The club’s throbbing bass can be heard a half-block away, a pounding beat of that soulless electronica so popular at this kind of establishment. We’ve ditched the Rolls-Royce in favor of a nondescript black SUV — luxury limousines aren’t exactly ideal for flying under the radar. If I’m spotted at a place like this, I can only imagine the headlines tomorrow morning.
ROYAL RAGER! EMILIA TRADES ISOLATION FOR INEBRIATION
MOURNING QUEEN SPARKLES IN SILVER DRESS AT LUND HOTSPOT
Clubbing and drugging aren’t exactly in line with my royal “brand,” as Caulfield would say. I duck a little lower in my seat, cautious despite the dark tint of the backseat windows where Carter and I are sitting. Riggs is at the wheel, a second guard named Vega in the passenger seat.
I peer through the glass, trying to get a look at the club. From the outside it doesn’t look like much more than a blocky cube of cement. The line of beautiful people wrapping around it, waiting for their chance to strut past those velvet ropes, is our only clue to the debauchery unfolding within.
We pull into the alley that runs beside the club and find our path immediately blocked by three scary-looking bouncers in tight black “STAFF” t-shirts. Their muscles strain the fabric, corded veins thrumming with enough strength to crush any line-crashers with ease. Their expressions clearly communicate their intent.
Do not fuck with us.
Not if you enjoy the ability to walk.
It’s an impressive show of intimidation. I’m convinced our plan is about to disintegrate, that we’ll be forced to find an alternate way inside… until Riggs steps out of the SUV. The door shuts firmly behind him as he approaches the trio.
Riggs is by no means a small man, but standing in front of this mountain of muscle, he looks frighteningly slight. Concern crashes through me in an irrepressible wave as I see the bouncers’ hands curling into fists, their expressions darkening from annoyance to anger.
I can’t make out what Riggs is saying, but given the way the men begin to glance nervously at each other, going pale in the dim light of the alley, I’d bet my royal ass he’s using the full brunt of his national security privileges to threaten their livelihoods. Maybe even their lives, given how fast they scurry out of our SUV’s path.
Funny — they look a little smaller as Riggs walks back to the car. His poker face reveals nothing as he climbs into the driver’s seat.
“What did you say to them?” I marvel lowly, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.
In answer, the Commander merely shrugs and puts the SUV in gear, whistling lightly under his breath as we start to roll forward. Our headlights illuminate the alley, sending the bouncers scurrying out of our path like cockroaches. Riggs waves at them jauntily as we pass by, chuckling as he watches the blood drain from their faces.
Sociopath.
Vega grins over at his boss, clearly impressed by his antics. Even Carter expels a soft snort of amusement from the seat beside mine. I just roll my eyes.
Men.
The bouncers, still visibly shaken, wave us onward, deeper into the alley. A hundred or so yards down, we come to a stop in front of a nondescript steel door — a private back entrance leading into the bowels of the building. Our headlights illuminate a charming scene of grime-coated cement and rusted-out dumpsters.
“Your Majesty, this area isn’t secure,” Riggs says, half-turning in his seat to meet my stare. “I’d much prefer if you waited in the SUV with Vega.”
“What? No way! Chloe’s in there.”
“Thorne and I will find Chloe,” he says, eyes sliding to Carter. “You don’t need to be involved in this part.”
My jaw clenches down on a retort. I’m so tired of living in a protective bubble — of being sidelined over and over again, an ornately-carved chess piece that never moves more than one tile at a time.
“She’s my sister,” I whisper stubbornly. “She needs me. I’m not waiting in the car when she might be…”
Overdosed on the floor of a dirty bathroom stall.
Snorting coke off the surface of a glass tabletop.
Buying something strong enough to poison her body beyond repair.
“Emilia.”
I jolt out of my dark thoughts when Carter says my name. Turning my head to look at him, our gazes snap together — a tangle of blue and green. My nerve endings crackle with sudden electricity.
“If people see you here, they’ll post about it on social media,” he reminds me with surprising gentleness. “The press will descend on this place so fast, it’ll be a nightmare getting out. And the last thing Chloe needs right now is a story about her in the tabloids.”
“But…” I trail off, the fight going out of me in a resigned whoosh. As much as I want to tear my way through every square inch of this club until I have Chloe safe in my arms, deep down I know Carter’s right. In trying to help, I might end up doing more harm than good.
Story of my freaking life.
