Chapter 43

Water beads across his shoulders as I twist and wring out the cloth, tiny rivulets streaming down his beautiful, bare back. I knead my palms into his shoulder blades, my hands working tirelessly to loosen the knots twisted deep in his muscles.

Sin's private bathhouse is lavish, the floor and tub both crafted of smooth stone, and benches inlaid into the walls for seating and dressing. A large cabinet with its doors propped open reveals a wide variety of oils and soaps, and a stack of neatly folded drying linens. Hints of rose and grapefruit rise from the steaming water, bleeding into our skin.

"You're tense," I murmur, digging my knuckles into a particularly deep knot beneath his right shoulder.

Sin sighs in agreement, and when I finish working the soreness from his body the best I can, I lean back and pull him with me so he rests against my chest. He's been strangely quiet since we snuck away from our entanglement in the Great Hall to wash up in his bath. Perhaps the same thoughts plague him that nip away at my own mind like diseased vultures. Twice now, we've given ourselves over to carnal lust. Three times if you count the late-night debauchery on my balcony.

But if it's only lust between us, why does it feel like I need him? Like it's no longer my beating heart keeping me here—it's his.

"Would you like to talk about what's bothering you?" I ask, pressing the side of my face against his, my fingers drawing lazy circles across his chest.

His hands come down on top of mine, pinning them against his chest, his body a rock beneath me. Unmoving. Unfeeling. Exhaling sharply, he sits forward, escaping my arm prisons holding him against me.

"What's wrong?" I ask again, this time with more force. Because the Black Art's lack of words is beginning to frighten me, especially after what transpired between us less than an hour ago. I expected nothing less than his usual smug teasing once we fled from the castle in a fit of hushed laughter and darted through the light sprinkling of rain to his bath quarters.

With his back still towards me, he rubs both hands across his face and cradles his head in his hands for an extended beat. "You didn't deserve any of this, Wren. None of it was fair to you. What I did to you…" he trails off, dragging his fingers down his cheeks before his hands plop into the water.

"No. It wasn't. And neither was the way you were treated by those closest to you. That wasn't fair to you either, and I think… I think maybe you're seeing that people can and will care about you if you let them. I care about you, Sin," I whisper, the words feeling strange in my mouth now that I'm saying them out loud. "Maybe it's wrong and maybe I shouldn't, but I do."

He shakes his head. "Don't make excuses for me. I could have chosen differently. Done things differently. And I didn't, and it's too late, and I'm sorry, Wren." His voice cracks around my name, and my chest aches at the sound of his pain.

I scoot towards him and wrap my arms around his stomach again. "I know."

Gently, but with enough force to pull my hands away, he turns sideways and steps out of the bath. He doesn't bother drying himself with the linen before he's pulling his trousers back on and reaching for his white shirt.

I lean my elbows onto the side of the stone and watch him dress, confused by his words but giving him room to make sense of his own thoughts.

"You have to live your life hiding who you are every day because mykingdom fears what you are. If someone had dropped you on our doorstep a few months ago, boasting about how they trapped a bloodwitch, I would have taken the final breath from your lungs and not paid you a second thought. And that…" he pops his shirt out, then begins fastening the buttons. "For that, I hate myself."

"But you didn't. You had the chance to kill me and you didn't," I say softly, now really hating the sudden switch in his tone.

"So that I could use you! I forced you at my side with threats of what I would do should you not serve me. What you may feel for me now does not change what I did to you. And it never should."

I motion towards the stack of linens behind him, and he tosses me a length. Wrapping it under my arms and around myself, I step out of the bath, my wet hair plastered to the sides of my face. "Why—why are you saying this now?"

When he turns to face me, I almost don't recognize him. The heat in Sin's eyes is gone, in its place a stark coolness that encases my heart in ice, swells my lungs with air cold enough to chill them in place, never to expand with breath again.

Sin takes a step towards me, which is also a step closer to the door. "Because everything about you lures me in, Wren. When I'm around you, it feels like I'm starving. Like if I don't consume you in every possible way, I'll be torn apart, never to be whole again. I will not—I cannot—allow myself to do that to you anymore. Which is why you need to leave," he adds darkly. His voice is low, cold, penetrating my chest, shattering my soul.

Which is why you need to leave.

"I'm not going anywhere," I say, crossing my arms and hating the fragility in my tone. "Not without my sister. You said we'd come up with a plan, you… you promised we'd—"

"I can't help you find her," he interrupts me. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

"We made a deal, Singard, you don't just get to walk away from that. I will not allow you to walk away from me like that."

He looks at my feet but remains quiet, his silence only fueling my rage now simmering to a lethal heat.

"Why are you acting like this? One minute you're holding me captive, the next you're fucking me on your precious throne! You took what you wanted from me so I'm no longer worthy of your time, is that it?"

My nails dig into my palms at my sides, every hair on my body primed as if I'm about to sprint into combat. Because in a way, I am. He does not get to hurt me like this.

Sin bores his eyes into mine. "You know that's not true."

"Then what is true? Tell me! I fought in your godsdamned war. I brought your enemies to your feet, and I slaughtered them before you. One by one, I ripped their souls from their flesh in your name, a line I vowed to never cross. So, tell me, Your Grace, why the fuck you think you get to walk away from me now?" I demand, not a trace of fragility left in my tone.

"Because if you knew who I really was, Wren, what I'm truly capable of, you wouldn't want me anywhere near your sister."

I throw my arms up and charge towards him. "That's bullshit! I deserve the truth—you owe that to me! I don't believe you."

He halts me in my tracks by grabbing my chin and tilting my head back to look at him. "You should. And soon, you will."

My body stills under his touch, and he lightly presses his lips to mine and whispers against them, "Just know how sorry I am when you do."

Sin drops my chin and storms out, leaving me naked and shivering with only my wrath to warm me.