“I didn't”—he stops and exhales—“I didn't want to give her up. To the Jute.”
“Chancellor Kole let us bury her, not far from here.” He draws a path down the metal with his finger. “Rowan knows.”
He looks up at me. “It’s why he holds so much leverage over me.”
“But why?” I ask. I don't want to offend him, but her body is already gone.
“The body’s gone,” he says, as if he can read my mind, “but we defied orders. If word gets to the Queen there would be trouble.”
I think of that girl, with barely enough cloth to cover her sun-kissed shoulders, staring as the carriage rolled away. What would it be like to die because of something that happened years before you were even born?
Julian's hand slides over mine.
“It won't happen,” he says softly. But he can't know that.
“They’re so heartless. I can’t understand why they want what isn't theirs.”
“We can't blame them for wanting. Without wants, nothing would ever happen. It's the methods we use to get them that are the problem.”
“I guess,” I say, making a face. To me, there’s nothing to justify what they will do.
He laughs, a beautiful sound that shatters the dark world around us, and jumps down, holding out his hand. “And you? What do you want?”
I drop down beside him and think, closing my eyes. In the darkness of my closed eyelids and the hushed silence of the night, I see one object.
Round and green and white and blue.
“Earth.” My voice is soft. I turn in time to see something flicker in his eyes. “What about you? What do you want?”
He meets my eyes. Intense. A million words in one penetrating look.
“You.”
The world pauses. The wind ruffles his hair but the world is still and silent.
I take a step back before I can think. He gently pushes me against the broken wing jutting out of the ground, his touch searing through my nerves. My heart thuds in my chest, thrums in my ears. My body pulses with energy.
His fingers brush the hair away from my face and my heart stops. My cheeks burn, burn, burn. And then he is there. Here. He lowers his head to mine.
“You, Lissa. I just didn’t know it.”
His lips close over mine.
Soft.
Hesitant.
They taste as free as his scent. Heat shoots up my stomach, tendrils of want and need. My heart explodes in my chest. The shards melting away in the heat of his touch.
My head angles to the right. His to the left. It’s as if we've done this so many times before. When really, I have never even touched another soul like this before him.
There’s suddenly too much space between us. No space at all. Everywhere his body touches mine, I ignite. He pushes against me, our bodies fitting together as if we were meant to be. I can feel his heart racing against my chest. He runs his hands up and down my bare arms. Like flint against flint, electricity courses from him to me. Me to him. His lips press harder. Desperate. And we're both gasping for air.
His hair tickles my forehead. I reach up, and the silk is unlike anything I've ever felt before. I wrap my fingers around the dark strands and pull him closer, closer, though there is no space between us. He groans against my lips, his breath against my skin, my chest and my stomach pulsing. Throbbing. His fingers press against my back, holding me against him, ten pinpoints of searing heat.
I gasp and he leans away, staring at me with dark intensity before his lips touch mine again.
This is how I suspect humans will die without oxygen. Gasping. The way I feel I will die without Julian. Without his lips against mine.
“Julian,” I whisper against his lips. He stills. His eyes open and all I see are two pools of depthless desire. He leans his forehead against mine, a gorgeous half-smile teasing his lips, and I raise my finger and trace it along the curve of his smile. I don't know where this courage comes from. Maybe it was there all along, inside me, waiting for him.
His lips are soft beneath my fingers, warm. Bruised because of my teeth.
“That's the first time you've said my name.” His voice is a caress against my skin. A soft, breathless laugh spills from my lips. My body continues to hum and he chuckles softly. “So this is what it feels like to have the world at your feet.”
I splay my fingers across his chest, remembering the words I said to him that night. I feel his heart racing beneath my touch. I feel the muscles laced beneath his shirt. And I feel happy. Loved. Wanted. Needed for more than my blood.
“I never thought this could happen,” he says thoughtfully. He looks down at my hands, his eyes sparkling. Moonlight hits the right of his face, illuminating his blushed skin, the scar along his side, and the ridge in his nose.
He is beautiful.
“What?” I breathe. He raises his eyes back to mine. And I'm reminded of the first time I met him. The way he looked at me the way no one else ever had. Intent. Focused. As if I mattered.
“That I could fall in love,” he whispers, kissing me again. And I realize I have always wanted this. Ever since he saved me in the Chamber, and before that in the crophouses, I have wanted him. I just didn’t know it.
He parts his lips, slowly parting mine as he does. I shiver and he pulls away with a grin. His white teeth sparkle in the dark. A laugh bubbles from my lips and for a moment, I don't recognize it as my own. And the way his eyes flash, I know he doesn't either.
His lips graze my neck, feathering the skin Mia made sure I bared. My hands flatten on his chest and I feel the shudder that goes through him.
And he stops. He looks up at me, his eyes like the sea as it laps against the shore, lazy beneath the moon. He brings his lips to mine and places one more kiss.
Something slices through my heart, pulls tears to my eyes. Because I feel the finality in it, the sorrow. He touches his nose against mine. And I never want to be away from him. Never.
“I'm sorry, Lissa.”
And I hear Julian’s laugh. Only, it isn’t Julian’s.
