Page 39 of The False Vow

It took me a moment to process his words. My stare lowered once again to the cloth bundle and the servant hovering over it. Now that I focused, I could make out distinct shapes within the plushy mass: two pillows; a pair of larger cushions beneath them, likely pulled from a sofa elsewhere in the house and brought here; a duvet swaddling all of it, the other items half spilled out like loot from a sack.

Bedding?

I cleared my throat. “Excuse me?”

My tone was murderous—flat, sharp, and utterly void of emotion. I sounded like a killer, lifting their pistol to shoot.

Noé flicked a hand at the servant, who—gratefully, I thought—stood and strode from the room, shutting the door behind him. Slouching more heavily against the sill, my fiancé observed me. “You requested that I not go to my father about his bargain with the other silkwitches,” he said. “I will not. But neither will I allow your arrogance to upend all the plans we have made when one of my maidens takes advantage of your misplaced confidence and kills you while you sleep.”

He gestured to the makeshift sleeping pallet, spread on the ground like a corpse. “If you refuse to permit me to confront Father about the attack on you today, then you must allow me to help guard you against future ones,” Noé went on. “That is my compromise.” He tilted his chin to the right, his mouth curling in a smirk. “I think it is quite fair.”

“Absolutely not.” My reply came immediately—I was too furious to hold it back. Stepping farther into the space, I gestured wildly at the walls around us. “This is my room.”

“It is?” Noé pushed off from the sill, his gray eyes narrowing. “And yet, this is my house.” His attention dropped to my left hand, the band I’d slipped back over my finger after departing the turret. “That is my ring.” He stepped closer. “You are my betrothed.”

Wrath vibrated through me. “You think you command me?”

“Think?” Noé’s expression was amused. “No, darling, I do not think it.”

I froze. His implication was clear, his power extended like a scepter over me—but before I could contest his rebuttal, he was speaking again.

“Manon Blanc has made one attempt on your life already. More will follow,” Noé continued while I steamed across from him, silent. “The other girls are smart, Tamerlane, and all of them are possessed of powerful Wits. You need someone by your side, or eventually one of them will find the chink in your armor and their attack will succeed.” He cocked his head, his expression chiding. “Don’t be stubborn.”

The reprimand offended me. “I am not stubborn,” I replied stubbornly. “And you are not staying here.”

Noé rolled his eyes as I made for the door. “Then don’t be an idiot,” he hissed as I stalked, shoulders squared, toward the entrance. “Do you even care if you die?”

I paused. His question had pressed on something—the memory of how I’d come here, lacking any plan or way to defend myself, ready to meet the killer I thought was awaiting me. Painfully, my awareness dropped to my waistband, where Eliot’s coin kissed my bare skin. Did I care what happened to me, now that he no longer did?

I didn’t want to die. But I recalled his words to me and wondered—did I deserve to?

At my hesitation, I sensed the mood in the room shift. Noé fell back, quiet.

Turning, I confronted him. “Get out, Noé. I will not repeat myself.”

I barely caught the tail of the expression he’d adopted while I’d been facing away. For a moment, his gaze appeared contemplative, but then he blinked and the emotion vanished. “Neither will I,” he returned. “And no.”

I felt myself briefly go insane. I was like a caged cat, made crazed by my own helplessness. My gaze fell from him to the heap of fabric piled on the floor—the bedding he planned to sleep in—and then, without fully understanding what I was doing, I was sweeping toward it, gathering the duvet and pillows into my arms.

His voice rose as I brushed past him, moving toward the window, which was still standing ajar from when he’d been smoking earlier. “What are you—”

I did not wait for him to finish. Reaching the window, I shoved the bedding over the sill—out into the open air.

The bundle fell quickly, weighed down by its own fineness. I watched it descend past the cliffside, soaring like a great white gull all the way down to the ocean, where it vanished soundlessly beneath the seething waves.

Noé made a small choked sound as the duvet disappeared into the water. I nearly balked when I turned back around to confront him—his face a mask of fury, his usual steadiness erased.

A flush rose to my cheeks as he pointed at me. “Now you’ve really done it.”

My chest tightened. Abruptly, he took off, stomping toward my bed. I watched on, uncomprehending, as he hoisted himself onto the mattress, reclining back on my pillows with his arms crossed behind him, and—

At once, I understood. “No.” Did he mean to sleep there, now that I’d gotten rid of his pallet? To share it with me? Rushing after him, I hurried to the bedside, hissing as I went. “How dare you—I will not allow this—”

“Then move me!” Noé interrupted rudely as I approached. “If you wish me gone, then remove me yourself.”

His gaze was firm, equal parts challenging and mocking—though spread over my duvet, his body retained its relaxed posture. He doesn’t think I’ll do it. The notion drove every logical thought from my head, whipping me into a frenzy.

A scream ripped from my throat. I shoved him—once, twice, my hands connecting with his torso. Irritatingly, despite being slimmer and shorter than Eliot, he possessed a wiry kind of strength, his muscles defined beneath his linen shirt. Determined, I pushed him harder, furious when the only sound it drove from him was a laugh.