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“I’ll add denial as one of the things we have in common… Oh, don’t look at me like that! I’ll be a good girl after today. On whatever honor I don’t have.”
Draven’s judgemental expression from a moment ago was now curious, urgently so. “What is it you believe we have in common?”
Lily faced the array of liquor bottles. “Since I’m being forcibly committed to your and Amalia’s cause, I’m wondering if I’m not so much chained to you as we are to each other.”
“I would describe that as an unfortunate circumstance rather than commonality.”
Lily held up a finger. “Point being—your burdens are my burdens.”
“They shouldn’t have to be.”
The softness in his voice brought her up short, making her question why it made her heart thump heavily. “And mine are yours. We both get to be unhappy.”
“Mutual suffering,” he mused. “What else is on your list?”
Other than starting wars and getting people killed? Lily shook her head as she tilted back the watery residue left in her glass. She wasn’t going to mention the remorse or the way his face fell when he told her killing never got easier. It was too relatable—too humanizing for someone whose reputation demanded otherwise. It was easier keeping him at a distance, considering what he wanted to happen to Luka.
“Hm.” He picked up an empty glass, twisted it, and set it back down. “Who have you been looking for along with your graft?”
“I see you spoke to Croll,” Lily mumbled, picking at her fingernails. “It’s personal.”
“You just told me your burdens are also mine.”
“I’d prefer some of my history stay mine. I think you can understand that.” She pushed away from the bar and threw her coat over her shoulder. “I will say it’s nothing too debased for the time being.”
“Wait,” he demanded. She did, wrapping her coat around an arm while he looked everywhere but at her. “Stay.”
Lily glanced skyward, lips taut. “No.”
Draven exhaled sharply. “Please.”
The word left his mouth like he’d never had to use it before. It was by far the worst request she’d ever received, but his broken pride and the thought he even said it in the first place was so very satisfying.
Lily politely sat back in the stool and placed her hands in her lap.
He rolled his eyes and leaned over the bar again, muttering in Retian under his breath. He stared aimlessly one way, then another before presenting her with a completely different demeanor. “What do you like to drink, Lilith?”
Her confident response spun into a single baffled question. “Lilith?”
“That’s your name, isn’t it? Or has your companion from earlier left you so flustered you’ve forgotten?”
She stared at him—eyes latching onto that charming smile crossing his lips. You’ve never called me anything other than Evelian.
Lily’s mouth remained dry while his voice continued in that unnervingly soft way. “Actually”—he reached into his pocket and placed a handful of copper on the counter—“get whatever you want. I’m going to find somewhere a little more private for us to… talk, if you don’t mind.”
She closed her parting lips. “Okay.”
He pushed off from the bar. “Don’t take the opportunity to run off again… please.”
Lily didn’t respond as she watched him stride deeper into the tavern and round a corner. Her gaze flickered to the absurd pile of coins, and heat filled her face.
What was that about? Excluding the night he found her running off after that monster, Draven had been so boorish since they met. It was hard to believe he had a chivalrous side.
He’s an imperial prince, Lily reminded herself. And less than that, a man. Men hardly said anything without a lie or an ulterior motive in mind. That night in the woods was more than likely because he was trying to warm her up to killing the specters. And now he wanted to talk? What could they possibly talk about?
Her last conversation with Kyer weaved through her mind. “I’ll put some pressure on him.”
That’s why he was being so nice. He was being ordered to. It was an act after all.
