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Why, indeed?
There’s not an answer I can give him that will make this easier on either of us, and I can’t quite bring myself to tell him the truth about Mother. He already thinks I’m enough of a monster.
Besides, if I’m out of the picture, her motive for going through Remy is gone. Probably.
If he knows her involvement in this, though, he’ll only try to go after her again. Then, she will kill him for sure.
I say nothing about that, instead forcing one corner of my mouth up. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”
His eyes take on a calculating gleam I don’t like.
“All right, then. I’ll make statements instead.” Anger still brims under the surface of his tone, but it’s tempered now. “Your friend Leila was the Lady Zaina.”
I don’t so much as twitch a muscle, but my silence is confirmation enough.
“And news of her death came about a month ago.” His tone is softer on those words. “Coincidentally, right when the fires began.”
I shake my head, less in denial and more because these are conclusions I don’t want him reaching. I don’t need his understanding or his absolution, not now.
“You said she was like a sister to you.”
I still say nothing.
“That you didn’t feel human for weeks after her death.”
More silence, tinged with anger at the nerve he has bringing up words that weren’t even meant for him.
“You’re a lady of the court, and I’m going to be king. If I speak on your behalf, my father may have leniency. He may be able to grant you confinement to your estate. Surely, that’s better than hanging.”
Hah.Right back into Mother’s loving embrace.
“Your mother, you mean.” It’s clear enough she’s the one running this show. “And don’t bring Zaina into this,” I order sharply, not meeting his eyes.
The only thing worse than being tortured by Mother and Damian would be having my grief paraded in front of the world first.
“Damn it, Gem — Aika!” His jaw clenches, frustration and something deeper, something closer to desperation, pinching his perfect features. “Can’t you see that I’m trying to save your life here?”
Tears stab at the back of my eyes, and I feel my resolve crumbling at the sound of my name, my real name, on his lips. I can’t afford that right now, though, not for either of our sakes.
“No one can save me. I don’t even want to be saved,” I lie. “The only thing you can do for me now is leave,Francis.”
He searches my gaze for several interminable moments, the lines of his face hardening when he sees the resolve in mine.
“My name is Francis Pemberly Remington Cornelius Ashington.” He speaks slowly, his tone indecipherable. “But my sisters call me Remy. Especially when they’re exasperated, taking turns coming to fetch me from a tavern in town before my mother finds out I’m gone.”
My lips part, though I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that it never did. “Well, at least something you said was true.” My words aren’t half as casual as I wish they were.
Remy turns his head to the side, like he’s waiting for me to say something else. When I don’t, his shoulders fall.
“That’s apparently more than I can say for you,” he murmurs, turning around.
I search for something to prove him wrong, a single truth to leave him with.
“For what it’s worth... cinnamon sake really is my favorite drink.”
