Page 77 of This Shattered Star

The flickering candlelight darkened. One of them hovered right over my shoulder. Briefly, it almost looked as if its shadow split into five different fragments. Each one slid between my fingers, mimicking a lover’s hold. I blinked, and my hand was my own once again.

“I’m going to throw this knife at you.”

He slowly set his cup down. “Say that again?” He spoke softly, but ire was evident in his tone.

The words had a life of their own. They flowed uncontrollably from my lips like a river of poison. “I’m going to throw this knife.And when I do, best pray the Underworld swallows you entirely. Because if I make it across this table, you’ll wish you’d disappeared there a long time ago.”Wood screeched loudly across the floor. Silverware rattled.

“Sit down.”

“No.”

A dangerous light flashed in his eyes. “I said sit.”

“And I saidno.”

“You will do as I say. I am your King.”

“Yes,” I laughed roughly. “As if that fact hasn’t been made disgustingly clear already.”

He rested his elbows on the table, one on each side of his plate. Perched the tips of his fingers together. Praying for patience, perhaps. “I can tolerate your anger. I will even respect it. All I ask kindly for in return—”

“You don’taskfor anything. You do as you please. But you had no right to plant that nightmare in my head.None!” I roared, pointing the knife at him. Again, the candles dimmed. More fragments split in my periphery. “I don’t care if it was for Courage. I don’t care ifyou knew I could handle it.I don’t care if the gods themselves told you to do it. I am sick of it. Sick ofeverythingin this stars-forsaken kingdom and everyone in it.”

Beneath his calm demeanor, a beast prowled. Waited. He said nothing, watching me with a predatory focus.

Candles sputtered and coughed, and finally, they were back to their normal, soft glow.

And with that light dawned a foreboding sense of horror, its claws digging deep into my shoulders. I hadn’t meant to spew my vitriol so openly, so vehemently. But I’d done it. And I couldn’t take it back now.

“Kill me for my disrespect. Drive this into my heart for all I care.” I tossed the knife across the table. It clattered loudly by his cup, nearly tipping it over. He didn’t need it. His magic could kill me on my own two feet without even the lift of a finger. “Is that not what friendsare for?” I asked mockingly.

He remained quiet.

“Fine. Some other time then. I’m leaving.” Putting my back to him, I continued, “Iwillfind the power I deserve. If you stand in my way—”

He was there in an instant, his hands finding my waist. He spun me around and pushed me back so quickly I almost tripped on the hem of my skirts. My spine hit the wall by the open arched window, his snarl inches away from my face.

“If I stand in your way, what then?”

I could barely think, not with the way he pressed against me. I could do nothing but get lost in the abyss of his eyes.

“What exactly will you do, Eloise?” His fingers, digging into my waist and hips, would leave bruises. Power zapped at my veins, sending tingles across my arms, chest, and neck.

I swallowed. “I… I don’t know.”

The line between us was too blurred now. I’d wiped my heel all over it when I’d yelled at him.

His attention snapped to my traitorous lips. He studied them like one would a rare work of art, leaving no detail unmarked. After a long moment, he blew a drawn-out sigh onto my face. Dropped his forehead onto mine. “Liar.”

The accusation terrified me. But he simply stood there, holding me. Though his grip loosened, it was nowhere near enough for me to slip away. There was a stubborn possessiveness in the way each finger flexed reluctantly. As if he feared I would crumble if he let go. Like I would be carried away on swift winds until the end of time.

His eyes fluttered closed. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” I’d never heard him apologize. Not this sincerely.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, hand lifting to cup the side of my neck. His thumb drew a soft pattern across my cheekbone, the coolness of his skin dousing the blazing heat that emanated from my own. His eyes opened again, searching for mine.

For which of his actions he was apologizing for, he didn’t elaborate. It was for me to decide, I supposed. It wasn’t enough. Not truly. But too many things hung in the balance—including lives that weren’t my own. Secrets that weren’t my own.