“Do not lie to me. You were wearing the bracelet he gave you. And now we find him sneaking in to see you.”
Aoife forced herself to meet his eyes. “We were friends as children. Our families are friends. I haven’t thought about him in weeks.”
Halverton laughed, low and humourless. “Foolish girl. Men and women can’t be friends. Men always want more. He’s been lusting after you for years, no doubt.”
He stepped toward Cormac, and Aoife moved before she could think, planting a hand against his chest.
“What does it matter?” Her voice was steady only by force of will. “I chose you.” The words tasted like ash in her mouth, but the perfect fiancée would say them. The woman he wanted, the woman she was trying to become, would say them without hesitation.
He stilled.
She turned slightly, gesturing toward Cormac. “Look at him. Does he look like competition to you?” She had to think quickly to come up with favourable comparisons she could make in Lord Halverton’s direction. It was difficult until she remembered what he valued.
She forced the next words out through gritted teeth. “He can’t provide for me. He can’t throw a feast, or buy fine dresses. He barely has two coins to rub together.” She forced herself to speak the way he liked to hear her speak, grateful and dependent. Each word was a blade turned inward, but this was the role now. She had to play it well.
Halverton’s posture eased, pride soothed by the comparison. Behind him, Cormac’s eyes met hers, hurt, furious, but understanding.
She kept her hand on Halverton’s chest. The heavy rhythm of his heart thudded under his waistcoat. She prayed he would turn away.
Instead, he pushed her aside. The movement was sharp enough to stagger her. He crossed the remaining distance to Cormac in three strides. The captain tightened his grip on Cormac’s hair, wrenching his head back again until his neck strained.
“Is it true?” Halverton asked. “You are just friends?”
Cormac spat blood onto the stones before answering. “Yes.” His voice was raw; the single word thick with hatred.
Halverton’s expression didn’t change. He placed his boot on Cormac’s hand and pressed down.
Cormac roared, his body arching in pain, trying to pull free. The soldier’s weight pinned him in place.
“You do not look at her like a friend,” Halverton said evenly, grinding his heel into the fingers beneath it.
Cormac glared up at him, teeth clenched. He didn’t cry out again.
“Tell. Me. The truth.” Each word came with another twist of his foot, another crunch of bone.
When Cormac spoke, his voice broke with the effort. “I love her. Is that what you want to hear, you Eldrossi bastard?”
The world stopped.
A weight dropped inside her, as if her chest had hollowed out.
Cormac squeezed his eyes shut, teeth gritted against the next twist of Halverton’s heel.
“I’ve loved her since the day she danced barefoot in the firelight at the harvest festival.”
He looked at her then, eyes bloodshot, desperate and unguarded. It hit her harder than the blow to her cheek had.
She wanted to reach for him, but she was frozen by the fear of what might happen if she did.
“Aoife…” His voice frayed. He sounded… apologetic, like he was sorry for telling her. She wasn’t sorry he’d said it. “But I’m nothing to her. I never was.”
Her breath caught painfully.
She hadn’t known.
Of all the things he could have thrown into the open, she had never expected this.
Halverton’s mouth curved into a slow, triumphant smile. He turned to Aoife, waiting.
