Even at the expense of his plan, he’d told her to win, and that was what she would do.
Another carriage pulled up the drive, just as opulent—a coach and six, with carts behind it bearing cargo. “Is that—?”
“Mother, my sisters, and the boys,” Brennan said, squeezing her hand. He cracked a grin. “And Nora is yelling at the boys for”—he sighed—“making fish ‘sounds’ at each other?”
“What kind of sound does a fish make?”
He shook his head, but his mouth twitched as he dipped his chin, paused attentively, and then a laugh bubbled in his throat. He had to be listening in, the look on his face so mirthful that he seemed like he could listen to a lifetime of it.
As soon as the carriage drew to a halt, Nora threw herself out and slammed the door. “Just wait until I tell your grandfather!” she screamed at the carriage. “You won’t be able to sit for a week!”
Rielle arched an eyebrow at Brennan. “She’s going to have your father discipline them?”
He shrugged. “My brother-in-law parented them most of the time before he died. Nora had… other interests.”
Her hair askew and her fuchsia gown wrinkled, his sister stomped up the drive, waved off the servants, then fixed her and Brennan both with a scowl.
“Was that one of your lovers who just left, sister?” Nora asked, tilting her head as she smirked. “Tell me, which one are you marrying again?”
“Oh, they should be easy for you to tell apart,” Rielle said sweetly. “The one in whose bed you’d never leave your negligee.”
That had been particularly mean-spirited. She raised her head and glared at Nora, whose eyebrows drew together as she tilted her head.
“My… black silk negligee?” Nora asked, her voice uneven. “I lost it when—”
Rielle frowned. Lost?
But then Nora’s gaze darted toward Brennan. As if—as if he’d—
Heart pounding, breathing fast, Rielle turned her head to him as the blood drained from his livid face.
He…
He had done it?
He had planted Nora’s negligee in Jon’s bed?
He had let her think it had been—that Jon had—
“I can explain.” Brennan held her gaze evenly.
Pulse thudding in her ears, she spun and strode back inside toward the stairs.
“Rielle,” he called, his voice booming. His footsteps pounded behind her, and he grabbed her arm, but she yanked it away and ran up the stairs.
No, no, no. They were not going to have this conversation in front of his sister, in front of his mother as she came in. No.
“Would you stop?” he called after her, but she didn’t even slow until she was in his rooms.
Divine, his rooms, his family’s mansion—his territory. She couldn’t even rightly go anywhere in this building to be alone.
The balcony doors were shut, but she could throw them open, then an updraft spell, and—
He came in and shut the door behind him, then rested his back against it, watching her. His face had gone slack, his eyes dull, and she couldn’t even look at him anymore.
Her feet wouldn’t stop moving, and she paced the room, walking a tight circuit as the night of Veris roiled in her afresh. Finding that silk, that betrayal, while in Jon’s arms, while together, it had been like a blade through her heart, sharpness that had destroyed everything going in and ripped it all through going out. All her restraint had broken, and she’d screamed her loss, her grief at Jon, turned away from him and left.
And all of that—the anguish of that night—had been triggered by Brennan? Jon hadn’t betrayed her again, hadn’t done what she’d accused him of, and… Brennan had let her think otherwise, let her cry, let her suffer, all the while having done this.
“How could you?” she hissed, voice breaking.
He closed his eyes and let a loose fist thump against the door behind him.
“Do you have any idea how much that hurt? The pain of that night?” She swallowed against the hoarseness.
He tightened his closed eyes and breathed deep. “Do you?”
What could he possibly—? She paused her circuit, shaking her head and shrugging.
“Do you have any idea how much that hurt?” he asked, voice low, raw. He opened his eyes, overbright and gleaming, intense. “After watching him shatter you, having to stand by and watch you just fall for his manipulations, make all the wrong choices?”
“They were my choices to make!” she screamed at him. “And don’t you dare talk to me about ‘manipulations,’ Brennan. Don’t you dare.”
He gaped at her. “What was I supposed to do?” he shouted back at her, striding right up to her face. “Just watch you go back to him, after all he’d done to you? After he’d treated you like nothing, like less than nothing, letting you rot in Sonbahar, letting you be abused, your child die, while he fucked his way through the court?”
Her mouth fell open, but she clicked it closed, crossed her arms, scowling at the volume of his booming voice. “Don’t you dare bring Sylvie into this.”
He exhaled lengthily. “Tell me, Rielle,” he said, gentler this time, his voice dropping. “Is that what I should have done? Just stood by and watched you go back to a man who didn’t value you, never could, and just watch you walk right out of my life?”
That love, it… it had lingered, there was no denying that, but the reasons she and Jon couldn’t be together hadn’t changed. No matter how much she loved him, that would have been a difficult decision.
But Brennan hadn’t allowed it, had made that decision for them. For her.
“You just couldn’t wait, could you?” she croaked in a tear-stricken voice. “Things with him never would have worked out—you know that. But you couldn’t wait. You had to force it, then and there, didn’t you?”
