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“Why not?” His expression was deadpanned, and he waited for me to give him a valid reason.
He knew I didn’t have one, though.
“If you really want me to consider letting a lunar fae connect our minds, you would have to be absolutely certain that you’re okay having me in your head and seeing through your eyes constantly, Velvet. I don’t know exactly how it works, but I know there would be no walls between us. If we have no control over it, I would see you pee. I would see everything. And you would hear the constant stream of my thoughts—every dirty one.”
I snorted. “This is how you’re trying to talk me out of it now? Seriously? With the threat of dirty jokes?”
“Yes, seriously. It would be permanent.”
“No take-backs?” I drawled, finally making my way to the toilet.
“No. And no sarcasm allowed this time.” He flicked my nose.
Those gigantic arms of his were too long.
I batted his hand away, and did my business. When I was done, I scrubbed at my hands with the bar of soap someone had put next to the sink. “I know it would be permanent. I know it would be a huge adjustment, too. And your vision doesn’t change anything for me—you’re exactly the same person with or without it. I like that person, a lot. But it would mean something to you, wouldn’t it?”
“It would mean the fucking world to me,” he said quietly. His hand found my hip, his long fingers wrapping around it and holding on securely.
“Then it doesn’t matter what the consequences are. We’ll make it work, and figure it out.”
His fingers brushed through my hair. “I’m still not entirely convinced,” he said, his voice reluctant.
“Why not?” I turned to face him, my breasts brushing his chest with the motion.
“Because your safety and sanity is worth a hell of a lot more than my sight.”
“You don’t get to decide that for the both of us. We’re equals.” I gestured between us. “If I want to risk my safety and my sanity for your sight, that’s my call to make.”
He sighed. “You’re so damn stubborn.”
“Get used to it.” I patted him on the chest. “You’re the one who wanted to be stuck with me permanently.”
He chuckled. “As I always will.”
“Except yesterday.” I leaned back against the sink a little, crossing my arms over my chest as he grimaced. “We still need to talk about that.”
“I was overwhelmed,” he admitted. “Getting kicked out of my own land felt like a betrayal. My family and I were never truly a team, because I was the king. Sevva never really liked that I was in that position of power. We argued about it—she wanted me to step down. But there’s no one who can patch the cracks the way I can, and the throne gave me access to the other kings. A way to ensure a peace that the people’s representatives didn’t care to create. They disagreed, but what I did benefitted everyone.”
“You were a good king,” I said simply.
“I was.” He let out a slow sigh. “I knew it was just a matter of time before someone powerful enough to take over was given the throne. They don’t want to be my people, and they never did, yet I protected them anyway. So much of my time and effort went into patching that damn valley, when I told them to stop digging into it. And yet they still blame me because it wasn’t stable enough.”
“They’re bastards.” I slid my hands up his chest and over his shoulders. “They don’t deserve you. I’m sorry.”
He pulled me closer, hugging me tightly to him. “So am I. What kind of people would rather crumble than accept help?”
“The kind who are very, very afraid,” I said quietly.
Hadn’t I been that person a thousand times before?
“When it came down to it, you let me teach you rather than burning yourself down,” he countered. “You’re scarred; not stupid. They’re just stupid.”
“Some people would rather die than rely on anyone else. And there’s no way to force someone into accepting help, Odin. All you can do is offer, and let them turn you down if that’s the decision they make. You can’t make choices for anyone except you.”
“And you.” He poked my nose. “At least, if we really let them bind our minds and souls.”
“It would force us to get along, or at least to figure out how to get along.” I shrugged. “Could be worse, right?”
