Page 155 of Whisper of Nightmares

He doesn’t give her a chance to answer.

“You said we earlier too. When you were talking about planting seeds.”

Euphemia falls silent.

If she keeps talking, she’ll surely ruin everything. But if she doesn’t say anything at all, he’ll find her just as guilty.

Panic tightens her belly.

She’s not ready to tell him yet.

Not ready for the truth.

Not ready for the dream to shatter.

Because what happens when this man whom she’s come to trust and admire, this man bound to her by law and honor finally learns that his autonomy was taken. That Kelda chose a wife for him before he could choose his own.

For all his flirtatious glances and touches, Dagfinn had not chosen her as his wife.

Only Euphemia had entered this arrangement willingly.

And over the past few weeks, despite the somber veil that has fallen over the manor, despite the harsh weather, despite the hardships and tension between her new family and the rest of Thorfell, Euphemia has come to love this small alcove of a life she’s nestled into.

Her silence seems to speak for itself, for clarity has never shone more brightly behind Dagfinn’s eyes.

Still, he asks, “What brings you to Thorfell, Euphemia?”

All she can do is shake her head. Slowly, at first. Then faster and faster as she attempts to plead with him to stop. To leave it for now. To let her have this final dream together.

He does not relent.

Perhaps he cannot.

The part of him who is always seeking answers will not allow it.

“We have no extended family remaining,” Dagfinn reasons. “And my mother prefers the company of her family and close friends. She would not invite just anyone into the manor. Especially not beyond a short visit. But you speak as though you live there permanently. When you talked of your family, you spoke as if you would not be going back there, which means your circumstances in Thorfell are permanent.” His voice softens, no longer a man on the hunt for answers, but one who has already found them. One who merely seeks confirmation. “I will ask again, why are you in my home?”

Dagfinn deserves the answer.

Euphemia wants him to have it.

Yet, she cannot get the words to cooperate on her tongue.

Tears sting the back of her throat. “You have already surmised why I’m there.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“And yet, I do not want to be the one to do so!” Her voice cracks and Euphemia tears herself away from him.

It’s selfish and cruel to leave him in the depths of unknowing. But her knees wobble beneath the weight of the confession expected of her. Euphemia lurches for the nearest thing that will hold her, the stone baluster at the base of the stairs. She leans against it, bracing herself.

Hot tears sting her eyes.

Dagfinn’s boots pad on soft grass as he comes up behind her. His voice tremors as he asks, “Are you my betrothed?”

Euphemia pinches her eyes shut. She does not want him to know yet, but she also wants to see his face when he finally understands.

Straightening her spine, Euphemia turns around, and faces him. “No longer betrothed, actually.”