Brennan anchored a hand on his hip as he rubbed his forehead. “How long should I have waited, Rielle? Until you became his official mistress? Until he married some princess instead of you? Until he put another child in you? Is that how long I should have waited? Until the weight of that life crushed you into only the rubble of the woman you are now? Would that have been the right time? Would it?”
Tears streamed down her face, and she covered her mouth. The bleak future he painted hurt, but not because he had said it. Because it could have been true.
No matter the outcome, it had been her choice… Stolen.
“I’m sorry I caused you hurt, and I’m sorry I lied about it,” Brennan murmured. “But I’m not sorry I did it. I’d rather you hate me and punish me than spend years of your life suffering for a man who doesn’t deserve you, who could never put you first. So hate me if you must. Punish me if you must.”
She glared at him.
He’d manipulated her, stolen her power of meaningful choice, had altered the course of her life in one moment, and he wasn’t even truly sorry?
“Do you not even understand the gravity of taking someone’s choices away?” she croaked.
He stared her down. “If you’re too blinded to see that there’s a wrong choice and a right choice, then I’m saving you by helping you choose.”
“Helping?” she shot back, then ran a hand over her hair, dragging it tight. “How often have you ‘helped’ me by keeping information from me, by lying to me?”
He opened his mouth, but no words emerged.
“Are you struggling to remember, or trying to decide which to mention first?” she bit out.
“You’re being impossible,” he snarled, his voice booming.
Impossible? “Impossible to be honest with, or…?”
His face contorted, he advanced on her. “Would you just—”
“No,” she snapped back at him, striding to the balcony. “I won’t just. You’d rather I hate you and punish you?” She kicked the balcony doors open. “Done.”
Eyes wide, he lunged for her.
She cast an updraft spell and jumped.
* * *
Brenna
n stared down from the balcony as she ran, out of the courtyard and toward the drive, her sky-blue dress billowing behind her.
His grip on the balustrade tightened, crushing into the stone.
She’d run from him. She’d run.
Quick footsteps pounded up the stairs, and the door flew open. He looked back past the flowing gauze curtains and across the bedchamber.
Una stood in the doorway, eyes wide and breathing hard, her gray doublet and black trousers wrinkled. Her usually pristine dark bun had wayward wisps. “What’s happening up here? I heard yelling.” Her sharp eyes searched the chamber.
He glared at her. “It’s private. Don’t—”
“Don’t tell me that, Bren. You’ve never been ‘private’ about your relationships before.” She entered the room, looking about, then headed toward the balcony. “Where’s Favrielle?” She walked out onto it and peered over the edge. “Did she cast a spell or something and jump off?”
She leaned a hip against the balustrade as she crossed her slender arms.
If it had been anyone else but one of his sisters or Mother, he would have thrown them out, but he well knew where Una’s trepidation stemmed from. She’d been around for so many of Mother and Father’s fights, and wasn’t too young as Caitlyn had been to remember. He’d spent so many of those arguments playing with Una, distracting her, making her laugh and smile while raised voices had echoed throughout the castle.
Still, Rielle would not run from him before they settled this, not if he could help it. He couldn’t chase her off the balcony with Una here, so he strode toward the door.
“You’re going after her?” Una asked as she followed him.
As he stormed down the stairs, she kept pace, mumbling pardons to the household staff he shoved aside.
“If she jumped off a balcony to leave, she’s probably too angry to talk. And you want to chase her down like this? Bad idea, Bren.”
Bad idea?
Letting Rielle stew in her anger was a bad idea. A worse idea.
Mother’s voice and Caitlyn’s carried from the front of the mansion, so he changed course to the back exit. The last thing he needed was Mother asking if everything was all right… when it most certainly wasn’t.
As he strode down the halls, Una followed him. “Wouldn’t you rather give her time to cool off? And maybe take some yourself?”
He shook his head. “She said I don’t let her make her own choices.”
“Hm.” Una blew out a soft breath. “And you want to chase her down and bring her back? You’d kind of be proving her right.” She hurried to round him and head him off. “Think about what you’re doing for one second,” she said, holding up a palm, but he walked right into it, pushing against it with his sternum.
He glowered down at her hand, hissed a sigh, and paused, taking a deep breath. Una wasn’t going to let this go.
When she said he hadn’t kept his other relationships private, she’d been right. She’d always seemed to be rooting for him to finally settle down and have children, but he’d had a penchant for starting relationships quickly and ending them even more quickly.
“Do you have a plan to win her over?” she asked.
Other than finding Rielle and bringing her back, he didn’t have much of a plan. He’d boxed Rielle in before, and the tighter quarters he gave her, the more she tried to run.
But what was he supposed to do? Sit on his hands and wait for her to return? She could run right to Jon, and in the heat of the moment, they might find comfort in each other. All of this, over one argument? By tonight, Jon could be the one holding her—
“You’re going to make things worse,” Una said, her brows drawn together.
The longer he waited, the worse things would become. That was certain.
“I can’t just leave her be,” he muttered.
“Maybe you should go after her,” Una said, lowering her hand and righting her gray doublet. “But don’t go to her just to drag her back. Come to her with choices, ones she can easily see herself, and don’t try to force anything.”
Choices? What choices? She would return to him, and that was the end of that. He’d say whatever she needed to hear.