”I knew I would find you here,” Rowan calls, his voice full of amusement. Seven shadows of men slowly surround us.
I think I should be afraid. But I look at Julian and I still imagine it’s just us. I still feel the ghost of his lips against mine. My body still hums with our magic.
The rest of me is numb.
I reach for something, anything, but my mind is drunk with Julian.
“That has to be the best act you've ever put on,” Rowan laughs.
Now, I feel something. Pain cuts through my heart, shattering me. I look at Julian, my eyes holding half the accusation and betrayal my heart feels.
But he knows.
He’s Julian. He will always know how I feel.
“Lissa, no.” His voice is a whisper. His fingers tremble when he reaches out and I shrink back, sidestepping away from the wing. His face cracks, and with it, my soul. He stares at me for what feels like forever, and finally turns away, trembling with anger.
“Rowan, you liar,” he growls and I flinch. He throws himself at Rowan. But two of Rowan’s men grip him by his shoulders and hold him back. He pulls free and manages to throw a punch at one of them before they grab him again, kicking him in his groin. He groans and drops to his knees. Rowan smirks and turns to me.
I stand tall and stare back, because Julian taught me more than how to use a blade. The wind kisses my burning skin.
But inside, I am still trying to make sense of it all. Because I don't know if everything that happened between Julian and me was an act.
What if he lured me here? Away from the palace so Rowan can take me for whatever madness he wanted me for?
I shift my gaze to Julian. His eyes have been on me the entire time, watching me, reading me. He struggles against his captors. “No, Lissa. Please, don't.”
I say nothing. My chest hurts. Breathing hurts. Because everything inside me shattered beneath his touch, and I can’t put myself together
again.
“What do you want with me, Rowan?” I ask. I raise my voice because I don't want to step closer to him.
“Julian didn't tell you?” He feigns curiosity.
“I asked you.” I don't know if this is a game. I don't want him to speak of Julian.
He laughs at my tone. “You certainly aren't the same girl I met over a month ago, are you?”
I stare until he stops laughing.
“You're coming with me,” he announces, stepping closer.
“Am I?” I ask.
“And Julian will go back to the palace. Alone.” He looks at me pointedly, waiting for the words to sink in.
They do. Oh, they do.
When Julian shows up without me, the Queen will have him tortured. Imprisoned. Possibly killed. And he'll say nothing because of Rowan's leverage.
“I know”—Julian pants—“what you're going… to do. Don't Rowan.”
Rowan barks a laugh.
“You're mad,” Julian spits. He tries again to break free his captors. They don't budge. They’re burly, stronger than Julian's lithe and muscle. But I've seen Julian break free from Jute soldiers, and I can tell he isn't trying enough. Or maybe he’s like me, still drunk from moments ago.
“We're all mad here,” Rowan muses. “Some of us just more than others.”
I don't feel the men creeping up to me until their calloused hands suffocate my arms. I don’t struggle against them, I hold Rowan’s gaze, hoping my defiance shows in my eyes.
I try to think of what Rowan wants, but all that rolls through my head is Julian. And how he may never see tomorrow. How I may never see him again. How he may have known all along that Rowan would come for me.
Through the corner of my eyes, I see him stop struggling. Something unravels inside me, and I know what he wants, the way he always knows what crosses my mind.
He wants my eyes on his, one last time—because he may never see me again. And I give him that.
I look at him, into him, as if it is only him and me in this bleeding world.
“Give him some bruises,” Rowan says. “Send him back to the palace. And Julian, please don't try anything stupid.”
The men obey with low, throaty laughs. They throw punches to his stomach, they kick him in the shin. Julian groans.
They beat Julian while I watch, my body weakening with each blow. He doesn’t even try to fight back. My lips tremble and my vision blurs.
“That’s enough,” Rowan says, his voice tight. Could he feel the ties of his blood?
I grit my teeth and clench my fists. But I if I open my mouth, words will spew out of my anger, not my conscious. Words that could worsen everything.
Rowan strolls toward me while Julian watches, heaving and sagging between the men holding him like a doll. He trails a long finger down my cheek and the men tighten their hold on me so I can’t move. He looks so much like Julian.
“I hate you,” I hiss, pulling away.
He smirks and drops his hand. “Then we're heading in the right direction. After all, love and hate go hand in hand.”
Julian's eyes bore into me until Rowan’s men drag him away. And I know it wasn't an act.
I can only hope the entire human race is worth his silence.
The freedom of the night is gone, replaced with four dark walls. I sit up when I hear breathing.
In the dark, all I can see are his dark eyes. My murky mind grasps onto a single image. Julian.
But reality rushes back. Julian isn't here. He’s in the palace. Being tortured.
“Rowan?” My voice is a raw whisper. Was I screaming?
“You're awake,” he says, shifting on the edge of the bed.
“Why am I here?” Why do I sound so vulnerable?
“Where are you?” He answers with a tilt to his head. Strands of darkness fall off the side of his face. His voice sounds so much like Julian's. Too much like Julian's. Their differences are only noticeable when they’re together.
“I”—I frown—“I don't know.”
