Page 62 of Lady of the Drowned Empire
I picked up a pillow and threw it at him, but he caught it with ease. “You don’t know! A look! A fucking look! I was always with you, always.” I bit back a sob. I didn’t even know what I was fighting against because he was right. I was equal parts sorry and terrified. I just wanted him to go. I wanted to crawl into bed, erase his touch, call Rhyan, and hear his voice. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let Tristan keep believing what he did.
He squeezed the pillow between his fingers, his knuckles whitening, before he threw it violently back on the couch, his brown eyes rising to meet mine.
“Kiss me,” he demanded.
“What?” My stomach twisted.
“Kiss me, then! Go on. Prove it.”
I stepped back. “Tristan.”
“Am I wrong?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “Am I? Have I been imagining this? We were almost engaged the other day. My feelings didn’t just stop for you. So, if you feel the same, then come on, I’m right here.” He pounded his chest. “Prove me wrong. Show me that look.” He gripped the couch’s armrest, leaning forward. “Show me how much you want me.”
The old me would have fallen into his arms in a heartbeat, would have used everything I had to prove him wrong, would have finally given in and invited him to my bed. The old me would have sacrificed my soul to keep the status quo.
The old me would have never let it get this far.
But that Lyr was gone. She’d died in the arena. Nothing was going to bring her back.
I closed my eyes, trying to catch my breath. “I can’t.”
His nostrils flared. “I know.” He released the couch and stepped back, brushing his fingers through his hair as if trying to compose himself.
“I didn’t mean to,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I fell out of love with you.”
“I know,” he said and took a seat, his elbows resting on his knees, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I knew you did.”
“I’m sorry.”
His fingers flexed and fisted. “I am, too.”
I took a tentative step forward and sat on the armrest on the opposite side of the couch. “But I did love you. For a time.” Just…not the way I loved Rhyan.
The muscle in his jaw flexed as he sat up, turning his head to me. “I loved you, too.”
“When did you become engaged?”
He blew out a breath. “An hour after Meera abdicated.”
My bottom lip quivered, but I bit down on it, squeezing back my tears. What did it matter? I had been in my room at that time, alone with Rhyan.
“So what is this, Tristan? Goodbye?”
He scoffed. “You think so little of me?” He raised his voice, his entire body angled toward me now. “You think I’d do something like this to you if it were up to me? If I had any choice in the matter?” He threw his arms up. “I didn’t! It wasn’t up to me!” I stood again. “It never is!”
“And how much did you choose?” He practically jumped to his feet, stepping toward me again. “How much of your life is exactly what you want it to be?” He was breathing heavily, his aura hot and angry and pulsing around him. “You always do this, you know? You follow the rules as well as I do. You know that, right? I see you.” He pointed at me. “I see the masks you wear. The smiles. The feigned looks of interest. The false words. The—” His voice broke, nostrils flaring, neck reddening further. “The false kisses. It took me longer than I’d like to admit because I loved you so fucking much. And I wanted it. Wanted you. Even though it wasn’t beneficial. Even though she didn’t want me with you. I didn’t care.” He pressed his finger to his heart. “I wanted you. But you were always just dancing for your supper—performing—even for me. Why?”
I stepped back, barely able to breathe. Because he was too close—too close to the secret, too close to sniffing out the truth. The vorakh hunter who was so near his prey. “I don’t know,” I lied. “I was scared.”
“Of me?” He fisted his hands at his sides, helpless, vulnerable.
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve always held me to a different standard, you know? We’re alike, you and I. We grew up in the same world. We had the same privilege. The same shackles. The same expectations. I’ve watched you cave to them again and again. And I’ve never said anything. But when I do,” he grimaced, “you look at me like I’m a monster.”
He was right. I squeezed my eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
