With his back to Evylin, he squeezed his eyes shut. Why couldn’t she let it go? His wants, his dreams, his desires—they were meaningless. They were wrong. He would happily let herhave the future she’d promised to Ryen and ignore the selfish urges of his heart.
“Jonn,” her voice was loving but adamant, “you’reworthadmiring.”
The sentiment pierced his gut like a blade. He clenched his jaw, trying to control his anger and the fear that her statement had awakened.
“Do you know what that would mean?” he asked, his voice low and rough. He turned slowly to face her, settling a demanding glare on her. “Do you realize what that sort of life would look like? I wouldn’t belong to you, Evylin. I would belong to everyone else. The entire nation would rely onme.”
Her expression slackened as he took a step closer. “Do you understand the sort of weight that entails?” he demanded, his voice rising uncontrollably. “The kind of work and sacrifice that takes from a person. Life stops for you. It isn’t about what you want or what you desire; it’s about what’s best for everyone else. I don’t want that responsibility. I can’t carry it!”
Deckard’s throat was raw from the fury of those last words ripping out of him.
Evylin stared at him, wide-eyed and jaw slack. He didn’t need the Bond to reveal her shock. However, the magical link sent a cold wave of fear crashing into him.Herfear.
Evylin was afraid of him.
“Oh, Allore,” Deckard muttered, guilt instantly rising in his gut. He never yelled, not at anyone, not even his soldiers. She stood frozen, staring up at him. Desperately, anxiously, he raised his trembling hands to her arms, deeply grateful that she didn’t flinch away but rather leaned into his touch. “Evylin,” her name rushed out of him, “I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t mean...”
“No,” she whispered fiercely, her amber eyes glassy with unshed tears. “It’s all right. I didn’t realize...” An air of heavy compassion pressed through the air around them. “Doyou always feel this way?” she asked tenderly, her hands coming to rest on his arms too. “That everything comes down to your perfection, to your actions.”
He had no answer.
Evylin sighed somberly. “We don’t have to talk about this,” she promised. “I understand now.”
“Evie—”
She shushed him, pressing into his chest as her arms went around him. “It doesn’t matter,” she muttered against him. “I understand.”
Deckard closed his eyes, resting his cheek on top of her head. “I’m sorry,” he said again, holding her close. “I’m so sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she repeated. “I love you. I won’t push you like this again.”
Tears burned in his eyes. He hated himself for making her feel this fearful guilt. “No,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
But Evylin didn’t ask anything more. Instead, she leaned back, tipping her face up to kiss him. Deckard knew he should pull back and bare his whole soul to her. He should tell her the truth, trusting her as he’d once wished she’d do with him. Yet, her touch was absolving, her kisses comforting. His heart was heavy, and his responsibilities weighed too much. He hadn’t lied. He couldn’t carry it.
So he gave in to the distraction of his wife’s touch. He let her tenderness assuage his conscience. He kissed her fiercely, deeply, and with intense need. Instinctually, their hands started pulling at the other’s clothes, desperate for the soothing connection of flesh upon flesh. They lost themselves in the vulnerable, physical assurance of their love and care. And it wasn’t until they lay beneath the blankets with her curled into his side and her head on his shoulder that he admitted his weakness to them both.
“I’m sorry, Evylin,” he whispered.
Somehow, she managed to roll even farther into him, cheek pressing against his chest. “I’m sorry too.”
A hollow sigh seeped out of him. “You have no reason to apologize. I’m the one who...” The truth tasted bitter on his tongue. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I shouldn’t have lost control like that. I’m sorry I frightened you.”
“You didn’t frighten me.”
While he knew it was a lie—he hadfeltthe surge of her fear—he didn’t contradict her but wrapped the arm tucked beneath her neck more securely around her.
“Well,” Evylin said with a tinge of playfulness, “you did, but it wasn’t because I was frightened ofyou.” She lifted her head to meet his gaze. “I was frightened because I realized what I’d done to us.”
“What you’ve—” Deckard shook his head. “You haven’t done anything.”
“I made us Bond,” she said, the words emerging halted and broken. “And now we face the Alliance’s hopes for us, and...I’m afraid that you’re right, and I’ve gotten us stuck in a role we don’t want.”
Deckard shifted onto his side, resting a hand on her cheek. He wiped away the single tear that slipped free. “Listen to me,” he charged. “I’m not sorry that we Bonded. I could never regret that. No matter what it brings.”
More tears fell, but she listened as he’d asked.
“You were right,” he said. “We needed to Bond so you could safely continue this mission. But more than that, I’m grateful to now be fully one with you, to have my soul bound to yours.”
