Page 61 of Lady of the Drowned Empire

“No!” he yelled.

“I saw you yesterday! The way you were kissing her! You can’t pretend with me. Because I know. I could see it. That wasn’t the first time you’d kissed in three years.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “No.”

I felt like an idiot. What the hell had I been playing at for two years? “When?”

“Let me come in, please. Let me talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” I cried. “My father is dead! And you—”

“My cousin’s dead! And I had to watch you kill her!”

My hand flew to my forehead. I opened my mouth, but no words came. What could I say? He was right. I had killed her. In more ways than one. And who was I kidding? I was no better than him. I’d been in another man’s bed last night, in his arms. His lips on mine, on my body. And it hadn’t been the first time. The same night he’d been with Naria, I had been with Rhyan. Three years ago, even, on solstice.

I released the doorknob, letting the door fly open. His escort moved forward from the periphery. Bellamy drew closer, and two more mages shifted position. Their silver sigils glowed in the hall’s torchlight.

“Only you,” I said, eyeing the men behind Tristan.

Tristan signaled for his mages to stand down and stepped forward. I backed away just enough to allow him inside then slammed the door shut.

His arms were around me a second later, his face buried into my neck, his eyes wet with tears. I expected his embrace to feel natural, familiar. I expected my body to fall right into its old patterns of wanting to please him, to make things better, to seek out the breadcrumbs of comfort I’d allowed myself from him over the years.

But I felt nothing. I didn’t want him to touch me. Everything about him wasn’t Rhyan, and that made everything about him feel wrong.

“I still love you,” he said.

My eyes watered. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not enough.”

He sucked in a breath, his arms stiff around me. “Would it be enough if I turned myself forsworn?”

I pushed away from him. “Tristan.” My eyes widened, my body seizing up, ready to fight, to protect Rhyan. “What?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” His voice had gone low, turning into something dark and dangerous. “I…I look at you, and I want to kiss you so fucking badly. I see the girl I loved, the girl who was my friend for my entire life. And I look at you, and I see you killing Haleika.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, practically hissing in anger. “And I want to fall at your feet and say I’m sorry. That I don’t love Naria. That I had no choice. That this was decided for me. Like so much fucking has been. And I want to fight for you—and forswear myself.” He pushed his fingers through his hair. “And then I see every instance of the way he looked at you. And how you looked back at him.”

My heart pounded too fast. “Him?” My chest was rising and falling.

“Rhyan,” Tristan snarled, stepping forward.

My mouth fell open, desperate to deny it.

Tristan stepped forward again, crowding me, the veins in his arms popping. “I saw it, Lyr.” His neck reddened, his head cocked to the side, and his fingers danced on his belt over his scabbard. “I saw the way his eyes followed you. The lust. The desire. He wanted you—three years ago. And the moment you picked him up off the street—that look was still there.” His voice shook. “I could see it. And I wanted to kill him for it. But then I looked at you, and I saw….” He gritted his teeth. “I saw you wouldn’t admit it even to yourself.”

I blinked back tears, gasping. “Admit what?”

His nostrils flared as he stared down at me. “Admit that you were looking at him the same way.”

I couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be happening. “Tristan.” I shook my head. “I…I loved you.” Oh Gods, I was going to be sick.

“Maybe,” he sneered, staring up at the ceiling, “maybe I did it to get back at you.”

I reached for his blue robes, tugged him toward me. “For a look?” I shouted, half enraged and half praying he didn’t suspect anything more. “You did all this, betrayed me, for a fucking look?”

He stepped out of my hold, pushing his robes over his shoulder and circling behind my couch. His hands slammed down on the edge. “For a look you never once had for me. For a look you never gave me in two years.”

“So that’s it?” I asked, circling toward him. “I didn’t look at you the right way, so I deserved to be humiliated?”

“You know it’s Godsdamned more than that. You know I know you better than that. You know I knew what it meant.”