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The door opened wide and Rilion stepped into the hall. He scarcely glanced her way as he stormed past. Gil followed, drawing a breath to continue the argument, thunderheads unlike anything Thea had ever seen brewing in his eyes.
Until they fell on her.
He froze.
Thea stared. “Gaius,” she said. The name she'd so hated was no less bitter on her tongue as she looked upon him, her heart twisting in her chest.
She hoped he would correct her. Pause and explain whatever she'd misunderstood.
Instead, the storms in his eyes grew cool as winter wind, and a hard shield of neutrality shut his anger away. “Yes,” he replied, though his lip curled with disdain.
Her hand went to her chest, as if to catch the pieces as they shattered, but his words reduced her to dust.
“I am your king.”
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Gaius.
The merciless king Kentoria hated. The warmonger whose armies made allies squirm. The man she thought she'd watched die.
Thea swallowed hard, but it went down like broken glass. “I—I saw—”
“What you walked in on was exceptionally complicated. You would not have believed me if I explained.” His voice stayed low and steady, but she read the danger in his stance. Was that it, then? If she ran, he'd kill her?
She backed up a step, shaking her head.
“You may think of me what you wish. What I must do does not change.”
“You said you sought the king.” Not that he was the king. By the Light, had the very pretense by which they traveled been a lie, all this time?
“I did not,” he replied. He was patient. Calm. This wasn't how he was supposed to be. Gaius was known for being angry, violent. Why couldn't he be the version of himself she hated? Why must he still be so steadfast? He considered his words carefully before he went on. “I said a king yet lived, and that I would see him where he belongs.”
Thea struggled to remember. Was that all he'd said? How had she not seen through that? “The king in Samara, the man you killed—”
“As I said,” he interrupted, “the situation is complicated. I am willing to explain.”
But she didn't know if she wanted to hear it, and that was a problem. She backed farther down the hall. He didn't pursue her. Did she want him to? To refuse to let her go, to sweep her into his arms? The memory of his lips on hers and his fingers in her hair twisted like a knife in her chest.
“You kissed me,” she spat.
“Yes.” His shoulders relaxed, if slightly. “And I would again, if you would have me.”
Even as everything inside her splintered, the softness in those words lit a spark within her chest. She shut her eyes and tried to stamp it out. He'd betrayed her. Lied to her. Deceived her. How dare her emotions betray her, too? “Who are you?” she asked at last. Perhaps that question should have been where she started, the moment he'd walked out that door.
Again, he considered his answer before he spoke. “I am Gaius Gilgarion Rothalan, fourth son of Garren Rothalan and rightful king of Kentoria.”
She flinched at the middle name.If you mean to lie about your identity, do it by bending the truth,he'd said. Had he introduced himself as Gilgarion, rather than just Gil, she would have known. “And you are an assassin?”
“Yes.” The answer came simply this time. No dancing around the subject. “I am—was—my father's blade.”
“His own child,” she breathed. How could a father expose his own flesh and blood to such cruelty?
“Yes.”
Thea no longer knew what to say. She stared at him for some time, her face as guarded as his, lest he see the way she crumbled inside.
All the times she'd looked at him and warred with feelings. All the moments at the end, when she'd wondered if she could convince him to stay—or at least come back when his mission was complete. She'd been a fool.