Reading the resignation on my face, Riggs rubs the bridge of his nose as though staving off a severe headache. “According to the bouncers, this door leads to a storage room. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let you wait there with Vega while we sweep the club.”
My brows lift in surprise. “Seriously?”
“Just don’t make me regret it by running off and doing something dumb.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
He grunts, unconvinced, but doesn’t take back the offer. A small thrill moves through me as Vega pulls open my door and helps me down into the alley. The four of us head for the entrance in silence, our steps muffled under the ever-rising swell of music.
I keep my eyes on my feet, trying to avoid the worst of the grime. I can’t help wincing a bit as the hem of my pretty dress drags through litter-strewn puddles — the contents of which I’ll happily allow to remain a mystery — and skims over a cache of moldering cigarette butts.
The steel door sticks in its frame, only yielding when Riggs gives it a powerful shove. It swings inward with a metallic groan. We step into a small deserted room — a storage space for tapped kegs, the floor littered with stacks of cardboard liquor boxes and empty bottles. The air is damp with mildew, the space dingy from disuse. A bare fluorescent lightbulb illuminates the space, flickering periodically like a strobe.
Now that we’re inside, the bass beat of electronica is crushing. The paint-chipped walls are actually vibrating, the floor beneath our feet seeming to shift with each spin of the DJ’s turntable.
“Thorne.” Riggs cuts a look at Carter. “You ready?”
Carter nods, jaw-clenched like a fist.
The Commander turns his severe gaze on me. “You will not move from this hallway.” It’s not a request. “Is that understood?”
“Understood.”
Riggs looks at Vega. “We’ll be no more than five minutes. Any longer than that, assume something’s gone wrong and get the queen back to the castle. Her safety is your number one priority.”
“Yes, sir.”
Carter and I lock eyes one last time before he follows Riggs down the hall, deeper into the club, where god only knows what awaits them. I’m surprised to see all traces of his earlier anger have evaporated. Instead, fear and hope war in equal measures on his face.
“Go get our girl,” I whisper, barely audible beneath the driving bass.
His lips twist — not quite a smile. And then, in a blink, he’s gone.
The girl Carter and Riggs drag through the door three minutes, sixteen seconds later might as well be a stranger. Her red hair is lank, hanging around her gaunt face in frizzy chunks. Her skin is sallow, lacking all its former ivory luster. There’s a red wine stain on her blouse and the straps are sliding off her rail-thin shoulders. She’s lost so much weight since last I saw her, she could pass for a skeleton.
“Let go of me!”
She shrieks at the top of her lungs as they drag her into the back hallway, clawing at Riggs’ hands like a feral cat. She hasn’t spotted me yet, standing in the shadows with Vega, but I know it’s only a matter of time.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? This is fucking ridiculous! This is assault! I’m going to call the fucking cops on your asses!”
“Chloe, cut the shit,” Carter hisses, enveloping one of her hands in his fist before she manages to scratch an eye out. “You’re high.”
“I’m not high!” she screams, her eyes wild. “I’m just having fun! Something you wouldn’t know anything about since all you do these days is sit around moping about a girl who doesn’t give a flying fuck about either of us!”
I flinch. There’s raw pain beneath those words. Pain I caused, by pushing her away. The wave of guilt that crashes over me in that moment is so strong, I’m nearly bowled over.
“Chloe, just stop—” Carter starts, but she’s not done yelling.
“I’m not the one who needs an intervention. You are. You’re the addict, big brother. You just can’t see it because your drug doesn’t come in a pill or a bottle. It’s a girl you can’t have, and it’s fucking killing you. Isn’t it?”
“Enough.”
“I agree! It is enough!” She laughs crazily, throwing her head back and closing her eyes, emaciated shoulders heaving. The abrupt shift from anger to amusement is unsettling. “Enough of the Emilia show. Enough of your ridiculous unrequited love. Just… enough.”
Carter’s jaw tightens, teeth clenching to contain words I’m sure he wants to shout at her. But there’d be no point — she’s not herself right now. She probably won’t even remember this conversation when she comes down from whatever she’s on.
They drag her deeper into the back room, kicking and screaming the whole way for them to release her. Her heeled boot makes contact with an empty keg and sends it spinning like a silver top. There’s an ear-splitting metallic clatter as it smacks to a stop against the far wall. The sound sets off another round of her cackles.