Una steered him back toward the stairs. “Take her cloak, take her coin purse, go to her with options. Give her a little time, a little space to collect her thoughts. People say things in the heat of the moment that they don’t mean.”
He grimaced. He’d already made that last part a reality.
“Go to her with her things,” she encouraged gently, “make no demands, and she can return with you or be alone or do whatever she wants. If she wants you to leave, leave. Let her return to you on her own terms. And then I think she’ll come around.”
And if she doesn’t want to?
He shook his head. No, Una was right. If he wanted to smooth this over, he’d have to go to Rielle without trying to force her into anything else.
“Fine,” he said, facing Una’s encouraging smile and letting out an exasperated sigh. He’d bring Rielle her cloak and her coin purse, and let her decide.
But she’d accused him of lying, and she was right—although she had no idea how right.
She’d make her own choice all right, but he’d offer her an inducement to come home that she wouldn’t be able to turn away. The truth.
Chapter 23
Rielle walked down the cobblestone street, weaving between passersby as she headed toward a market district.
She’d been walking for what felt like half an hour, without so much as a cloak or a cuivre, in a constricting gown. And in slippers meant for rugs and parquet floors. Her feet understood that now. Very thoroughly.
The crowd thickened the farther she went, churning like a roiling pot, and she lost herself in the churn. It didn’t matter where she was going. All that mattered was that she was beneath the open sky, out in the fresh air, with the earth under her feet, and not in his room, under his roof, in his territory. Blocking the door, he’d left her no choice.
She huffed a breath. No choice. That was the root of the problem between them, circled by a carousel of lies.
That evening at the Tower nearly ten years ago came rushing back, vivid and tangible. Me or this place. Bright hazel eyes boring into her with unshakeable focus, closing in, pushing, pressing—
She shivered. She’d run that evening, too, but in a different way. He’d given her a choice, but she’d chosen magic. And had kept choosing it for a decade.
Rubbing her bare arms, she ducked into a small garden beside a temple. Bright violet and lavender pansies winked at her, so cheery she couldn’t face them. She sank onto the low stone wall edging the flowerbed, her fingertip absently stroking a petal.
She loved him—that was undeniable—but had that love and their entire relationship right now been built on that lie the night of Veris?
What if Brennan hadn’t done what he had the night of Veris? What would her life look like now?
She shook her head. It would do no good to think about what might have been. Jon and Olivia were together now. And whatever his faults, she loved Brennan, who—despite her own faults—loved her, too.
But there could be no moving forward, not unless he understood that taking away her power to choose was unacceptable. Even when he thought she was making the wrong choice, he had to accept it was her choice.
A chill wove up her spine, and bracing on the rough stone, she looked around.
People milled about in the crowd, going about their business in merchant stalls and shops, myriad Sileni voices rising and mingling, but there was an alleyway shadowed under an awning… She squinted, staring into it, her breaths coming faster.
Someone was watching her.
If she cast earthsight, her gesture would give her away, but she could close her eyes and cast it behind her—
“Bonny little flower,” a man’s low voice said in a lilting Morwenian accent.
She spun, caught in the shadow of a massive, muscled man, his arms crossed
, with a square jaw, short copper hair, and the most eerily vivid green eyes she’d ever seen. In an elaborate brocade overcoat and trousers of the deepest black, he nodded toward the flowerbed, at the pansy she’d been stroking.
Her gaze meandered back to his, which looked her up and down, sizing her up with a sportive smile. “Are you lost, bonny little flower? Looking for something?” Those eerily vivid green eyes glinted. “Or someone?”
A shudder trickled down her spine. There was something behind those eyes, something terrible.
Hands ready at her sides, she rose. “Looking for some solitude to clear my head,” she answered, staring up into his face. “But thank you for your concern.” Now be on your way.
“My, my, that’s quite a sting,” he said, voice thick like honey. Anchoring a large hand on his hip, he chuckled under his breath and ran his big fingers through his hair. “It’s a fine day, bonny little flower. You should smile, brighten up that—”
“You forgot your cloak, bride.”
Behind her, Brennan’s deep voice, a warning tone, and his hot grip was on her wrist, tugging her into his arms, against the solid, firm heat of his chest. The cloak was about her shoulders instantly, and she breathed deep in his embrace, cypress and spice and her Brennan, and looked over his black-cloaked arm at the large man.
Oh, if he so much as touched her or Brennan now, he would burn.
“Are you lost, sirrah?” The rumble of Brennan’s imperious voice rippled into her as the large man’s mouth curved in a crooked smile. Brennan tossed a gold corona at him, which hit the man in the chest before he caught it. “Go buy yourself a drink.” He swept her back toward the way she’d come, and with a distrustful look over his shoulder, guided her forward by the small of her back.
A thump, and the clink of metal on stone cobbles. The man had thrown the coin at Brennan’s back.
Brennan huffed a half-laugh. “Pray our paths don’t cross again,” he bit out, deathly still.
“I hope they do,” the man taunted back.
With a rictus grin, Brennan escorted her along into the crowd. “So do I,” he hissed back, before they entered the churn and bustle.
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