Chapter 28

N ightmares plagued me.

A blade in my belly. Fire on my skin. Skrain's hands and Skrain's mouth on my body, making me feel all the things I shouldn't feel. Love. Hate. Attraction. Repulsion.

I woke drenched in sweat, eyes swollen from crying in my sleep.

Drowsy, I padded over the ripped curtains. I arranged them to suit a fit of rage rather than an escape attempt, topped off with a few of his trousers and tunics torn to shreds, too. At least I didn't have to fake my anger.

I had just finished taking a bath and getting dressed, slipping on soft suede flats in a shade of sky blue to match my dress, when a key turned in the lock.

Emily entered, carrying a tray with a dewy carafe of red juice, a glass, and a covered plate. She froze in the doorway, eyes sliding along the mess. A grin spread over her face.

"Good morning," she said, as cheerful as a young lamb. "I've brought some breakfast."

"Uh, good morning." I fiddled with the straps of my gown. "I'm sorry about the mess."

Emily shook her head, leaving the tray on the bed. "Please don't worry. I'll see to getting everything fixed or replaced by tonight. Skrain has made it abundantly clear that you're the lady of the house, and that means these are your belongings. If you wish to destroy them, it's well within your right."

She paused, watching me blush as if to give the true meaning of her words time to sink into my brain.

Skrain still thought of me as his wife, even now, and that meant there was a chance for redemption. I had faked confidence in front of Aculeus, but I hadn't been entirely sure. I just wished I could've separated my feelings from the task, stop my heart from warming and shattering over and over when I thought of him, stop myself from wanting to hear him call me my darling wife again.

And that fury, Creators—I had to keep it together.

"Thank you for the breakfast, Emily." I approached her, putting a hand on her arm. "But do you think it would be possible to eat with Skrain? I would like to apologize to my—" My voice left me, and I found it again in a whisper. "My husband."

She grinned, her eyes widening so far, I thought they might pop from her skull. "I'm sure it can be arranged. I shall ask your husband immediately."

Before I could say another word, she whirled around, skirts fluttering as she exited the room. She didn't forget to lock up, though.

"Keryssa!" Skrain smiled as he rose from a blanket with colorful geometric patterns laid out on the grass beneath an orange parasol.

He met me halfway across the lawn of the fruit orchard, tail swaying with every energetic step. Tears welled in my eyes as he took my hand to set a kiss on it.

Fuck, now I wanted my rage back. I hadn't expected this grief tearing my chest in two.

"To be honest, after last night, I didn't think you'd come around this quickly. I was so glad to hear you wished to eat with me," he said while he led me to the blanket and gestured to a picnic basket.

I sat down, forcing a smile. "Mostly, I came to apologize."

His brows snapped high, tail freezing before it slapped the grass in excited swishes. He was far too willing to forgive me, accepting every crumb of affection and attention like a starving pauper.

Skrain dropped next to me, crossing his legs, and reached into the basket. He took out a bowl of fruit salad, a few chocolate pastries with a sugar glaze on top, and a bottle of sparkling wine alongside two glasses. Silence came over us while he arranged everything on the blanket, pouring drinks. He handed one to me, and we toasted at each other.

In the morning sun, his eyes shimmered a million different shades of green. Warmth radiated from him, intensifying the spiced fragrance lingering on his skin. My pulse roared like the storm of tingles surging from my belly into my chest, making it hard to focus, making it the biggest test of willpower to stop myself from kissing him—or breaking the stem of my glass to stab him with it.

How the Hells could I hate a man with such burning passion and yet crave him like air, like water, like bread? How could I want oceans of distance between us, how could I wish to flee from him, run to the ends of this realm, yet yearn to feel his skin on mine like spring sunshine after a long winter?

When our glasses were empty and put aside, he spoke again.

"I also owe you an apology. This is a difficult situation for both of us, Kerys, and I have been too harsh, pushed you too far, too fast." He framed my face with his hands, smiling, eyes on my lips as if he was about to kiss me. "But please, you have to trust me, listen to me. Just for a moment."

"What are you talking about?" I asked while I brushed my nose against his, the urge to recoil warring with the need to bridge that final distance between us.

It was difficult to keep up the act, to pretend I forgave him … but it was even harder to remember that I was just playing a role. A stupid part of me almost did forgive him, a voice in the back of my mind euphoric to be close to him again.

Every moment by his side turned my heart into a blood-soaked battleground, my disgust and my attraction to him locked in an agonizing impasse. Every second was a blade piercing through the echo of love hidden behind my ribs. Slowly, I was bleeding out again within myself—until his lips crashed into mine.