“Chloe, can you just cooperate for five fucking minutes?” Carter grunts, trying to keep her upright. She’s gone ragdoll-limp in his arms. “We have a car waiting outside.”
Her head lolls sideways, as if she hasn’t even heard him. “Guess what, Carter? Being heartbroken is a waste of time. Love isn’t even real. The sooner you learn that, the happier you’ll be.” Tears have started streaking down her cheeks, leaving thick streaks of black mascara in their wake. “I don’t love anyone and no one loves me. And I’m happy.” She sobs out the word — a broken, twisted sound. “Don’t you want to be happy like me, Carter?”
Christ.
Chloe’s obvious agony is gut-wrenching to witness. Each tear she sheds hits me like a lance straight to the heart. Unable to watch from the sidelines anymore, I step out of the shadows.
My heels click against the slimy floor as I cross to her. Riggs shoots me a warning look, but I don’t heed it. My attention is on the slip of a girl in Carter’s grasp.
Her arms hang floppily at her sides. Her collarbones could cut glass. Black tears leak steadily out beneath her closed eyelashes. Seeing them makes me want to cry too, but I keep my emotions tightly in check. Falling apart won’t help matters.
I come to a stop less than a foot away. Close enough that, if she wanted to, she could claw my face off with her chipped, electric yellow manicure.
I really hope she doesn’t.
My throat is thick; it’s hard to speak around the lump of emotions lodged inside it. “You don’t look very happy to me, Chloe.”
Her eyes open at the sound of my voice. Her pupils are so wide, they’ve nearly swallowed the light blue of her irises. It takes a minute for her to focus on my face; for her drugged brain cells to process the person standing six inches from her. When she finally recognizes me, her tears turn from a slow trickle to a torrential flood.
“E?”
I blink back tears of my own, hearing the broken way she murmurs my nickname. “Yeah. It’s me. It’s E.”
“What are you doing here?” She blinks slowly, scanning me up and down with a glazed stare. “Why are you dressed like a 1920s sexpot?”
Laughing a little, I reach up and wipe the tears off her face with my fingertips, doing my best to rub away the worst of the mascara streaks. “I’m here to bring you home, silly.”
“Home?”
I nod.
“I don’t want to go home. I hate Hightower.” She sounds like a lost little girl.
“I don’t mean Hightower.”
She stares at me, not understanding.
“I want you to come home with me. To the castle,” I explain softly. “That’s where you belong.”
She shakes her head vigorously, sending tendrils of hair whipping into her eyes. “You don’t want me there. You sent me away.”
“I made a mistake. I was hurt and angry and I lashed out at you. It’s not right, and it’s not an excuse… but sometimes we hurt the people we love most, just because we can. Just because we need an outlet for our own pain.” I hold her face in my hands, leaning in until our foreheads are pressed together. “See, you were wrong before when you said no one loves you. I love you. Do you hear me, Chloe Thorne? You’re my sister. You’re my family. And I love you.”
She doesn’t reply. Not verbally. But her body sways forward into mine and her arms — so dangerously frail, they make me want to weep — wind themselves around my body. She’s significantly taller than me even in my three inch heels, but she stoops until her head is resting on my shoulder and hiccups a sob into the crook of my neck.
“Will you come home with me?” I ask, brushing a hank of dirty hair out of her face. “Please, Chloe?”
There’s a long beat of silence. I think she might not answer at all. But then, in her lost-little-girl voice, she simply murmurs, “Home sounds good.”
“Great,” I choke out, blinking rapidly. “Then we’ll all go home. Together.”
I lose the battle against my own tears when my eyes meet Carter’s over the top of Chloe’s head. He and Riggs are standing a few feet away, ready to step in if she gets violent again. But, somehow, I know she won’t. Even higher than a kite, even emotionally shattered, even at her worst… Chloe isn’t capable of causing real damage to anyone except herself.
Thank you, Carter mouths to me, fault lines of relief written plainly on his face as he watches me petting Chloe’s dirty hair in rhythmic strokes.
Still feeling precariously balanced on the edge of a sobbing fit, I try out a tight smile. A moment later, his mouth tugs up at one side to return it.
By the time I’ve gotten Chloe showered, changed into pajamas, and tucked into bed, it’s nearly dawn. I close the door to her suite with a soft click and lean back against the wood paneling, weary down to my bones.
“Is she asleep?”
