She’s gone.
Just as I abruptly stand up, ready to hunt her down wherever she’s gone off to, I hear her walking down the hall and slowly she comes into view.
Adrenaline spikes through me and I try to stay still. Because if I move, she might change her mind. She might go back to that fucking room, but I can’t let her. I swear to God, I can’t let her.
She enters the bedroom with bloodshot eyes, the hair on the side of her face damp from her tears and her face reddened. Fuck, I’ve never felt pain like this. Even in the cell, she didn’t cry like this. She’s never cried like this.
It’s as if she’s mourning.
I can barely breathe, but I swallow the pain down as she steps into the room, refusing to look at me and then glancing at the bathroom.
“There’s no bathroom in the other room. The hideaway room,” she says, and her words are roughly spoken, but she doesn’t cry.
“Come here.” The command is soft, an attempt to comfort her. I know she likes being held and I can do that.
I can hold her better than anyone else can.
She walks numbly and when I wrap my arms around her, she doesn’t react. She doesn’t hold me or lean in. She doesn’t stiffen either. She’s just there. Her entire body feels frozen under my touch and I instantly pick her up, cradling her in my arms to put her into bed, to force her to rest and lie down with me. Everything will be all right in the morning.
But the second I take a step toward the bed, Aria jolts and slams her palms into my chest, kicking at the same time and deliberately falling out of my arms and crashing onto the floor.
“Fuck,” I grunt out and reach down to help her up, but she scampers backward, crawling away from me before standing up again and facing me like a caged animal intent on running.
A thousand shards slice into every bit of me. Into my numb skin, making their way inside my blood and up my throat.
“Aria, tell me what’s wrong,” I demand but she only shakes her head, pushing her hair away and then rubbing her hand against her tearstained cheek.
“You already know what’s wrong,” she says woefully, and I know I’ve failed her.
“You’ll forgive me,” I speak lowly, my hands clenching into fists.
Her eyes reach mine and they gloss over as she whimpers, “I know.” She sniffles once and turns to go to the bathroom, but I can’t let her.
“Tell me something,” I say, raising my voice but she stops and then slowly turns. “Ask me anything,” I add.
A moment passes where she only sways in the knee-length sleepshirt she’s changed into. She almost says something twice, but in the end, she only shakes her head.
Finally, she asks me something I hate, but I know I deserve.
“Will I ever be allowed to leave?” Her question reflects her hopelessness.
“Yes.” I want to tell her more, that I’ll take her wherever she wants to go, but I’m afraid if I speak too much, she’ll break down again. Every word has to be spoken carefully.
“When?” she asks.
“After the war is over,” I tell her firmly. “There’s no exception to that.”
“And when will that happen?” Her words are small, nearly insignificant, reflecting exactly how she must feel.
“Soon.” I try to be short, not wanting to hurt her any more than she already is, but also not wanting to lie.
“I would like to at least say goodbye,” she whimpers and her voice cracks.
“He knows where you are. If he wanted to say goodbye, he could.”
“He knows I’m here?” The shock in her voice is unexpected and I feel like a prick. She’s going to have the same reaction she did yesterday when she learned I had someone spying on her.
“Yes.” I swallow thickly, but at least she’s talking to me.
“And he hasn’t come for me?” she asks with such sadness, but it only enrages me. Doesn’t she know the man her father really is? He wouldn’t risk his life for anyone. Not a damn soul. “How long?” She visibly swallows and hardens her voice as she asks, “How long has he known?”
“Since the dinner,” I tell her and then count the days. “Four days.”
Aria’s face crumples and she covers her mouth with her hand, looking impossibly more dejected somehow.
“When you’re at war, you eviscerate them first. I’m sure he has plans…” I want to lie to her, to tell her he has plans to get her after he’s killed me. But I don’t believe it. Talvery would bomb our estate, killing her with me, if he thought he could get away with it.
“Where does that leave me?” Aria asks in a weak whisper.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re going to eviscerate the Talverys… where does that leave me?” she asks with surprising strength and tenacity.