Page 30 of Fate of the Sun King

“I was trying to help you! I did it for you!”

“I didn’t ask you to!”

My jaw drops. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I push up from the table. I don’t know what to do with my hands or body, I just need to create some distance. “What good would that have done? Then we’d both be entirely fucked up, too scared to let anyone in! At least you don’t have to close your eyes every fucking night and remember.”

I’m furious now, my body trembling with rage and fear and the memories that threaten to crush me.

“No, I just have to remember the way you’d lie in your bed every night trying desperately not to cry, knowing that I was the cause of it. Knowing that I could have shared the burden with you!”

“Willow, you’re not making any sense!”

She pushes herself up to stand.

“I can barely look at you,” she says, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s my fault you’re so angry all the time. That there’s a prince in that house who looks at you like you’re his entire world, and all you know how to do is push him away. It’s my fault that my baby sister is broken.”

“Willow—”

“No!” She holds up her hands and steps back. “Don’t come near me.”

She heaves out a sob, covers her face, and then disappears into the house, slamming the door.

I stare after her for several long seconds before I turn to my brother.

“What was that?” I ask.

“I don’t know.”

“Should I go after her?”

Tristan rises from his seat, wrapping an arm across my shoulders. “Just give her a little space. I’ll go and check on her.” He picks up his glass from the table and presses it into my hand. “Drink this. I’ll be right back.”

Then he, too, disappears into the house, and I drop onto the bench, slamming the entire contents of my glass back before dropping my forehead to the table. I stay in that position for several long minutes, replaying our conversation over and over. I had no idea this was how she felt. She never hinted at any of these regrets.

I try to put myself in her shoes and realize I would feel exactly the same if our positions had been reversed, but I can’t regret what I did. I meant what I said. At least only one of us has to live with those memories and that very specific brand of trauma.

I become aware of someone sitting down across from me before they drag the decanter of elven wine closer, filling up both glasses and pushing one of them next to my head.

“I know what it’s like,” comes a soft voice, and I look up to find Hylene. I’d been expecting Tristan. “To live with that darkness. To close your eyes at night and feel their rough hands. To hear the sounds of their breaths and remember the smell of their sweat as it turns your stomach.”

I push myself up the rest of the way as I scrub a tear from my cheek.

“You do?”

She shrugs, one arm crossed over her body and the other holding her drink.

“My mother was a prostitute at a high-end brothel in the Crimson District. She fell pregnant with me when she was only sixteen. They allowed her to keep me with her until I could help with the chores, so I worked in the kitchens and did odd jobs until they deemed me old enough for more.”

“More?” I ask, already dreading what she’s going to say next.

“I was thirteen when I was forced to ‘welcome’ my first customer,” she says, her eyes cold and distant. “I don’t remember his name or his face, but I remember how he made me feel. Like I was small and worthless. Like I didn’t matter and never would.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

She inhales a deep breath. “I found ways to survive. To block it out. I’m sure you understand.”

I nod. I do.

“How did you get away?” I ask.