My eyes snap open. I’m shocked to see Carter leaning on the opposite wall, watching me. He looks about as exhausted as I feel. I figured he passed out hours ago.
“Out like a light.”
He nods. “She’ll probably be dead to the world for at least eighteen hours. Whenever she goes on a bender, she needs a full day to recover. Sometimes two.”
“As long as she wakes up sober, I don’t care how long she sleeps.”
“She’ll wake up sober.” He pauses. “It’s how long she’ll stay that way that worries me.”
“Well, we’ll just have to make sure she does.”
“We?”
“We,” I agree, staring at him. “She needs both of us right now.”
Carter doesn’t deny my words, but he doesn’t agree with them either. He just tilts his head back against the stone wall and lets out a deep, rattling sigh. “Fuck, I’m tired. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired.”
“Likewise.”
My temple is throbbing with the onset of a migraine. I reach up and pull my hair out of the messy bun I shoved it into earlier. The long waves tumble free around my shoulders, easing a bit of the ache in my head, and I sigh contentedly at the sensation.
“You look like shit.”
I glance up at Carter’s blunt assessment, brows raised. “Gee, thanks. I wasn’t aware I had to look glamorous while shampooing the dried vomit and stale beer out of Chloe’s hair.”
“I’m not talking about your outfit,” he says, scanning me up and down, from the faded tank top to the plain black leggings to the metallic silver nail polish on my toes. “I mean in general. When did you last eat a proper meal? You’re skin and fucking bones, Emilia. And I can tell from those bags under your eyes that you haven’t been sleeping.” He hesitates a beat, gaze narrowing on mine. “How bad are the nightmares?”
Bad.
So bad, I’m afraid to close my eyes at night.
So bad, I need you here to ward off the worst of the darkness swirling inside me.
I glance away. “That’s not your concern anymore.”
“Right.” His scoff is bitter. “Because I’m out of your life. I almost forgot for a second.”
“No! That’s not what I meant. I just—”
“Screw me for asking, I guess. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
I sink my teeth into my lip, wishing I weren’t so tired. Wishing my thoughts and words were easier to align and articulate. Wishing there weren’t tears threatening to fill my eyes for the zillionth time tonight.
“Carter…” My voice is hollow. “I only meant… you don’t have to worry about me anymore. Not because you don’t have the right to, but… because I don’t deserve it.” I can’t look at him when I say these words, so I stare down at my bare feet instead. “It’s my fault Chloe’s like this right now. That she’s suffering so much. If I’d properly sorted through my grief, taken a minute to process before reacting so strongly— Maybe she wouldn’t be— be—”
My words deteriorate into choked sobs. I don’t know when, exactly, I started weeping. I just know, now that I’ve started, I’m not certain I’ll ever be able to stop. The floodgates are open and they show no signs of closing again. Three months of pent up anguish and loss and guilt and regret are pouring out of my eyes.
I press useless fists against the sockets, hoping to stem the flow, trying to hide my breakdown from Carter. What a foolish hope — even when I’m not a mess of tears, he sees straight through all my defenses. It’s been that way since the very beginning.
I sniff morosely. “I’m sorry, I—”
Strong arms close around me without warning. My apologies evaporate as, abruptly, I find myself pressed against a broad chest, the familiar scent of smoke and spice dizzying my senses. I suck in a sharp breath that does nothing to steady me.
It’s been so long since I’ve been held, the sensation is almost painful. My heart slams violently into my ribcage. My tears trickle into the fabric of his shirt, a steady stream of sorrow.
I tell myself to pull away, that it isn’t fair to use him as a safe zone for my emotional detonation… but I can’t seem to listen to my own executive orders. My limbs physically refuse to detangle themselves from his body.
“I’m s-sorry.” I hiccup violently. “This isn’t— I didn’t mean to—”
“Shh.” Carter’s mouth is by my ear, buried in my hair. “Just… let go of it. All that shit you’ve been carrying around inside? All that pain that’s swallowing you up? Let it go, Emilia.”
For quite a long time, I do just that. I cry and cry until my puffy eyes run dry, until there are no more tears left to shed. I cry until I can no longer recall exactly what set me off in the first place. Until I feel empty of everything except the sensation of strong hands on my back, warm lips at my temple, steady heartbeats beneath my cheek, a metronome reassuring me that we are here. We are alive. We are still breathing.
