My blades are sharp.
I haven’t changed my clothes since last night when my world flipped inside out.
Instead, I’ve been sitting in front of the fire, my mind replaying everything I know to be true. And the only conclusion I’ve come to is that I’m tired of the waiting game. Of waiting for direction from others who I’m not sure I can trust. I no longer wish to play the perfect part of wanting to be queen. I just want them dead.
It’s the only thing that pulses through my insides, pumping from the space where the beating organ should be; half convinced that my twisted need for vengeance is the only reason it still beats at all.
Can you die of a broken heart?
I do not care for politics or preserving the integrity of the crown—all things my uncle told me were necessary, so the country wouldn’t break apart at the seams when the Faasa dynasty fell. But I’ve had all night to replay his words in my brain, and things just aren’t adding up.
If I wasn’t already crushed into a thousand pieces, maybe I’d feel shame for how easily I’ve been manipulated. As it is, I only feel the emptiness that comes after accepting disappointment.
A thick fog rolls through the trees and blankets the cold ground, dew drops forming on the blades of grass as I make my way out of the main castle and across the court into the cathedral.
I’m sure today will be my last day on this earth. I have no delusion that it will end in anything other than death. I welcome it with open arms, as long as I take down the others who have wronged me.
Even so, I wish to pray.
Not for absolution; there is no remorse in my soul. But for clarity. Purpose.
My fingers wrap around the cool metal handles to the front of the church, and I wrench open the doors, stepping inside the expansive room, my gaze locking on a lone figure, standing at the front of the altar, his hands in his pockets and his tattoos on full display as he stares up at the sculpture of Jesus on the cross.
Tears spring to my eyes, my chest squeezing so tight it feels like it will snap me in half. I swallow them back down, refusing to let them fall.
As quietly as possible, I slip a blade from the inside of my cloak, pressing it against my trembling palm.
My boots echo off the walls as I make my way down the center of the pews, and there’s no way he doesn’t hear me coming. I expect for him to turn, to say something. Do something.
But he doesn’t.
I grip the dagger as I continue my trek toward him, and my stomach rolls, nausea teasing through my middle and surging up my throat when I stop a few paces behind.
Do it, my mind whispers. Reach out your hand and plunge the blade into his skin.
It would be so easy, letting him bleed on the cold church floor, as I stand over him and watch while the traitorous life leaves his body.
The thought of it makes my insides quake, and I feel weak for struggling with the decision. I raise my hand, swallowing the bile that rises along with it, the cavity in my chest cracking down the center as I bring the knife closer to his back.
“Somehow, I knew you’d find me here.”
My hand freezes, heart shooting to my throat.
He spins around, those stupid, perfect, jade-green irises staring at me as though I’m the only thing he sees, and it sends rage careening through my body, hating that even now, he’s so convincing with his lies.
“One of us is always finding the other,” I say through clenched teeth. “I wonder why that is.”
He smiles, although it doesn’t reach his eyes. My fingers tighten around my knife and his gaze swings to where it’s held in my hand.
“Are you going to kill me, little doe?”
My stomach flips and I bring the dagger high, pointing it at his chest, the weapon shaking in my palm. I swallow and clench my jaw, my chest burning from the thought.
Do it. Do it. Do it.
But my hand stays still.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he steps in close, the tip of the blade pressing into him. “I do not wish to see you fail,” he whispers. “Even at this.”
My broken heart stutters, emotion exploding through me until I can barely think through the turmoil. “You don’t get to say that to me,” I spit, pressing the weapon farther into his chest. “Don’t pretend you care when all you’ve ever done is lie.”
“Ma petite menteuse, the world is full of lies.”
The nickname flows from his tongue and spears through my middle, the pain so intense it makes me want to die. His palm reaches out, slipping along my skin, his fingers wrapping around my wrist, causing heat to flare up the length of my arm.
“The truth is, I am yours. Wholly. Inexplicably. Painfully. Unconditionally.” He moves my hand until the dagger presses against his throat. “And if you need to sacrifice my soul so you’re able to live with yours, then do it.”
I suck in a shaky breath, hot tears cascading down my cheeks as my mind wars with my heart, confusion muddling up my thoughts until my vision blurs and I can’t see straight.
Do it.
“This is a trick,” I hiss, pushing the blade until it nicks his skin.
He smiles, his fingers stroking along my arm, causing goose bumps to sprout in their wake. “No tricks, little doe. Not this time. Not with you.”
My face scrunches up. “You killed my father,” I cry out, the blade cutting into his flesh until blood trickles down the front of his throat.
Still, he doesn’t move.
“You tried to have me killed. How can you stand there and profess the way you do when all you’ve ever done is cause me pain?” My voice breaks, and I heave a staggered breath.
My words are anguished. Like his hand has reached into the deepest pits of my being and wrought them forcibly from my soul. His palm glides up the length of my arm, over my chest, and to the front of my neck until he’s cupping my face, his fingers rubbing against my cheek.
I close my eyes as I lean into the touch, sick as a dog that I’m unable to resist the comfort, even as my dagger is seconds away from ending his life.
“It isn’t fair,” I whisper, my free hand gripping at the fabric of his shirt. “It isn’t fair for you to do this to me. Why did it have to be you?”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “You think I wished for you?” His grip tightens against my jaw. “I would scourge the earth if I thought it would erase you from my brain.”
My chest twists, agony pouring through my veins.
“The problem is, Sara, there is no erasing you. And now, you’re part of me. One that I can’t snuff out, no matter how much I may try.” He steps in closer, forcing more blood to seep from his throat. “And I’m part of you too. Even if you hate that it’s so.”
His other hand flies up, twisting my arm away until it moves from his neck, and I gasp, my stomach somersaulting, expecting him to attack.
But he drops to his knees instead, his arms splaying wide at his sides. “I am nothing, if I’m not yours.” His jaw tenses, water lining his lower lid until it spills over, a single tear tracing the raised flesh of his scar and dripping off his chin. “So do it. Kill me, Sara. Put me out of this constant purgatory of needing you without having you.”
My throat swells until I can hardly breathe, indecision weaving through me as his words leak through the cracks of my shoddy foundation and bleed into the crevices of my soul.
“I will die happily if it’s what will bring you peace,” he rasps, thick emotion bleeding into his tone.
A sob breaks free from the deepest parts of my chest, echoing around the cathedral chambers, mocking my pain as it reverberates against my ears.
Weak, Sara. Do it.
“Give me a reason,” I say instead. “One good reason, why I should let you live.”
His eyes flare. “Because I love you.”
I drop the knife.
The sound is loud as it clatters to the ground, but I barely hear the noise because the moment I let go, Tristan is reaching, his hands grabbing my body and dragging me into his lap, fisting the back of my hair as he consumes my mouth, my lips, my tongue, my soul.
I cry out against him, sinking into his hold, hating myself for being so weak, but loving the way his touch soothes the pain.
