Are we getting mar—
I can’t even finish my own thought in my head, let alone speak it aloud or ask Langston if this means what I think it means.
Langston takes my hand and, without a word, leads me out of the church. Away from the church—that means I was wrong. We aren’t getting married.
He moves us quickly, practically running through the streets.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. He keeps moving us through town until he stops so suddenly I almost slam into him.
“Wait here,” he says, leaving me standing on the side of a road.
He disappears into nearby greenery until I can’t see him.
“Langston,” I hiss, completely confused by what’s happening.
He doesn’t answer. He takes his time doing whatever he’s doing. Returning a moment later, he wordlessly takes my hand, and then we continue on. The road leads to a hill, but that doesn’t stop him. We start climbing up the hillside, both of us still wet from the earlier rain. My feet are going to have blisters from all the walking in wet shoes.
We reach the top of the hill when he stops. I have no idea why, but I turn and look out at the view, and my breath catches. It’s stopped raining completely now, a low fog hangs in the air over the town in the Sacred Valley between the mountains, and the sun shines down as if it’s shining only on us.
“I hate you,” Langston says.
What?
I turn my head toward him, not having a clue what this is all about.
“I hate you, huntress. You’ve been a thorn in my side since we were kids. You taunted me with your beauty. You tortured me with your smart mouth. You lied to me. Resisted me. Refused to bend to my will. And you hated me in return.”
I frown.
He smirks and continues.
“We’ve both done horrible things—the worst things. Things that can never be forgiven. You’re a sadistic princess, and I’m a cruel manwhore. Most of the time I still want to kill you. And yet, we were made for each other.”
Only most of the time? I really should ask him why he wants to kill me and why now he only wants to kill me most of the time.
My mouth dries as I gape at him. What is he doing?
He bends down on one knee. “I’m not going to say I love you because that would be a lie.”
Thank god.
“I’m not going to promise you a lifetime of happiness because that would be a lie.”
I bite my lip.
“I’m not going to promise you any of the things a husband should promise his wife, but that isn’t going to stop me from asking you to be mine. Huntress, will you marry me?”
He reaches into his pocket and produces a ring. A ring he’s made out of twisted together flowers similar to roses, but not quite. It has a green vine, thorns, and red petals.
I look into his eyes—eyes that say he cares about me way more than he should. He said he didn’t love me. Please, don’t let him be lying about loving me. Please, let him hate me.
“I hate you, too,” I whisper back.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”