“You’re beautiful,” he says, reaching for me. The bed groans beneath his shifting weight. Dangerous, nervous energy rushes through me. How did I get here? His fingers brush back the hair on my face, his touch softer than I expect. I don't flinch away. All I can do is hold my breath and stare into his eyes, seeing Julian.
“Why did you do that to him?” I whisper. I don't want to say Julian’s name out loud. I have only said it once. And if I say it again, I know that one instant will flood into my mind and I will never submerge from the memory. I will drown in its grief.
“He was a distraction. I need you for myself.”
He says it so simply, innocently. As if Julian was an obstacle and I am an object to be acquired by any means possible. The words are nothing to him. Julian is nothing to him.
He looks at me as if I should understand. As the Queen’s first in command, he’s probably used to getting whatever he wants.
“Why?” I ask slowly, hoping he will spill his plans. “Why do you need me?”
“I just do,” he says. He’s mad and smart. He runs his smallest finger down the bridge of my nose and I shiver. His lips slowly curve up in a smile and my body stills when I see Julian again.
They may as well be twins on the outside.
“Wash up and come to the hall.”
He stands and leaves, and I’m irked by his command.
I lie back in bed when I’m alone. I feel the ghost of Julian's touch on my lips, my neck, my arms. I see his soft eyes. My faintly throbbing lips are still swollen. What will they do to him?
Lying here will help no one. I sit up.
Surprisingly, I do as Rowan says. But what surprises me most is this: the instant I remember Rowan's touch, a gnawing craving rises in me. Threatens to take over me. He killed Chancellor Kole before my eyes. He had his men beat Julian feet away from me. And yet, this feeling wrenches at my heart.
Maybe, just maybe, we're all mad here.
I expect a pair of pants and a top to change into. But it’s another dress, deep blue and soft to the touch. As soft as Julian’s hair. I dig my nails into the flesh of my arm and the memory recedes.
I slip into a larger room, which is mostly dark with an illustrated domed ceiling. I seize the chance to look around, get a glimpse of something.
Because if Rowan is the Queen's first in command, why would he hide me from her? Simply to get rid of Julian? The doubt in me is strong.
“Princess Lissa?”
I turn towards the sound of the voice, which belongs to a man with graying hair and smiling eyes. His lips are as pale as his skin. And when he smiles, it is almost as if he doesn't have lips at all.
“Rowan would like to see you,” he says, clearing his throat. I study him a moment longer, because something seems off about him.
He’s wearing a mask.
The clear Louen fogs with his labored breathing. He isn't Jute.
“You're human,” I say, surprised.
He smiles again, the edges of his eyes crinkling. He neither accepts nor denies my statement. A true politician, Gage would say.
“Right this way,” he says. I don't know where he’ll take me, but I might finally get answers.
“What was your name?” I ask, following him through another door.
“I never gave you my name. But I can. It’s Eli.” He walks with sure steps and opens the door to another room.
“You may have a seat wherever you’d like. Rowan had business in the palace, but he’ll be here shortly,” he says. I nod and he leaves without another word.
I stay still for a moment, holding my breath to see if anyone else is here.
I wish I could sense Jute like Julian can. Maybe it’s something that can only come from a father. At the thought, Slate's gray eyes flood my mind, swimming with love. I don't know how I spent seventeen years believing Gage was my father when he lacked Slate’s love.
The room is rectangular, with a fireplace on the wall to my left. In front of i
t is a wide chair. The crackling fire casts a warm, inviting glow across its fabric surface. I pause.
The fire is orange, but the air isn't oxygen. I'm too tired and numb to even try to understand.
A map sits on the wall above the fireplace. Along the opposite wall is a table, stretching from one end to the other, covered in swords, shining ornaments and other things I can't make out.
The door opens and closes behind me. I turn to see Rowan, stunning as always. A pair of black pants hangs low around his waist. He has traded his usual darkness for a silky white shirt, the first few buttons opened to reveal the pale bronze skin of his neck.
He smirks when my eyes linger on his bare skin a moment too long and heat rushes to the back of my neck. I look into his eyes and see Julian. No. This isn't Julian. I focus on the differences, however small.
His hair is slightly longer than Julian's. The scruff on his jaw is more pronounced, making him look older. His stance is lazy when I know he is strong and quick, whereas Julian stands attentive and calm. Two opposites at once, always.
“You're fast.” He speaks first, glancing meaningfully at my new dress. When I don't say anything, he exhales and crosses the room to the wide chair. The flames sway in the wake of his movement. He sinks into the seat.
“What are you doing, Rowan?” I blurt out, shaking my head in confusion.
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Can you just not worry for once?”
I freeze. Was he there when Julian asked me the same question? No. I remember the way Julian’s eyes roved the streets.
Their minds are more similar than I thought.
“What should I do then?” I ask. I need him to speak. To tell me. To trust me.
“Come, sit, talk.” He shrugs like it doesn't matter.
But by the way he holds himself—his carelessness tinged with uncertainty—I can tell it does matter. I matter.
I cross the room and sit on the carpet by his feet. I lean against the chair and stare into the flames until they burn inside me. I'm more comfortable here, even if we are only separated by the small elevation.
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