His tongue swept into my mouth, and my muscles slackened, tension melting from me. His touch was like a drug, and I floated, forgetting that I was supposed to hate him.

"Lara, the woman who tried to kill you, she truly had help," he mumbled, thumb brushing across my chin. "From my demon."

" What ?" I burst out. "Impossible. He has no reason to cause me harm."

"I have proof, Kerys." He strewed kisses along my throat, and I had to stifle a very real moan. "Emily and I examined the remains, and just as I thought, Lara didn't possess magic. But the simulacrum was created from magic identical to mine. It reacted the same way to a certain herbal mixture as my own flesh and blood does. We could recreate the experiment for you."

His words snapped me from my daze, drying up the arousal budding between my legs—and shattering my composure.

"Disgusting," I gritted out, scrambling backward. "You really think I'd fall for this? Is that rune you had Emily put on me not enough? Isn't it enough to know that I'll die if I move too far from you? I'm already your prisoner!"

He blinked, irritation and confusion written across his face. "Wha—how did you even find out about the rune?"

"I'm not a naive little girl!" I shot back. "Stop trying to distract me! I know it will kill me!"

He slapped his thighs. "The fucking rune won't kill you! I admit it'll hurt you if you try to run away, but it won't kill you! Fuck, I'll get Emily to remove it if it'll make you happy!"

"I don't want to hear another word! You're always lying!" I threw my hands in the air. "You admitted your magic is like your demon's. I bet it was you helping Lara to assassinate me, and you want to place the blame on your demon to scare me, drive me into your arms!"

He blew out a long, stuttering breath, and I could see the anger draining from his expression. "Please, Kerys," he said calmly, voice low. "Pause and think this through for a moment. If I actually hated you, why would I grant someone else the satisfaction of killing you after I waited so long?"

My nostrils flared as I let out a hysterical giggle. "You don't have to fucking remind me how much you enjoy murdering me!"

All bets were off. I couldn't hold back anymore, and I didn't give a shit about the promise I made to Aculeus.

My rage erupted like a volcano. Spiteful words overflowed from my mouth like infernal lava.

"Bet you enjoyed the sight of me in our bed before you killed me, huh, Skrain? How pathetic of me to miss you so badly I even slept in your damn tunic, just so I could smell you! Just so I could imagine your treacherous arms around me! Did you get a kick out of seeing me wrapped in your clothes when you rammed the knife?—"

"The night you-you died … you wore my tunic to bed? You wore my tunic when you died?" Skrain cut in. His lips trembled. "You-you missed me so much that—and I just left you there … I-I shouldn't have gone away, I?—"

He crumpled. His shoulders rounded, hands dropping into his lap, tail limp atop the blanket. Suddenly, he looked so small, gaze drifting to the ground as if the grief of the entire realm rested on his back.

A sob tore from his throat, and when the first tear fell from his eye, a drop becoming a river, a river becoming two streams of sorrow running down his face, I froze.

Something about seeing proud, vain, brutal Skrain cry, squeezed the breath from my lungs.

The cascade of molten rage flowing through me turned to stone, crumbling into ashes. It was as if a void opened up in my chest, and in the span between two heartbeats, I found the truth.

White flashed before my eyes.

The real memory crashed into me like a mace to the head.

Our bedroom. The silhouette in the doorway. The figure sitting on my bed. This time, no swirling shadows obscured his face, moonlight bright along his features. A long scar ran from his forehead across one eye. Curled horns, the left one a broken stump.

I knew this man.

Ytzal.

"This is for my brother," he'd seethed as the blade pierced my stomach.

When he twisted the knife, he'd smiled. "This is for wrecking our lives."

When he lit the match, set me aflame, he'd laughed. "I have nothing left to lose, but now, neither does poor old Skrain. And I'll make sure he knows it was me who slaughtered his disgusting excuse for a wife, me who took everything from him."

My mind snapped back into the present like a taut bowstring, and the pieces of this terrible puzzle slotted into each other, one by one.

After I woke from my vision of the past, I hadn't told Skrain that I was wearing his tunic when I died, but he would have known about it anyway if he was there, if he was the one who murdered me. And if Skrain didn't know about the tunic, how could he have told Aculeus about it?

Why did Aculeus know about it?

My eyes widened. The seconds came to a grinding halt, and I looked back to Skrain.

This man—no, my husband— wasn't my murderer. He was telling the truth.

Aculeus was the liar.