Page 86 of Heart’s Rescue

A strange expression flickers across Aloserin’s face, and for a heartbeat, I almost feel like he’s entertained by all this. Folwynn hiccups loudly.

“What the stars,” Folwynn says slowly, “is a Rowan?”

The edge of Aloserin’s mouth twitches in what might almost be a smile. “Of course,” he says. “I give you my word that you will be able to watch Rowan walk through the castle gates unharmed. But first, you must allow us to treat you. Your heart won’t be any good to any of us if you succumb to void-touch.”

I manage a nod. My hands are shaking; the point of the knife is digging into my skin. There’s a series of hiccuping moans from Folwynn that makes me think all the wine he just drank is about to make its way back up.

“And perhaps you would also appreciate your own quarters?” Aloserin asks. “We thought you two would appreciate each other’s company, but that assumption may have been incorrect.”

“No,” Folwynn moans. “Arryn, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me here alone.”

I turn to him, the man I’ve been trained since birth to call my beloved. Prince Folwynn is blinking and swaying against the wall. His dark cheeks are flushed, his golden hair is a mess, and his top button has come undone.

He needs me, the part of my mind that speaks with Mother’s voice whispers. I should go to him. Clean him up. Put him to bed. Be his comfort. Be whatever he wants me to be. It’s the only thing anyone has ever expected me to do, to serve the great Prince Folwynn of the Kingdom of the Summer, to bend all that I am and all that I can do into pleasing shapes for his comfort and convenience.

But I don’t love him. And I don’t want to serve him.

The thought is not so much a revelation as the slow dawning of something inexorable, something that has always been true. I can’t stop that thought any more than I could stop the sun rising in the east in the Worlds Above.

I don’t love Prince Folwynn. I have never loved Prince Folwynn. I served him because I had no choice, and into that absence of love, I shoved all my desperate desires to be useful, to serve my family well, to be honorable and graceful and ladylike. I told myself that was love. I willed it to be enough.

And now?

Now, for the first time in my life, I have a choice.

“Yes, please,” I tell Aloserin as primly as I can manage.

Aloserin’s lip twitches again, twisting into that expression that’s not quite a smile.

“If you would follow me,” he says.

The woman with the tray leaves the room with Aloserin. I follow them, holding my head high, the knife clenched in my fist.