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A scoff. “They don’t have a say. This is between you and me.”
She sat on the wide sill. “Why?”
The question that had presented itself moments after this ring was on her finger. The question that had chased her into sleep. It couldn’t just be a question of want, not for the two of them. Not under circumstances like this.
He was quiet for a long moment, ticks of her heartbeat that landed like punches. Lore dared a glance sideways. Bastian’s head hung low, his overlong dark hair hiding his face.
She’d been right, so many weeks ago, when she’d thought about how Bastian’s too-long hair would probably be the next fashion. Most of the younger nobles were growing their own out now.
Gabe still kept his brutally short.
“I want to keep you safe,” Bastian said finally, his face still hidden. “This is about as close as two people can be, isn’t it?”
Her face heated.
“And it legitimizes you in the eyes of the Kirytheans,” he continued. “Shows them you aren’t going anywhere. That your power is Auverraine’s.”
She twisted the ring faster. “Does that mean it’s just for show?”
“No.” He finally looked up at her. The two of them were arranged in opposition, him facing the window and her the room. Him in light and her in shadow.
“No,” Bastian repeated softly. “I have every intention of marrying you.”
Her heart knotted in on itself. “I’ll be a terrible Queen, Bastian. You can’t have thought this through.”
“I don’t need to. It was always going to be you, Lore. Our magic reflects each other. We know each other in a way no one else can.” He paused. “And you’re one of the only people who makes me feel like I’m not alone.”
One of the only people. She knew the other, one blue eye and inked palms.
“Fine,” Lore murmured to the floor. “You know what you need. What about what I do?”
“You need me,” Bastian answered, low and easy. “Just like I need you. It’s why you’re still here.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “If we were different people, Lore, you would’ve been long gone by now.”
He was right. She was only good at running. But she was trapped here in his gravity, a star in his orbit, and leaving hadn’t even crossed her mind.
A dark garden, a plea by an open well. Run.
No.
“So I’m what you need.” She made herself lift her eyes, made them meet his. “But what about what you want?”
It was the first time she’d seen Bastian Arceneaux at a loss for words.
But maybe that wasn’t exactly right. He didn’t look so much like he couldn’t find the words—more like they were dammed up somewhere within him, and blocked from getting out. A war playing across his face, fought in the increments of a tightening jaw and a carving line between his brows.
“Lore,” he said quietly, like it was the beginning of a confession. But the rest of the confession never made it out of his mouth. Nothing but her name.
Her eyes went to his mouth, slightly open. He’d kissed her, when she said yes, and it was real and warm and it felt like sunlight after winter. The memory of it kept creeping at the edges of her every thought, and the memory made her think of how he’d kiss her if they weren’t in the middle of a ballroom, if every eye in the Citadel weren’t watching.
One eye, in particular.
“Why did you make him come see it?” She hadn’t meant to ask. But this was an answer she truly wanted. Yes, royal betrothals had to be officially witnessed, but that just meant they had to be recorded, and couldn’t Malcolm have served as the Church’s emissary? “That was cruel, Bastian. For all of us.”
“Because I wanted you to make the decision where you could see us both,” Bastian said. “I don’t deny it was cruel. But I wanted to know that I was the one you chose.”
The stone on her ring had turned in toward her palm. It felt like ice against the raised lines of her scar. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Add it to the list.” He sighed, running a weary hand over his face. “But you… you did choose, right?”
