Page 81 of A Warrior's Fate

“What else do you know?”

“Just that whatever his story is, it doesn’t add up or make sense. I was only able to grab your father right before I had to get to the caravan and didn’t have time to convince him to give me more information.”

She hadn’t even seen her father before they departed.

Her eyes passed over him again, calculating, noting there was no release of that contemplative, unsettled expression. If anything, his brows had drawn in further, breathing became deeper as if he were trying to calm himself, hold himself back.

Isla braced herself with her own inhale, a sneaking suspicion of what was to come.

“What else?” She inclined her head to him. “You look like you want to say something else. What is it?”

“Why?”

She knew what he meant. The period of feigned apathy was over, but still, it felt like he was repressing something. Her next exhale had started out shaky, but she steadied herself. Their choice—this was their choice, and she would stand by it.

But besides that it was what she and Kai desired, what they’d decided, she added, “I can’t be a warrior and the Luna of Deimos.”

“That’s it?”

Isla jerked her head back at the words spoken, yet again, brusque.

That’s it.

That’s it.

“Is that not good enough?” she asked, and Adrien didn’t answer. At least, not fast enough to prevent her from becoming defensive, despite her earlier thoughts of not needing to explain herself. “How about that I don’t want a mate at all?”

“Then reject him,” was all he said.

One word, two words, and now three. Forget “that’s it” for her reasoning. That was all he had to say?

“That wouldn’t benefit either of us,” she told him, trying to mind her temper. “He can’t afford to be weakened right now, and neither can I. It’s not worth it.”

That seemed to break something in Adrien, cracked some of his callous shell, but it didn’t shatter. Her friend still clung to that restraint, even as his eyes darkened. “And this is your solution? This is going to help? ‘Forgetting’ and ‘moving on’?”

More words, all spoken in a manner that seemed to show off a glimmer of the pain he’d endured over the past year.

Guilt rushed through her like a tidal wave again. “Yes.”

Adrien chuckled, but not with warmth. It was incredulity. Both she and Sebastian watched him go pensive as they danced around the topic that they, even as close as they were, barely breached. Corinne’s name hadn’t even been uttered aloud between them for over a year, yet the ghost of her presence hovered again amongst the trio—like it was the four of them, like old times.

“Goddess above, Isla,” Adrien finally said, pacing a few steps. “I know you don’t like being told what to do. But this…”

“You think that’s all this is? Me not liking being told what to do?”

“What else would it be? He’s your mate.” Adrien looked away from her. There was so much more he wanted to say, she could see it clearly now. That it was there—not what it was—but she was fine if it remained hidden. If he knew well enough to keep it tempered, if he said it, she might strangle him.

“Did you not see what happens when you don’t accept a fated bond?” he pushed. “Were you even around for the past year?”

“For every second.” Her inhale and exhale were haggard again, and her tone was ice-cold. “I watched my two best friends fall apart because of a bond. You and Cora almost died. And she lost everything. Her sanity, her home, you. To be with him. And for what?” Isla hadn’t even bothered mentioning nearly losing her father. Cora was enough. She shouldn’t have brought it up anyway because now she felt ashamed.

Who was she to talk about this? After not understanding—after not believing Corinne—when her friend had claimed she couldn’t fight off the feelings and connections to her destined mate, though still while loving Adrien. After becoming such a horrible, horrible friend to her when she needed Isla’s support because Isla was terrified one wrong move would make her lose both Adrien and Cora.

Her beautiful, radiant, powerful best friend had gone from being the future “Queen of Queens” to a scorned exile, suffering the whole way while the man she loved and the man she was meant for battled over her in one of the very rare times destiny and choice collided.

All because of Fate. The wicked goddess who had wound such a cruel, wondrous marvel. A rare, extraordinary double-edged sword.

Isla looked down at her hand, angry, but also feeling pathetic for being so dense, for falling into the trap again. With every look Kai had given her, every handsome smile, phantom touch, tender word, and jabbing taunt, he was the deity’s unwitting accomplice. It had Isla buying into all that romanticism around the fated again, and even if only in brief moments, it was too much.

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