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‘Easily.’ There was contempt on his face, but it was clear it was aimed at himself. ‘I broke again in the desert. I should have taken that pill and I didn’t. I lived when I should have had the guts to die.’
‘Xerxes,’ she said hoarsely. ‘You did it—’
‘I did it to prove a point. To prove to my father that I wasn’t weak, that I was stronger than he thought I was. That my rightful place was beside my brother.’ The fury in his eyes abruptly drained away. ‘But all I proved was how flawed I was. How I let my emotions get in the way of my country’s security.’
She knew how that felt. Hadn’t she felt it herself? The desire to prove that she was strong, that she could be what her father wanted her to be. That she wasn’t the foolish girl who’d betrayed her mother. That she was loyal.
Yes, she knew. And she knew, too, the pain of failing. Of not being strong enough, no matter how hard she tried.
Her heart twisted and she wanted to touch him, but he’d turned away.
‘I did it again that night with you,’ he said, his voice distant.
She caught her breath, not expecting that. Not expecting the bolt of hurt that came with it either. ‘Do you regret it?’ she asked, unable to help it even though she knew she shouldn’t, because it would reveal far too much.
He didn’t move for a second, not looking at her. Then he glanced back and this time the gold in his eyes burned hot. ‘No.’ He looked down at her stomach for a beat. ‘You and our child are my second chance.’
That’s all you are? His second chance?
The thought was barbed and oddly painful. Which was strange, because since when did she want to be more than that to him? Since when did she want to be anything at all to him?
Since the night he set you free. You want to be his sunshine the way you could never be your mother’s.
No. She didn’t. She would enjoy his company, enjoy spending time with him, but nothing more. Even the sympathy and hurt for him, the anger she felt on his behalf for what his father had done to him, all the strangely intense emotions currently tying knots in her chest, shouldn’t be there.
She had to pull back. Had to wall herself off, find her armour again. Emotions hurt, they destroyed. They made her weak and she couldn’t be weak.
But she didn’t want to leave him with nothing, so she came closer, reaching out to touch him, to offer him what she could, because he’d done the same for her down by the pool that day.
Her fingers brushed over the scar of the knife, the scar his father had put on him, and she looked up into his eyes. ‘You held out,’ she said with quiet ferocity. ‘You held out as long as you could against superior forces and you were thirteen. Yes, you broke, but you didn’t give up. You kept on fighting. Even in the desert, when you were captured, you didn’t give up.’ She touched another scar, one of the burns. ‘Don’t be ashamed of these. These are marks of strength, Xerxes. Taking that pill would have safeguarded the secrets of the country, too, it’s true, but in a way, it’s also an escape, don’t you think?’ She moved her hand, brushing another scar. ‘A way out. You could have left it all behind for everyone else to deal with. But you didn’t. You stayed. And when you left Axios, it was because you were banished, not because you ran away.’
‘Calista—’
‘You came back again, too, didn’t you? Your brother called you home and you answered. You didn’t have to; you could have stayed in Europe. Who would blame you after what your father did to you? But you didn’t. You came back to a country that condemned you, to make it right. To claim your rightful place at your brother’s side. And that’s not weakness, Xerxes. That’s strength.’ She stared at him, willing him to see the conviction in her eyes, not sure why this mattered to her so very much, only that it did. ‘That’s endurance.’ Her hand lifted to his heart and she placed her palm over it. ‘I don’t see a coward when I look at you. I see a hero.’
She stood in the sunlight coming through the windows, the white fabric of her dress highlighting the deep gold of her skin. Her hair tumbled down her back, shining, all the colours deep chestnut, caramel, gold and gilt and every other colour in between.
She looked like a woman, but the expression on her face as she looked at him was that of a warrior, a soldier. Direct and fierce, and full of pride.
A hero, she’d said. And when she looked at him that way, he almost felt like one. Could almost believe he wasn’t flawed, that he hadn’t let anger and bitterness eat away at him, corroding him like rust in an iron bar.
‘Do you really believe that?’ He tried to make it sound as if he didn’t care either way, but he knew he’d failed.
He wanted her to believe it. He was desperate for her to believe it, because if she did, then perhaps there was some hope for him after all.
Strange to think about hope. He hadn’t ever thought about it before, had never even noticed the lack. But he did now...oh, he did now.
Her fingers were light on his skin, gentle, and her touch hurt for some reason, but he didn’t push her away.
‘Yes.’ Conviction shone in her eyes. ‘I do.’
The anger inside him, the bitter self-loathing, melted away like snow under spring sunshine.
She saw strength in him. She saw a hero. How could he not believe her? If she thought he was one, then perhaps it was true. Perhaps there was indeed hope.
Hope that he could be equal to the trust his brother had placed in him.
Hope that he could be a good father, a father their child could be proud of and look up to.
