed with. But I didn’t remember reading with Rhyan. Not on his last visit.
“No,” he said. “It was in the small one, in the heir’s wing at Cresthaven. Um, it had red velvet couches and a balcony opening toward the ocean.”
I knew exactly what room Rhyan meant, but he’d never been in there before. “When?”
“It was the first time I’d ever come to Bamaria. You were seven.” His throat bobbed. “I was ten.”
