Chapter Forty-Seven #2
A pained groan rises from his chest. “How can I explain? I felt trapped—like a caged animal—cycling through anger and frustration, ruminating for hours. I was vacillating between jealousy, envy, and greed. I felt so possessive over you; it concerned me.” He stares back with the same intensity as the words he speaks, and I cannot hide my trembling.
“I tried to calm myself. But I was unable to think logically—all because I knew you were unconscious on another sorcerer’s lap.” His head drops, and I lean into the pull of him, nearly bringing the center of our foreheads together as our heavy breaths mingle between us.
“I was incapable of gaining control of my emotions—something I consistently fail to do when it comes to you.” His voice is pained with the burden of being beholden to the one who helped ease him back from the brink.
Of course, he feels overwhelmed in my presence. How could his emotions be anything but contorted when he has been forced time and time again to feel indebted to me?
My only hope for a resolution is that I have helped him to recognize hard truths before this, meaning he must possess some understanding based on what he described to the Emperor.
The likelihood that he will come to understand what I know to be true hinges on our past discussions on the need to seek the truth, something we both recognized as being hidden behind the lies of those in power, even when our own minds perpetuate it.
I can do this. I can help him recognize how his feelings for me are not what he thinks, but rather another example of his shining integrity.
I will help him understand that every moment he has acted in my protection, from how his smile transforms the moment it finds me, to the way our eyes always seem to find the other’s—all can be explained if he will just listen.
“Thank you for your honesty.” I step back and away. “And I am sorry.”
His brow furrows while he reaches as if to grab hold of me before making a tight fist in the growing distance.
“I am sorry the Emperor sent me to rehabilitate you in such a way that you have been made to feel beholden to me.” His lips part, but I press on. “And I am most sorry you were made to take the vow to protect me now.”
“Is that what you think?” he asks, consuming every bit of space I just created, as my eyes trace the deep-set lines in the center of his brow, then the desperation whirling behind his irises.
He sends me his pent-up anger and frustration, mixed with a vast sense of confusion spinning in a whirling vortex inside his chest. “I’m not—”
Footsteps draw near on the road behind us, and a chill rolls up my spine. Because I would know those footsteps anywhere. Anytime.
We share a look of warning, then step farther apart as I swipe my hands down the front of my dress, as if hiding some observable residue which could expose the content of our argument.
“There you are,” the Emperor says, raking his gaze up and down my body. “What are you doing hiding in the trees, my little witch?”
“Discussing safety protocol for entering Annovia, Your Majesty,” Varic says with a bow.
“You can discuss that out here, in the open.” He narrows his eyes at Varic before turning to address me.
“Luncheon has been prepared, Your Majesty,” an Imperial servant announces from the road.
“Come,” he commands, to which Varic and I bow until the only sound is that of our breath, once the Emperor and his party gradually disappear from view.
I swivel to catch Varic while he’s still himself—before he shifts into his role as the leader of my Guard—but I fail. Tears spring anew as I try to gain his attention a moment too late. He turns and gestures for the rest of my Guards to follow, and I swallow all the words lodged in my throat.
“So, are Mom and Dad still fighting, or have you two made up?” Lars asks, and Malin raises a hand at him.
Red streaks appear by Lars’ side as he uses his speed to snatch Malin’s wrist before it smacks him in the chest. Then my cheeks wobble when Lars plants a quick kiss on his knuckles. Malin shakes his head, though a small smile plays on one side of his face before returning to his typical stoicism.
“They were never fighting to begin with,” Fray says. “Remind me how you were appointed to protect the Empire’s greatest asset when you are unable to recognize something so glaringly obvious?”
“He wasn’t riding in the carriage with us,” Malin explains. “Meaning he did not hear her request a nap, nor did he see how we prepared her to do so, leaving him without the proper context to better understand their conflict.”
“What Malin said,” Lars snaps, and Varic huffs out a breath, silencing us as we trudge out from the trees to make our way up the dirt road.
No words are necessary for Varic to communicate the tumultuous energy churning inside his body.
The expression on his face is strained every time I turn and study him, while a sense of desperation emanates from somewhere behind his eyes whenever he sweeps his gaze around in assessment, silently screaming for relief from the tension.