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Chapter Forty-Seven
Aika
Remy is no one’s fool, which, I suppose, makes one of us.
Though his eyes burn with something between fury and resignation, he puts his hand on my wrist and tugs me toward a hallway, though not the one I gesture toward.
I struggle to keep up with his pace and keep the shoes intact, but I’ll be damned if I ask him to slow down. Einar’s eyes follow us out, his expression inscrutable, but that’s a complication I can’t deal with right now.
The fractured glass in my shoe pinches my skin with each step we take, becoming nearly as irritating as Remy is. He dismisses the guards in the hallway, waiting until we’re completely alone to speak.
“Care to tell me what in the seven hells you’re doing here?”
“I would think that’s obvious.” I shrug, mostly to irritate him.
“And here I thought you said you weren’t much one for games. Where is the Lady Aika?”
“Iamthe Lady Aika,” I spit back.
Remy’s eyes narrow, and he runs a hand through his hair.
“Then who the hell is Gemma?” he asks.
My anger is boiling to the surface now, and I strain to keep my voice low. “I don’t know,Francis.Who the hell is Remy?”
“I — It —” he splutters, taking a half step backward. “That is not the same thing.”
“I’m pretty sure it is.”
“No.” He sounds more certain now. “No, it isn’t because I don’t go around murdering people.”
We’re back to this again.
“Of course not,” I scoff. “Because taking out criminals would require you actually getting off your arse to do something about the state of the city instead of just whining about it. You think Madame is responsible for all the crime here? Maybe you should look a bit closer to home.”
He bristles at the insult. “I don’t think Madame is responsible for all the crime in the city, Gemma. Hell, I’m beginning to think you’re responsible for at least half of it.”
I roll my eyes. “Meanwhile, you’re just responsible for half the bastards born into it.”
A noise sounds around the corner, and Remy pulls me farther into the darkened hall. When we’re far enough in, he stops, crowding me against the wall.
“Really? You want to put those things in the same category?” His voice is lower than before.
“I’m just saying, you hardly have the moral high ground here.” I cross my arms over my chest as if that will somehow put more distance between us.
A million thoughts are running through my mind, dancing just out of reach of any explanation or the slightest bit of sense I can make of them.
“I think it’s fair to say that just about everyone in that room has the moral high ground over you.” He gestures dramatically to the ballroom, then to me. “You torture people and burn them alive.”
“Only the ones who deserve it,” I mutter.
He lets out a measured breath like he’s trying not to yell. “I’m not doing this with you again. I don’t have time to argue with you because now I have less than two nights to find a wife.”
Panic floods my veins.
I don’t relish the idea of a drawn-out death at Mother’s hands, or even just weeks of torture in the dungeon.
For that matter, if he refuses to marry me, I doubt seriously Remy will enjoy her methods of forcing his hand. Which she undoubtedly will, as long as I’m around.
