“I have to tell you something,” I said thickly and quietly into his shoulder. Torin’s movements paused for a moment before he continued stroking my hair and back.
He kissed the top of my head gently, reverently, before mumbling, “What is it?”
I took a few shaky breaths, gathering my courage, pulling strength from the warm, strong presence underneath me.
“I . . . fucked Alois. Or rather, he fucked me,” I said in a quiet rush, a sardonic laugh on the tip of my tongue.
I felt Torin’s breath catch, felt his hand jolt in my hair as his heartbeat thumped erratically. A crack of lightning split the sky, and I was certain it would rain at any moment.
“Okay,” he whispered, devoid of emotion apart from a break at the end of the word.
I frowned and pushed against his chest. Torin’s hands fell away from my back and head as I gazed into his eyes.
Maybe he doesn’t feel what I do—maybe this is just another way I’m too naive for my own good.
But in his eyes, I saw nothing but pain. Acceptance and love, but overwhelmingly pain.
“Just okay? That’s all you have to say?” I asked, disbelief and anger coating my words.
Iwantedhim to get angry with me—to scream and threaten me, to pull himself away. He did none of that—his eyes were soft and understanding, his hands a comforting weight on my hips as he squeezed my sides gently.
His easy acceptance and continued adoration were worse, because it seemed that no matter what I did, he would allow. Providing me with the unconditional love my soul craved.
“What else do you want me to say, Ell? You’re . . . married to him?” His voice caught on the last question as he looked at the hand pressed against his chest. I curled my long fingers inward, desperately trying to hide the evidence of my mistake.
I ducked my head in shame.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I married him.”
Torin blew out a breath, head tilted toward the sky, and we were both silent for a moment.
“I’m angry, but I have no right to be,” he finally said, and my head whipped back up to look at him. The frustration was there in the clench of his jaw, the muscle feathering from the force of his bite; it was in the hard set of his eyes and brow, in the way his fingers twitched against my hips.
“Why? You were—are—my fiancé.”
“But I failed you, Ell. I failed you completely and utterly. I was supposed to come get you in Hestin—that was part of the plan, part of the diversion of the attack. But he got to you before we could. You were supposed to stay in the box with your parents. Then, when we attacked, I would come and take you. Whisk you away from the horrors of Vespera and his court, out of his clutches and away from his schemes. You were supposed to flee with me, my queen in the south or the north. Wherever you wanted to go, to live, I would follow.”
My breath stuttered and caught at his admission.
He was coming to save me? And I bungled it—again.
“If I had just listened to my mother . . .” My voice trailed off as I realized how epically I had fucked up. “Maybe Finian would still be alive.”
“No.” Torin’s voice was as firm as his sudden grip on my chin, forcing me to see the sincerity in his eyes. “No, Ellowyn. You do not get to blame yourself for that. We knew there was a very slim chance of you, Peytor, and Finian coming out of there alive. Even less of a chance of your parents making it aswell.Ifailed. Not you. If I had been quicker, had responded to your letters, clued you in to what was happening, we could have avoided the situation. Instead, I hid it from you, convinced it was best you didn’t know so there was no inadvertent way of the information passing to the Warlord. It wasmymistake, and Finian’s death, Peytor’s banishment, your unhappiness—those are all my sins to bear.”
Tears fell once again as the truth of his words, the convictions he held, washed over me, baptizing me and cleansing my soul.
I breathed deep, releasing some of the tension I’d been holding for months. I would always blame myself for Finian’s death, for Peytor’s banishment, but the prospect of sharing the burden with someone else was too attractive to ignore.
“You could only control so much, Torin. You’re not Fate.”
Torin smiled ruefully at my statement, releasing my chin with a gentle stroke over my lips.
“No, I’m not.”
We sat staring at each other, greedily basking in each other’s gaze.
“I want to erase every touch he gave you, replace it with my own. But I can’t tonight,” he said, cupping my cheek, and my heart fell slightly.
