Page 81 of The False Vow

“Oh yes. I know.” His reply came immediately. My heart lurched as he shifted nearer—barely an inch, and yet I felt the impact of it as though he’d leapt from across the carriage. “You have no idea how many ridiculous notions my head has been filled with as of late, Tamerlane,” he said lowly. “How many cross my mind each night when I lie beside you.”

I tried to force a response, but none came. His nearness was provoking—all I could think of, all I could see, was his expression as he lay, dying, in my arms. The desperation which had latched on to me at Mireille’s appearance…I hadn’t cared a whit for my own safety, only his.

I’d never wanted that before. To protect someone, help someone, over myself.

Abruptly, he retreated toward the window, the space between us opening up again. “If you do not wish to speak of it,” Noé said crisply, “we will not speak of it.”

Relief unfolded within me. “I do not wish to,” I replied. “Nor shall I ever.”

His eyes flared. “Fine.”

“Fine.” I met his gaze.

We both scowled. Despite the fact that we’d nothing more to say, neither of us seemed willing to be the first to break our staring match; instead, we remained as we were, breathing heavily. The carriage was unbearably stuffy—I felt like I wanted to rip my skin off and curl up within it, anything to escape the excruciating razor of his notice. At the thought, my neck reddened.

He registered it. Through the darkness, I saw his expression shift. His eyes became questioning—by his side, his fingers twitched—

We were both thrown forward as the carriage rolled to a halt. Beyond my window, I made out the flat expanse of Fortblanche’s front drive, the steep cliffs ceding to the ocean far below.

I snapped my chin to the left, ending the standoff. “We’re here.”

Without waiting for his assent, I opened the door. Fortblanche’s grounds were abandoned; ahead of us, the estate slept quietly, the atmosphere as still and dead as a long-stagnant lake.

I did not glance back as I stepped over the threshold, into the murky hull of the house once more.

Chapter Thirty-Five

We lay awake, unspeaking in the dark.

I listened as a light rain started up beyond the windows, aware of Noé shifting in bed beside me but determined to avoid rolling over and addressing him at all costs. In my mind, the words he’d spoken to me in the carriage cycled, keeping me from sleep.

You could have come to me at the start of the Vainglory on your knees, clad in nothing but rags. You still would have won.

Breathing was difficult. More than anything else, I was angry—angry at his foolish, false confessions, angrier at the part of myself which had leaned into them, desperate for more. Was I truly this weak? I had given myself to Eliot, had told him that I loved him, and even if he had since left me, I nevertheless felt that the admission was binding. An oath signed in blood, unable to be broken except by the final swing of death’s iron sword.

In my core, I understood: If I gave in to this temptation, I would prove all his worst impressions of me correct. I would be unfaithful, as cruel as he claimed.

And I would never forgive myself for it.

My lungs compressed as Noé turned on his side, the mattress dipping to accommodate the motion. The narrowness of our separation seemed so apparent now, so fragile. Only a few inches of space between one decision and another. Suddenly, it felt miraculous that we’d preserved the boundary for as long as we had, like peering over a bridge and seeing the water swirling there, just below one’s feet. To fall was natural; it was so much harder to remain aloft.

For a moment, I let myself imagine it—reaching over and touching him. After tonight, I knew he would not deny me; there would be a brief moment of confusion, perhaps, but then—

His skin against mine. His teeth at my throat. I’d watched him before, at dinner; I’d seen how he bit into his food, eagerly and with gusto. How, when he drank wine, he let the liquid spill down his neck, trickling over his jaw.

I already knew how he would kiss me.

Drawing an inhale, I severed the scene. I was a rational creature, and as stubborn as a mule. I had made the decision to be Eliot’s. I’d damn myself before I went back on that promise.

I closed my eyes. Whatever my other failings, I would remain loyal.

And all else would remain a dream.

Chapter Thirty-Six

When morning came, we plotted.

I paced in front of my window. Behind me, Noé remained in bed. The neck of his sleep shirt had fallen open as he’d leaned against the pillows, and his features were perhaps a fraction more haggard than usual, but other than those minute differences, he appeared unchanged by the events of the previous evening. He lay sprawled across the mattress as though waiting for a servant to come and present him with his meal.