14. Amber

Lysandra wantedto give Damien and me separate rooms.

He, however, insisted on staying with me. He didn't want to leave me alone in the fae realm.

Normally, I'd say I was fine to stay by myself, especially since sharing a room with Damien will be awkward at best.

But I don't want to be alone in the fae realm, either.

So, here we are, in a room that's all silk and wood, with one bed before us and the unsaid question in the air about if we're going to share it.

The bed looks more queen-sized than king, so a night in it would be snug.

My core warms at the thought, and my cheeks flush as I unsuccessfully try to avoid meeting his gaze.

He moves to the window, peering out into the twinkling lights of the fae realm—a sea of colors against the dark sky.

"You and Lysandra," I say, needing to break the silence—and also needing to know more about whatever just went on between them. "You seem… close."

He stiffens, his gaze remaining fixed outside, then slowly turns around to look at me. His face is back to that mask of indifference again, and I don't like it one bit.

"Lysandra and I shared a chapter of our lives a few decades ago," he says. "But we were always better allies than lovers."

Lovers.

So, they were together.

"And now?" I ask, grounding myself with the warmth of my magic.

"Whatever feelings were there have long faded into a distant memory," he says without missing a beat.

"Judging from your conversation just now, I wouldn't say she agrees," I point out.

"Whether or not she agrees is irrelevant," he says. "Her feelings have no effect on my feelings for you."

My heart leaps at the possibilities laced in his words. "And what do you feel for me?" I ask.

He's quiet for a few seconds, considering it. "I feel like you'll make an excellent queen," he finally says. "Because despite how much you need to learn, you're fast at picking things up, you're a hard worker, and you're quick on your feet when it counts."

His words are kind.

At the same time, they're not enough.

"I didn't ask what you think of me," I say. "I asked what you feel for me."

He hesitates, a frown creasing his forehead as he sorts through his thoughts, as if he's deciding how much of his feelings to reveal.

"I care about you," he finally says. "I want you to accept my proposal and become my wife. I feel like you're exactly what the clan needs to protect ourselves, the city, and possibly the world from being destroyed by the shadow souls. And I know you know it, too."

I hold back a disappointed sigh. Because it's still not enough.

Although, what do I expect? For him to take back what he said about this marriage being a "business arrangement?" For him to lie and tell me he loves me?

How am I supposed to expect that when I can't say it in return?

I won't. It's not fair to me, to him, to the clan, or to the city.

I put myself first when I refused Lysandra's offer to sacrifice the part of my soul that's able to love.

Now, it's time to put everyone else first by doing what needs to be done to stop Astrophel and the shadow souls from stripping the world of its light.

"I accept," I tell him, and he freezes, studying me as if unsure he heard me right.

"You do?"

"I think I'm supposed to be saying that at the ceremony—not right now," I say with a small smile.

He doesn't smile back.

Not even a hint of emotion.

Maybe I should open the duskberry bond. Show him what I'm feeling.

Except what I'm feeling is fear. Hesitation. Questioning if I'll regret this decision forever. Guilt for not telling him about the token, the kiss, and everything I learned from Astrophel about his connection to Ambrogio.

I can't tell him any of it. Because if I tell him how much Astrophel opened up to me, he'll push to learn why he opened up to me. And I'm not sure I'm ready to share that with anyone yet. Especially not with Damien, right here, a few minutes after telling him I'll be his queen.

That's a mood killer if there ever was one.

"We'll do the ceremony tomorrow night," he says. "The sooner it's done, the sooner we can leave the city to find the Solar Scepter."

The sooner it's done.

It sounds like he's talking about a job interview—not about our wedding day.

"Okay." I straighten my shoulders, trying to match his stoic indifference. "Tomorrow."

He gives me a look of approval, as if verifying that the date is set. No ring. No nothing.

Just a verbal agreement.

A business arrangement.

"We should get some rest." He clears his throat and glances at the elephant in the room—the bed. "I can sleep on the floor."

"Don't be ridiculous," I tell him. "We can share the bed."

"We're not married yet."

"Are you telling me you've never shared a bed with a woman before?" I ask, knowing there's no chance it's true. Especially after witnessing that verbal spat between him and Lysandra.

His gaze is steady, locked on mine, challenging me. "Not with a woman who's about to become my wife."

His wife.

Heat ignites in my body at the commanding way he says it, and my pulse quickens, the air around us charged with the possibility of something deeper than the contractual bond we're about to enter.

"Damien…" I reach out, but he steps away, as if my touch is a snake about to bite.

My chest pangs with rejection, and I drop my arm down to my side, looking at the empty bed before us.

It's like it's mocking me. A physical representation of the loveless marriage I just agreed to enter to try killing the Shadow Lord.

Astrophel.

The man who actually seems like he wants to give me his heart.

Assuming he has a heart at all.

"Enjoy the floor," I say, and then I stomp to the bed, get under the covers, pull them over my head, and pray that by some miracle, I'll be able to fall asleep.