Page 43 of Intrigue

“You’ll never get over me, Selene,” he murmurs again.

And this time—

I don’t argue.

Chapter 13

Alessandro

Five years ago.

The stars never change.

No matter how many nights we spend out here, sneaking past guards, slipping through dark corners, standing in the cold with our backs against the courtyard wall—there they are. Unmoved. Indifferent. A map of burning constellations scattered across the sky, completely unaware of the way my world has been spinning off its fucking axis for years.

Because of her.

Selene Marconi.

As is our usual routine, she is lying on the old wooden bench, one arm resting over her forehead, the other loosely draped over her stomach, the thin silk of her summer dress pulling over her legs. Her anklet catches the moonlight, winking at me like it knows my secrets, like it’s daring me to acknowledge what I’ve spent five years trying to ignore.

I want her.

I’ve always wanted her.

And God help me, I love her.

But I can’t bring myself to have her.

Not when she deserves something better than the stolen moments we’ve carved into the night. Not when the places we meet— grimy stairwells, abandoned staff rooms, starlit corners like this —are nowhere near good enough for more than what we do.

Not when I can still give her a way out.

She deserves a better man. A man who can give her love, not just a whispered promise between shadows. And yet, I can’t stop asking to see her. Can’t stop looking at her. Can’t stop feeling like she’s the only thing tethering me to something human when my hands are stained with the kind of work that makes me forget what kindness even looks like.

She hums beside me, shifting slightly, bare feet curling over the edge of the bench. “You’re staring.”

I exhale a quiet laugh, tipping my head back. “You say that like it’s a crime.”

She peeks at me from under her arm, a slow curve tugging at her lips. “It is. Haven’t you read the rule book?” Her voice drops, mockingly, “Alessandro Vescovi, trained soldier, future executioner, certified heartless bastard. No unnecessary distractions allowed.”

I roll my eyes. “Heartless? You wound me, little Marconi.”

“Please.” She sits up, stretching lazily, her dress slipping dangerously low at the shoulder. “You wouldn’t know emotions if they stabbed you in the chest.”

I let my eyes move downward, taking in the tease of bare skin, before dragging my eyes back to hers with an infuriating smirk. “And yet, somehow, I manage to endure.”

Something shines across her face, something deep and knowing, because she does know. Knows me better than anyone ever has. She shifts again, this time tucking her legs under her, watching me with those storm-gray eyes, those damn eyes that have owned me from the start.

Then she tilts her head like she is debating how much trouble she wants to cause tonight. “Here you are,” she echoes, softer now. “Why do you keep coming back, Sandro?”

Lie.

No doubt it’ll be easier to. To just smile and deflect like I always do, say something careless, pretend like she doesn’t makemy blood run hot and my heart stumble in my chest like a fool learning to walk.

But I don’t.

“Because I don’t know how to stop.”