At my outburst, Cherno startles somewhere across the room. Leathery wings flutter erratically until the demon settles above us on one of the thick beams.
“Because it doesn’t matter.”
I suck in a breath. “How can you say that? You’re fated to be with the queen.”
He goes deathly still. “Who told you that?” he asks sharply.
“It doesn’t matter.” I throw his words back at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He takes a tentative step closer and, when I don’t back away, another and another. Alaric reaches out and takes me by the shoulders. He swallows hard, the knot in his throat bobbing. “Because of the way you’re looking at me now. I never wanted you to see me as the others do, but to see me for who I am.”
That strikes me like a physical blow. In the short time since learning who he was, I put up walls, blocking him out. If I had known all along, I never would have accepted his deal. I never would have allowed him to give me any of the marks, and I never would have returned to Windbury after Kathrine’s wedding.
When I don’t speak, he continues, “Being a prince means nothing. It’s an empty title that I hold only because I had the misfortune of being her second victim.”
“Second?” I frown. “Lawrence said you were her first.”
Pain darkens his eyes. “Her first creation.” Alaric turns his face away, glowering at a distant place I can’t see. “She nearly killed Rosalie. I had no choice but to submit to Elizabeth’s will so I could keep her from dying—” His voice breaks.
My hurt and anger melt away. Forgotten. I move closer and take his hand. His fingers squeeze mine—the only physical sign of his pain he allows himself to show.
“I turned my own sister because of her. I robbed Rosalie of the future she should have had… but I couldn’t let her die.”
“I understand,” I say.
And I do. I would have done the same if I had been in his place. I am thankful now that he refused to give me the final mark on the way here, but I don’t think I can ever allow him to mark me when he is essentially betrothed to the queen. I can’t allow myself to be tied to a man who can never be mine.
Alaric wraps me up in a hug, but I don’t fully relax into him as I would have in the past.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and I can feel the relief in his posture.
After a long moment, he pulls back and lets me go.
“You’re still upset,” he says.
I want to deny it, but I can’t. “Yes.”
“Why? How do I fix it?”
“It’s not your title. You are fated to be with the queen.” I spit the words. The ugly feeling from earlier returns with a vengeance, roiling in my gut.
Alaric flinches.
He is not mine. Knowing this—seeing him stand with the queen on the dais, watching her kiss him—forms a hollow shell out of my heart. I’m afraid that he’ll slip through my fingers. I have lost everyone else I’ve ever loved in my life, and now I am afraid I will lose him, too.
It’s selfish, but I wonder what will become of me when he is hers.
“Fate is what will come to pass, but we can control it by deciding for ourselves what we want. We can forge our own path. I will not have Elizabeth or anyone else choose for me… for us.”
I pull in a breath and hope he’s right.
Chapter Three
Clara
Strong hands grip my shoulders, pinning me down. A heavy form settled on top of my body keeps me immobile. My eyes fly open, and all I see are bared fangs. I blink at dark sapphire eyes ringed with a thick, red line. Morning sun gilds Alaric’s tousled black hair and thick eyelashes.
He’s beautiful, even as my mind struggles to understand what’s happening.
My heart hammers in my chest. I’m frozen to the spot, too shocked to remember how to move.
“Defend yourself,” he snarls, bringing his face within a hair’s breadth of mine. “Defend yourself or die.”
The air whooshes out of me in a single breath. “A-Alaric?”
A growl issues up from deep within his chest. I flinch.
He’s going to kill me.
The space between heartbeats stretches on as time seems to slow to a stop.
I don’t understand. Sleep clings to my mind as I struggle to come up with an explanation for his mood change.
An ache forms in my chest. Somewhere in the time that I had fallen asleep, he changed from my friend into a monster that is seconds from ripping my throat out. I squeeze my eyes shut against the burning that rises. A single traitorous tear slips out of the corner of one eye.
Alaric’s weight is gone as he shifts to the side. “Clara?”
I don’t move.
Alaric’s thumb brushes across my temple, wiping away the tear. Then his arms are around me, pulling me into him. “I’m sorry. That was obviously the wrong way to do things.”
My eyes snap open. I press my hands against his chest and shove backward. He releases me without a fight.
I flop back onto the pillows. “The wrong way to… what?” I snap.
He ducks his head. “You need to learn to defend yourself. I should have been adamant about it long before now.”
I rise to sit, glaring down on him. “And you thought attacking me as a wakeup call, without warning, was a good way to go about that?”
“You must always be prepared. You can trust no one here—and even if you think you can, you must treat them as if they will turn on you when you least expect it.” He reaches his hand up, but I push it away.
I set my jaw, teeth clenched, and ask, “And you? Can I trust you, Alaric?”
He takes me in as my heart continues to drum against my chest. I tell myself that it’s from the way he woke me and not because of the way his messy hair falls across his forehead, half obscuring one eye… or the way he seems to look through me to who I am… as if he knows me even when I don’t.
Slowly, he rises and leans forward. “I will do everything I can to keep you safe while we are here, but no, my dear, Clara, you should not even trust me.”
Exiting the bathing room, I pause to take in the opulent main room. Brocade curtains and a wall-to-ceiling double door leading to a rotund balcony. The four-poster bed is large enough to fit several people. Drapes hang from each post, tied back with thick, braided, golden ropes. The bed is situated on the opposite wall of the black stone fireplace. A large painting above it has been turned around to display only the back of the canvas.
I forget about the oddly positioned painting when movement catches my attention. Alaric leans against the bed, straightening out the cuff of a sleeve. Cherno is perched on his shoulder, quiet and barely moving. The demon’s entire demeanor has changed since arriving.
Alaric looks up and smiles, uncertainty lingering in his expression. “I really hope you can forgive me for this morning. There’s no excuse for my actions, regardless of my intentions.”
He lifts Cherno off his shoulder and whispers something to him before setting him down on the bed.
“It’s all right,” I say, waving off his apology. I don’t want to dwell on it, I don’t want to examine how betrayed I feel or how my chest aches as if a fissure has ripped its ways across the surface of my heart, threatening to rent it in two. “I was startled, that’s all.”