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Nothing I do rids me of my tainted nature.
No ritual cleanses me.
No repentance makes me pure.
I am dirty.
Filthy.
Shameful.
And gods help me, I revel in this feeling.
Where did Cam come from? Is he following me? Should I fear him? Is he an evildoer disguised as a good man?
Is he even good at all? Some part of me thinks he is, but what if he is part of the traitors? The ones who want to take women like me from our destiny and ruin the prophecy’s fulfillment?
Men like that are why I am so guarded. So cared for. So sheltered.
The men. The men are the reason.
Is Cam one of the men?
“Oh,” I moan into my pillow as I rest in bed, unable to sleep, the sun rising enough to tell me it’s nearly time to awaken.
Visions of Cam taunt me. Those thick runner’s legs, pumping hard as he ran. That fine, chiseled face, the jaw tight with concern when he asked if I was a prisoner.
Prisoner? Of course not. I am a queen. A queen with subjects who wait on her. Protect her.
Serve her.
Right? That is what I have been told since I was twelve. This is what all these years have been for. In two weeks so much anticipation will yield to discovery. To fulfillment. To conclusion.
To transition.
The world as we know it, full of war and drugs and filth and suffering will end. When I marry my husband and we consummate our bond, we will let loose an energy like no other. It’s hard to believe that simple me could be the carrier of the key to the prophecy, but I did not choose my destiny.
Fate did.
The gods did.
A force greater than any of us did.
But if Cam is one of the men who seeks to derail the prophecy, then what am I doing? I cannot be attracted to him. Quite the opposite.
My goal, then, is to have him killed. Eliminated. Erased.
Destroyed as an enemy.
Is his concern real? Does he truly care that I’m being treated properly? Does his worry that I am imprisoned show that he has feelings for me, or is it all a ruse? Does he despise Rudy because he perceives him to be a threat? Glare at the house because he thinks Jason and Malcom will destroy him?
Or does he simply love me?
Love.
The word rushes heat through me, a warmth nothing else can generate. Not thinking about my future husband. Not imagining the prophecy fulfilled. Not envisioning my parents, proud and true, at my wedding.
No.