“I think I’m okay, now,” I whisper against his collarbone. I don’t pull back — I can’t bring myself to, now that I’m in his arms. Now that I’m touching him again after so long apart. If we have to separate, it won’t be my doing.
But…
Carter doesn’t pull away either.
Dawn is breaking outside, lightening the hall around us in incremental degrees, staining us in shades of the palest pink; a rose-colored requiem for all we’ve endured. Still, we don’t move. We don’t let go. We stand there, our limbs intertwined like one being. One body, one soul. And I think, if I could pick one spot to spend the last moments of my life, it might be this one.
Right here.
Wrapped in warm arms at sunrise on a cold winter day.
“I…” Carter clears his throat, his tone hesitant. “I’ve been really fucking mad at you, these past few months.”
It’s such a strange thing to say, given that we’re still entwined in an embrace. I can’t help the short burst of air that flies from my mouth — half laugh, half sob.
“Yeah, well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve been pretty fucking mad at myself, too.”
His chin shifts to rest against the crown of my head. I want desperately to pull back so I can look into his eyes, but I refuse to create even the smallest ounce of distance between us.
“It doesn’t make me feel better,” he mutters lowly. “I don’t want you punishing yourself. Not eating, not sleeping… thinking about that drives me insane. I don’t want you blaming yourself for everything that’s happened. Especially not with Chloe. She’s a big girl. And even if you set in motion this particular downward spiral… she’s struggled with addiction for a long, long time. This is not a problem you created.”
I shake my head, rejecting the words. “But I exacerbated it. If I’d only—”
“Stop. You can contemplate all the buts and what ifs and if onlys in the world; it won’t change a damn thing. What’s done is done. You can’t torture yourself over the past forever. Not if you want to move forward.”
The question is there, balanced on the tip of my tongue.
But can we ever truly move forward?
I’m too afraid of the answer to ask. Instead, I say the only thing I can — the thing I’ve been wanting to say to him all day, since he stepped back into my life.
“Carter, I — I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For all of it.”
He lets out a deep breath that rattles his whole chest. “I know. I’m sorry, too.”
There’s a long pause, neither of us saying anything at all. I think we both know it’s time to let go; it’s just a matter of who’ll be strong enough to take that fateful step away.
I feel the tension radiating through Carter the second before he finally releases me — arms falling to his sides, legs backpedaling to create a bit of breathing room. His eyes avoid mine, locked instead on the oak panels of Chloe’s door, just over my shoulder.
“Thank you for helping get her back. I don’t think she’d be safe and warm and sleeping soundly if you hadn’t stepped in tonight. She’d probably be passed out on the floor of that club or screaming at me on a street corner for killing her buzz.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I meant what I said earlier. She’s my family. I love her.”
He looks at me then, and the stark longing in his gaze makes my heart seize violently, like someone’s got their fist around it.
“I know you do,” he says carefully. “And she loves you too.”
“It would probably be safer for her if she didn’t,” I say just as carefully.
I tell myself we’re still discussing the sister we share… but I think we both know we’re walking a tightrope, balanced precariously between the lines of an entirely different conversation.
“Why do you say that?” Carter asks. “That it’s not safe?”
I glance at my toes again. “People who love me have a tendency to end up dead. As long as she’s by my side, she’ll always be a target. Because I’m always going to be a target.”
“You can’t protect people from everything, Emilia. Life is full of danger, whether you’re the queen of a kingdom or a fucking mail carrier.”
He pauses long enough that I look up into his eyes again. They’re so blue — my favorite sea to drown in. As I watch, anger stirs to life inside their depths.
“We all die at some point. Even if standing by your side slightly decreases a person’s life expectancy… it’s not your call to make. You don’t get to decide who loves you, Emilia. And you definitely don’t get to push away the people who do, just because you’re scared to lose them.”
“This is not some baseless, irrational fear, Carter. People around me are in real danger. Look what happened to everyone in Vasgaard Square — they died because they had the misfortune of attending a speech I was giving! Their blood is on my hands.”
“No. It. Fucking. Isn’t.” His brow furrows with fury and frustration. “Their blood is on the hands of four terrorists, who committed a terrible sin in the name of some bullshit agenda and used you as an excuse to achieve it.”
“Semantics,” I mutter. “The end result is the same. People around me aren’t safe. Period.”
