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“Everything’s great. When you’re surrounded by fae with superior hearing, everything is always great.” He gives me a pointed look, and I get it.
I mean, I think he should have given me more instructions before we got here, but maybe the idea is that I’ll act like his clueless human wife—which I am.
We get to the other table and he fills a silver cup with wine, then takes another cup. “Half water, half wine?”
I don’t want to test if the fae wine is different. “All water.”
He pours the liquid into the cup and gives it to me. When I hold it, the coldness in the metal bites my hand. The cup is foggy, and filled with ice, not water.
I turn it over, showing that nothing falls from it, and stare at Marlak. “Hilarious.”
He flinches and his eyes widen, then takes the cup from me and puts it back on the table. “You’d better serve yourself.” His voice is slightly raspy, and there’s something uncertain about it.
It’s when I realize he froze the water by accident, and all his haughtiness and confidence are just a mask. A mask made of ice.
I wish I knew what’s beneath it other than all that terror and pain, and yet all I can do for now is pour water into my cup and hope eventually I’ll glimpse enough through his cracks.
He places his own cup on the table, and a quick glance tells me he froze the wine too. I take another cup and pour some for him.
The corners of his eyes are tight, and yet they meet mine with a new depth. There’s fear there, a fraction of what I saw in the vision, but it’s buried beneath his thick veneer of pride. And there’s some warmth too, something inviting. I could get lost in those eyes. I will get lost, called to the depths of an ocean I can’t control, unless I escape while I can.
That’s what I do, when I turn and look at the room again. Is it spinning, or is it my mind? Even the floor I step on no longer feels solid. There’s nothing to ground me, when I no longer know what I feel.
It’s not the drink that’s doing that, it’s my confusion. It’s realizing that I had been believing in lies, that I had been guided by misconceptions.
Marlak is not a ruthless family murderer. But he can lie.
Has he lied to me? Not in these visions. But why does everyone think he’s a brutal family murderer if it’s not true?
“Astra.” He holds my elbow. “Are you all right?” His tone is concerned, to make matters even worse.
“I’m…”
All of a sudden, his eyes widen as he sees something by the door. His posture shifts, and he steps away from me quickly. I see a hint of panic his eyes can’t hide, some strong emotion stirring beneath the surface.
A chill takes over my stomach. I want to look and find out who came in and caused this sudden reaction, but I fear I’ll see the Spider Court Princess. I know my fear’s not logical, but I still dread that despite everything he told me, despite everything he showed me, deep down he still loves her, and now, seeing her, he realized he doesn’t want her to think their story is over.
But dreading is worse than knowing. I’m about to turn and look at the door when he pushes me behind a column. I’m stunned. He didn’t hurt me, but his movement was rough, almost aggressive.
Something’s wrong. Or maybe everything is just the way it was always meant to be, and I’m the one who wasn’t seeing things right.
Marlak’s posture is still stiff while he presses me against the column, then whispers in my ear, “Whatever happens, my brother can’t notice how much I care for you.”
Care? There’s a riot of fluttering wings in my stomach. I hate that his words do that to me. But still… He cares?
With a storm in his eyes, he steps away with a new, careless swagger. Fake swagger, but I don’t think most people would notice it.
And here I am, left alone with my own storm of emotions. No, I need to breathe—and think. Marlak means that he cares for my safety. He has said that many times. It’s not that he cares. And even if he did, what difference would it make?
The idea makes my torso feel like a hollow chamber from where my heart reverberates. Such a loud heart. Louder than my thoughts.
What difference would it make if he loved me?
All the difference, a traitorous voice replies.
No difference.
Why should I spend a second thinking about something that isn’t true?
