She barked a laugh. “I am not afraid. I told you, I am tired. There is so much to do, with so little time, and I can’t spend it dancing.”
“But you want to,” he said, and his voice struck her cold. “You want to and you’re denying yourself. Why, Elena? Why are you leading us both on this chase?”
She swallowed, gooseflesh prickling up her arms. Through the trees, she saw the silver gleam of the beach. Farin’s men would be coming with their boats soon. Perhaps she should bring Samson down, toward the shore—
“I know why,” he said, and her eyes lifted to his. “You are afraid that if you admit how you feel, you will also admit some fault of your own. You are afraid of yourself, Elena Aadya Ravence. That is why you’re running.”
“That is not true,” she said, heat rising to her face.
“It is. And you will deny it because it is in your nature. Because for whatever reason, your pride outweighs your honesty.”
She scoffed. “Is this why you followed me? To tell me off?”
“No,” he said, and his voice quivered under the weight of unsaid things. She froze, suddenly unsure. She did not want him to go further. If he did, she would regret it, and her regret would claw her until she was bleeding from within. How then could she heal from self-inflicted wounds?
“Samson, listen. Whatever you may feel about me, about us, forget it.”She drew in a shaky breath as she felt the cool press of the kamarbandh around her waist. “It will be better that way. Trust me.”
He watched her for a long moment, the shadows of the fluttering leaves dancing across his still face. When he spoke, they rippled over his lips. “I don’t believe you.”
Her pulse quickened as he stepped forward, his voice low, intense.
“And I don’t love you, Elena Aadya Ravence, I despise you. You’re idealistic to the point of self-destruction. You throw yourself into danger for the sake of your country, but you don’t stop to realize the consequences. You’re self-righteous, thickheaded, and vain to the point that I cannot fully trust you.
“So why,” he said, his eyes dragging to hers with a fresh wave of pain, “can I not stop thinking about you? Why, when I try to make myself hate you with every fiber of my being, do my thoughts betray me? Why, Elena, can I notforgetyou?”
A roar filled her ears as if she was standing on a cliff, the wind buffeting her forward. Everything felt distant and pointless all at once, the beach, the kamarbandh, her promise. She had the strange, peculiar sensation of teetering on the edge, afraid of falling, but also curious to know how it felt. To fall.
For him.
His eyes, always a mask, always hiding some terror in their dark depths like an ocean drowning its secrets, were clear with desperation—to the point of vulnerability. His openness terrified her. His words pulled her in.
She trembled as he came closer and touched her chin with a gentleness that shocked her, if only because of its incongruity with the violent passion in his voice.
“You,” he said, his voice trembling. “You vex me, Elena. Every second, every moment you’re near, I cannot think clearly. And yet I cannot stand it when you stay away.”
The roar in her ears reached a keen as he tilted her chin up, bringing her face to his so that when he spoke in a hushed whisper, his breath brushed her lips.
“Why must you haunt me so? Why can’t you leave me be?” He grazed his thumb against her lower lip, shaking. “Tell me. Please.”
Because you and I are the same, she almost said.Cut from the same fabric by the same cruel gods. Vain, self-righteous, horrid. Because you are the monster I see in me.
But the roar in her ears crushed out all sound and lodged the words in her throat. To say them was to speak a truth she’d rather ignore. Better to leave them unsaid than acknowledge her own corruption. If she did not speak, she could pretend the events that had led them to this point, this precipice where they stood now, was only of his making. She was blameless, honest, true—like the queen she had always yearned to be.
But even as she thought so, Elena knew it was not true. She was just as monstrous. Just as desirous and desperate for power, so much so that it would have made her laugh, if not for the sudden tightness in her throat. The Burning Queen and the Butcher. The odd pair. Monsters of the same coin.
She had as much blood on her hands as he had on his. And she could suffer for it on her own, because even in suffering she was vain, or—and this was a deadly, incriminatingor—she could share that suffering. Find someone to bear her burden of sins if only to have companionship. If only to be a little less lonely.
Elena looked into Samson’s eyes as he cupped her face, her chest twisting with a terror that made her feel like she was already plummeting, the wind raging in her ears as she fell—to what, she did not know.
And she realized she no longer cared. What was the point in denying herself, if destruction was her ultimate path?
“Sam,” she gasped, and she felt a great weight break upon her shoulders, her voice cracking upon his name. The plea in her voice registered across his face as he breathed in quick. His fingers trembled on her cheeks. “I can’t stay away either.”
She touched his chest and felt his heart thrum beneath her palm, matching the racing rhythm of her own heartbeat. Her skin prickled, hot. He seemed to shudder at her touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment and then snapping back open.
“Elena,” he whispered.
His lips, warm, soft, and near. Glistening as his tongue darted forth to wet them.