“You’re oversimplifying things, as usual. Seeing shit in black and white when, in reality, it’s all shades of gray.” He’s glaring at me now, his anger bubbling red-hot just beneath the surface. “You always do this — you get so far ahead of yourself worrying about all the potential ways shit can go wrong. And then you blow them up before they can fall apart on their own. Christ, Emilia, it makes me want to shake you sometimes!”
I glance away from him, unable to meet his eyes. I never enjoy being psychoanalyzed, but it’s particularly annoying when said analysis is so painfully accurate. “I’m sorry, but this is how I’m wired, Carter. I like preparation. I like knowing how things are going to play out.”
“No, you like controlling how things are going to play out. There’s a difference.”
“As opposed to you, who just lets life happen to him?” I snap back. “Maybe I care too much about things, maybe I overanalyze until I drive myself crazy… but I’d rather be like that than like you. You’re so indifferent to everything that happens in your life, you might as well be asleep at the wheel. When was the last time you let yourself actually care about anything, Carter?”
His jaw clenches so tight, I think his teeth might crack. “You really want me to answer that question, Emilia? Because I have a feeling you already know the exact play-by-play of the last time I allowed myself to give a fuck about something. About someone.”
I suck in a gulp of air that does nothing to calm me. Images of a night not so long ago, atop a castle turret, flash through my mind. I remember the look in Carter’s eyes when he told me, in no uncertain terms, that he was willing to fight for us. The passion on his face when he said he’d do just about anything to find a future in which we could be together. Mostly, though, I remember the hurt that flashed across his expression when I turned and walked away from him.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do sabotage things before they have a chance to disintegrate on their own. After all, isn’t folding the cards on your terms far better than playing a losing hand?
I avoid his eyes as adeptly as I avoid his question. “Look, if it’s Chloe you’re worried about… I’m not going to hurt her. I’m going to help her get back on her feet, make sure she stays clean and sober. I promise.”
“And afterward?” Carter presses, relentless. “Once she’s clean? What happens then? What happens when you decide to cut her out of your life again, all in the name of keeping her safe?”
Frustration sparks inside me, sudden as a wildfire. “You act like me wanting to protect the people I love is some terrible crime! Don’t you understand that she might be better off without me in her life? That her existence would be far simpler if she lived it away from all the toxic bullshit that comes along with being a Lancaster?” I shake my head, exasperated at being painted as a villain when all I’m attempting to do is keep my sister safe. “Linus is dead. Octavia is officially out of power. There’s nothing tying Chloe to this life, anymore.”
“Nothing except you,” he murmurs knowingly. “Explains why you’re so damn determined to push her away.”
I don’t meet his eyes. I can’t. I’m afraid of the sadness he’ll see in them; the unbearable loneliness that overtakes me whenever I look into the future and see what awaits me.
An empty castle.
An empty bed.
An empty life.
“So… what? You’re just going to be alone forever? Live here, in this giant fucking castle, all by yourself, watching the years slip away? Watching life and love pass you by, because you’re too scared to risk the possibility that someone close to you might get hurt?” Carter scoffs scornfully. “Do you have any idea how fucking stupid that sounds?”
“Maybe it is stupid! Maybe I’m stupid. But I’m also a girl who lost both her parents. I’m a girl who watched forty people slaughtered right in front of her eyes. And I’m a girl who has a hell of a lot of human lives resting in her hands. Every decision I make from this point onward has far-reaching consequences — for me, for them, for the people closest to me. For a whole godforsaken kingdom, Carter!”
“Jesus Christ, Emilia! Even if you keep everyone at arms length, even if you surround them in plastic bubble wrap and shove them out of harm’s way for their entire lives… they’ll still die someday. We all do. It’s inescapable.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Do you really?”
My eyes narrow. “You don’t have to talk to me about death. I am intimately familiar with it. More than most people ever have to be.”
“Then, more than most people, you should be determined to live.” His eyes blaze with fire. “Wouldn’t you rather take your final curtain call knowing you lived your life to the fullest? Wouldn’t you rather head into the light having loved, and—” His voice breaks. “And been loved in return?”
I don’t even think I’m breathing, anymore.
“I mean, for fuck’s sake…” He runs two hands through his hair, mussing it instantly. His frustration is bleeding out in waves. “I can’t think of a single better reason to die than by the side of the person you love most. Can you?”
I stare at him for a long moment. I’m more than a little stunned to hear those words coming out of his mouth.
“What?” His forehead furrows. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m just surprised.”
