Nik was a mess. His coat was gone, shirt open with buttons missingas if he’d ripped it open. The curls of his hair were free, the pomade unable to hold its shape from his restlessness.
When he saw her, he froze.
Went impossibly still.
Eyes as dark as storm clouds.
“Where the hell were you?”
Chantal stepped forward. “It was my fault. We shouldn’t—”
“Stay out of this, Chantal.” He looked them up and down. “What are you wearing?”
“I can explain,” Elara began.
“Explain how you lied to me!” He slammed his palm against the counter.
“Nik,” Chantal warned.
Elara shook her head. “It’s okay.” Enough was enough. She needed to tell him the truth, the last secret she’d kept because it wasn’t hers to tell. Except now it was. If they wanted to save Gaetan, save Anespérer, there was no longer room for secrets between them.
“I’m fine,” she said, nodding for Chantal to go on.
She looked wearily between them before disappearing. When Elara heard the stairs creak, she tried with Nik again.
“I know I promised I would stay here, but I couldn’t wait.” She held out the black letter. “They’re hosting the final contest in the Restes, and I… I thought something was going to happen, so I went—”
His eyes widened with fury. “You went to the Restes? Tonight!”
“I know you’re angry.”
“Angry?” His lithe body was taut, lean muscles straining against the back of his shirt. The veins in his arms twitched as he clenched the edge of the counter. “Of course I’m angry. Before all this, my life ran on a schedule. I knew what to expect and when to expect it. Before all this, I knew exactly where I was headed. And then you showed up.”
She glowered. “That’s not fair.”
“Please.” He pushed away from the counter and stepped toward her. “Let me finish.”
Elara wasn’t sure if she wanted him to.
“Now I’m angry because when I think of a life without you, a life beyond the competition where you become a Souverain, and I have to return to the same old routine? I can’t imagine it anymore. It’s a blank canvas.”
It was a confession.
One she’d never expected.
Now that the words were out, she didn’t want them to stop. In all the chaos of tonight, she’d wanted a safe place to call her own. A place where someone understood her mistakes and didn’t berate her for them.
“And when I came back,” he continued, voice as soft as a prayer, “and you weren’t here? I wasn’t angry. I was terrified, Elara.”
He’d said her name before, but this time was decadent as cream. He said it as if she were a thing to be treasured, savored.
“I’m sorry.” Then he repeated it again and again until he was heaving, unable to breathe as he staggered backward into the counter.I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’msorrysorrysorry.
She rushed forward, grabbing his hands and bringing them to her lips. He was cold. So cold. She kissed every freezing knuckle.
“I’m here,” she said against his skin. “I’m safe.We’resafe.”
Whatever she said shook him. He ripped away, face drawn in horror. At her?
