Page 130 of The Silversmith

“I thought….” I cleared my throat and finished folding the blanket over my lap, steadying my voice. “You said there was no line you wouldn’t cross for me.”

“Then I was wrong. Because this one…” He shook his head and pointed to the ground. “I will not cross this one.”

“Because of your wife,” I said, giving voice to what I already knew was true. “Right?”

He gave no denial other than a defeated shake of his head and a run of his calloused hands through his hair.

I felt the blood leave my face. I’d become so worked up, so desperate to get what I wanted that I hadn’t considered that even though she was gone, he might feel like he was betraying her. Vile embarrassment unfurled in my stomach, threaded with guilt that drew me deeper into myself. Gavin had made his urges clear, but he was still a man missing his wife, and I was acting like a fool. A young, reckless fool trying to seduce him into satisfying my own selfish desires. Even his proclamation of love had been a defense to ward me off.

He was only trying to protect me from the pain of inevitable loss. Sex and the feelings it brought forth were things I didn’t understand. But he did. And he needed to protect himself from the guilt of being with someone who wasn’t her. His sorrow made it clear that she would always have him, whether in life or in death, and I never would.

“She’s gone, but you can’t let her go.” I averted my eyes from his. “I understand, and I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

He reached for my hand, but I withdrew it and retreated toward the headboard.

“Look at me.”

I refused.

“This is my fault, Ella. Mine. Not yours.”

“I’ve been selfish.” I focused on methodically intertwining my fingers one pair at a time until my hands were folded together. Mine were the hands I could rely on. Only mine. I needed to get that through my stupid, naïve little head. “I won’t push you again. You’ve made yourself clear, and I didn’t want to listen. We will head to the Caves tomorrow, and that will be the end of this.” I stared at my fingers, unable to look at him without shattering into a million pieces I wasn’t sure I could clean up on my own.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his hand shift toward my cheek, and for once, I hated his unwavering inclination to guide me back to him. He must have seen this because he halted mid-reach.

“I want to go to sleep.” I let a foreign discomfort settle in my bones. “I don’t think you should stay here tonight.”

“Ella,” he choked out. “Ella, sweetheart, please—”

“I am your queen!” The words were empty and raw. Finally, I listened to caution. I erected that wall of self-preservation I should have kept between us this entire time. “And as your queen, I am commanding you to go.”

I sucked in a shaky breath as one last tendril of yearning rose out of my heart to seek him, to grasp the thin, wispy light still alive between us.

But he left the room before I could utter a word, slamming the door behind him.

A pathetic sob wrenched free from my throat. That newly constructed wall of self-preservation shattered. Tears spilled to quell the firestorm in my throat.

He could say he loved me. He could look at me like I was the most important thing in this world. He could touch me. He could kiss me. He could probably even have sex with me. His passionate, breathtaking words and all-consuming presence could lay claim to my heart and soul for eternity, and it wouldn’t matter. I would never be to him what she had once been.

He still didn’t love me enough.

He still didn’t love me like her.

The people in this world wanted me for the blood in my veins, not the heart in my chest. They didn’t want my words or my thoughts, they wanted the gods’ powers I wielded. Even Elias Winterton, my betrothed, would never know me as Aryella, the girl. I would be his trophy before I was his wife. My wants and needs were secondary to the Queen of Nyrida. And though I had hoped and prayed it wasn’t true, Gavin Smyth was no different.

I didn’t get to have who or what I wanted.

And me? Without my crown or my powers? I was no one’s first choice. I had been foolish—with all of the burdens I carried—to hope that I could be.

***

He returned three hours later. When I heard the door unlock, I turned away from it even though doing so required me to lay on my wounded side. It hurt, but not as much as my heart. It had been weeks since I felt numb, but as I lay in bed, I wished for it.

I’d changed out of my dress into a dark-green sweater and black pants, feeling too exposed to wear my nightgown and refusing to be cold. To have a reason to want him in bed with me.

The wind rattled against the rusty panes, making sleep impossible. At least there was the reflection of him in the window—vivid enough to make out his movements. He sat in a chair in front of the fire, watching the flames dance, entranced in an awakened daze. He held a drink in his hand but never lifted it to his lips.