“By?”
“The aloof, untouchable Lord Carter Thorne… is a closet romantic.” My brows are so high, they’ve nearly disappeared into my hairline. “Who would’ve ever guessed?”
“Maybe you should’ve.” He takes a step closer, not quite touching me… but so close, I can see the dark navy rings around his irises in perfect clarity. “And maybe you should ask yourself why the thought of missing your shot at love doesn’t terrify you just as badly as losing the actual person you love in some freak accident.”
“I don’t need to ask. I already know the answer to that, Carter. Because given the choice between hurting myself and hurting someone else… I’ll throw myself on the grenade every damn time. I’ll happily take the pain, if it means sparing someone else.”
“There you go again, assuming love is one-sided.” His words are practically a growl. “It isn’t a fucking club membership you can opt in and out of without affecting anyone else. It’s not exclusively yours. Love is something shared between two people. By closing yourself off to it… you aren’t just taking that pain on yourself. You aren’t protecting the person you’re meant to spend your life with. You’re simply eliminating their chance at happiness along with your own. That’s not selfless, Emilia. It’s the opposite.”
Abruptly, I notice how close we are — in the heat of our argument, our bodies have angled inward, two magnets repelling and attracting with equal force. At this proximity, I can see every striation of cerulean in those incredible ocean eyes of his, every wave of color on their surfaces, breaking like an irrepressible tide.
We’re both breathing too hard, our faces inches apart, the tension between us a palpable, electric shimmer in the air. I’m not sure whether I want to shake his shoulders or wrap my arms around them and hug him tight; whether I want to scream at him until he listens to me or allow my own convictions to cave beneath the weight of truth embedded in his own words.
Carter Thorne, notorious man-whore, is lecturing me about love and commitment.
It’s so shocking, I’d laugh if I could summon any amusement at all. Mouth gaping, heart hammering my ribs like a blacksmith’s anvil, I strive for a level tone but my voice comes out so shaky, I hardly recognize it as my own. “I don’t want to fight with you, Carter. I can’t. Not tonight.”
His jaw tightens dangerously. “And when, exactly, would be convenient for you to discuss this, Your Majesty? Let me guess — never?”
“No, I just—”
“You just want to keep tabling this discussion — and every discussion — that makes you question what the hell you’re doing here.”
“That’s not fair! I’ve never claimed to make all the right decisions. I’ve never claimed to be perfect.” I swallow nervously, wishing I could breathe properly but knowing there’s not a chance in hell of that. Not when he’s looking at me that way — furious and frustrated and so fucking gorgeous it makes my soul ache.
“I don’t need you to be perfect, Emilia. I need you to be honest. Not just with me or with Chloe — with yourself.”
“I’m trying!”
“Are you? Because it seems to me you’re hiding. Hiding in this castle, avoiding everything that doesn’t have a clearcut solution. Avoiding—”
He bites down on the word, but I hear it echoing unsaid off every wall in the hallway anyway, ricocheting like a bullet off every stone before embedding itself deep in the flesh of my chest wall.
Us.
Avoiding us.
“I’m not being purposefully hurtful,” I say, tears filling my eyes again. My voice is a thin concession, a wavering white flag on a blood-stained battlefield. “I guess I thought removing myself from emotional entanglements was safer. I never considered pulling away might do just as much damage in the long run. I didn’t see it as… as selfish, or hurtful, or cruel.”
“Yeah, that much is pretty fucking obvious,” he snaps.
“Carter, I—” I start, but he’s already turning away from me.
“You know what? I’m tired. I’m going to crash in my old suite, assuming that’s okay with you. If not, I’ll call a car service and head back to Hightower.”
“No,” I say instantly. “Stay. Of course you should stay.”
“Only for tonight. I want to be here when Chloe wakes up. But don’t worry — I don’t plan to make a habit of it.” His shoulders are stiff with tension. “Goodnight, Your Majesty.”
I watch him stalk to his door in silence. My heart is in my throat, effectively blocking all the words I want to call out to him. By the time I manage to clear it, he’s already slammed his door shut and flipped the lock with finality.
“Good morning, Carter,” I murmur to myself as I walk to my bedroom, mellow beams of a pale pink sunrise a harsh contrast to the gloom inside my heart and mind.
I’m sorry.
I’m so, so sorry.
I wish you’d let me tell you.
And most of all…
I wish telling you would change a damn thing.