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All I want in this moment is my skin against his skin, to leach away some of the heat he carries around with him when every part of me feels so very cold.
He unfastens one button and then the next, and I am coming undone as surely as my dress, each ragged breath coming faster, mingling with his in the tiny pockets of space between our frenzied kisses.
His mouth moves down to my chin, and then my neck, and I arch my back to allow him easier access. An animalistic sound I never thought to hear from my own lips escapes me as his tongue flits across the side of my neck.
Then I see it, out of the corner of my eye, the envelope I forgot to toss into the fire along with the letter it contained. The blood-red conch shell — a promise from across the continent. And I remember what happens to the people who get close to me.
I scramble back from him, too off guard to hide my carefully honed agility. His arms stay frozen in the air for a fraction of a second before he lowers them to his side, blinking his eyes against whatever haze he is still in.
"Zaina? I'm sorry, I --"
I throw up a hand to stop him, because if there is one thing I know, it is that I cannot handle an apology from him right now.
"Just go."
He opens his mouth to argue, and I feel my resolve crumbling.
"Please," I add, realizing it is probably the first time I've ever spoken the word to him. I can barely get it out past the tightness in my throat.
His expression shutters, and whatever he was thinking is now as much a mystery to me as it ever is. Without another word, he goes to the passageway and shuts the door quietly behind him.
I wish he had slammed it. I wish I could slam it. I wish I had some outlet for all of this rage and panic and frustration. Hell, I even wish I had a bottle of that eiswein in here right about now.
Anything would be better than this sinking feeling, like I am deteriorating before my own eyes and am powerless to stop it because I know that I have no choices going forward.
This is the cycle my life will take, protecting the ones I love at the cost of literally everything else
Chapter Thirty-Three
Khijha makes a pitiful sound as she follows my pacing through the room. I want to scream. To cry. To allow myself the emotions that everyone else has a right to, but me.
“I’ve messed it all up,” I say to the empty air around us. “I’ve ruined everything.”
“Ruined what, dear?” Sigrid’s voice is startling, though it is softer, sadder than normal. Much different from her usually plucky tone.
I see red as unbridled flames of fury fill me. Fury that I hadn’t heard her, hadn’t noticed another person’s presence or heard the door open or close. Fury that I had let my guard down and that every time I turn around, I make mistakes that I cannot afford.
“Do you never knock? Am I not allowed a sands-damned moment of privacy or peace in this place? Do you all think you have a right to me, that you own my time and attention?” I am yelling, something I never do, and it’s almost a relief to finally vent an emotion until Sigrid clutches her heart.
I close my eyes, instantly regretting that I have hurt her. She doesn’t deserve my ire. Whether anyone else does is a different story, but she certainly doesn’t.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean --”
The sight of her crashing to the floor stops the words in my mouth. Her head cracks loudly against the stone floors, echoing through the room.
“Sigrid?”
She is limp and unmoving, aside from a small twitching in her gloved hand.
“Sigrid!”
I rush to her side, unsure of where to touch her, of what hurts aside from her head. Pained breaths come from beneath her thick black veil, and I don’t even consider what I’m doing until my hands are on the gauzy material.
Einar flies through the panel in the wall. His lips are still swollen from our encounter, and worry is etched deep into each line on his face as he takes in the sight of Sigrid lying motionless on the floor.
My fingers are still grasping her veil, and I continue to pull it up when he shouts for me to stop and runs toward us.
But his words are too late.
