Chapter 35
Thirty-Five
Blair
Maybe I should be more wary of what Damien is going to tell me.
It’s not every day that someone offers to divulge all their deepest, darkest, most closely held secrets, after all. I could see the torment in his face, feel the tremors that wracked his body as he tried to warn me off, but somehow, I’m not afraid.
On the contrary, the knowledge that he trusts and cares about me enough to offer the whole truth seems to have healed something I hadn’t realized was broken.
Damien sits on the end of my bed, waiting as I strip off my swimsuit and change into a fleece-lined sweatsuit.
Then, we bundle up in our outerwear and leave Thornhurst, crossing the dark grounds to his cottage.
He offers me a sad, resigned sort of smile when we get inside, as though preparing himself for the worst.
“Why don’t you put some logs on the fire?” I suggest as we strip back out of our winter things, offering him a soft, reassuring smile. “I’ll make tea.”
Damien agrees quietly, and we separate to opposite ends of the cottage, moving through the ordinary, domestic routine of our respective chores. A shadow hovers over us both as we do, growing more and more oppressive and difficult to ignore.
Finally, I set two steaming mugs on the kitchen table, just as Damien steps out of the bathroom in his own sweatpants. He doesn’t smile as he meets my gaze, moving across the cottage to sink down in one of the old wooden chairs.
I’ve never had someone care enough to make themselves vulnerable to me.
“When did you meet your brothers?” I ask because I can see in the sad, helpless way he’s looking at me that Damien doesn’t have the first clue how to begin. “Did you always know them, or…”
Leaning back, he rests his hands on the tabletop between us, offering me a slight, grateful smile. “I was eleven and had just moved in with Araminta. It wasn’t an easy transition, as you can imagine. My father must have seen I needed company and sent Ben and Leo to stay with us for the summer.”
“That must have been...” I let out a ghost of a laugh as words fail me. “A lot?”
“In some ways,” he agrees. “I was so sure they would despise me—living, breathing proof of our father’s infidelity. They didn’t, though. Like me, they were curious, and the three of us bonded quickly, united against a common enemy: Aunt Araminta.”
Something deep in my chest tugs as I see the fondness in his expression as he talks about them. “You love them very much,” I deduce.
“Yes.” His voice breaks on the word. “If any good at all came from my mother’s death, it was getting to know my brothers. They accepted me without question, and were there for me during the loneliest, hardest part of my life.”
I sense there is more to the story and stay quiet, ignoring the burning behind my eyes at the thought of the boy Damien going through so much.
He seems to be forcing himself to continue, and when he speaks again, his voice has grown tighter.
“Ben always had a very strong sense of justice. It bothered him when things weren’t fair, especially things that could be helped.
From the time we were young teenagers, he felt strongly that our father should acknowledge me as his son, regardless of the inevitable scandal.
For a time, I believed I wanted that, too, but as we grew, I began to truly understand what it meant to be part of the royal family.
You”—his lips slant unhappily—“unfortunately, may have had a similar experience.”
My heart aches as the meaning of his words sinks in.
Yes. I think I did.
Reaching across the corner of the table, I cover his hand with mine, gazing at him. “I don’t blame you for not wanting this, Damien.” God, I was born into this, and at twenty-six years old, I’m only beginning to realize I don’t want it.
He doesn’t meet my eyes, though, staring at our hands.
Silence stretches on, and my entire chest aches at the self-loathing in his expression when Damien finally lifts his gaze to meet mine once again.
“The thing is, my brothers didn’t want it either.
They’ve struggled under the burden of it every day, but they didn’t have a choice, Blair. They never had a choice.”
“Neither did you!” I protest. “You didn’t ask—”
“I did,” he interrupts, his voice sharp for the first time since we started this conversation.
“I did have a choice. When my father learned he was dying, he told me it was time and that he wanted to acknowledge me as his son publicly.” He lets out a rocky breath and pulls his hand from beneath mine to scrub over his face, obviously tormented.
I stare, horror clogging my throat, as Damien drops his hands to his lap and continues on bitterly.
“I told him no. It was… I didn’t want it.
None of us did, of course, but my joining the line of succession wouldn’t have changed anything.
Arthur was going to be king. Arthur was always going to be king.
I didn’t see a reason to push the family into scandal during that time and upend my life, when it wouldn’t make a difference.
” Cursing, he shakes his head. “It would have changed something, though. I’m ten months older than Ben. ”
My stomach sinks as the meaning of what he’s told me truly sinks in.
King Arthur died, and if Damien had accepted his father’s offer, those ten months would have made the difference between the crown landing on his head instead of his brother’s.
Finally losing the battle to stop myself from crying, a tear escapes from the corner of my eye, flowing over the side of my cheek as I gaze at him. “Damien,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “You couldn’t have known. It wasn’t your fault.”
He shakes his head as a tremor wracks his body.
“I was there, sitting beside him, when we got the news that the plane had been found, and Ben realized he was king. All I could think was that I’d made my choice nearly a decade before and took the easy way out.
Watching him struggle through those first months…
” Damien’s voice breaks. “I’ve regretted it every day since, but there was nothing I could do. Nothing.”
“Damien,” I whisper. “Look at me. Please.”
It seems to take an inordinate amount of willpower for him to raise those endlessly dark eyes to meet mine. I reach out, resting my hand on the table, palm up, and to my relief, he takes it.
“You didn’t know. Nobody could have known. You didn’t ask for any of this, and if your brother holds you responsible for protecting yourself when—”
“Ben doesn’t know.”
My lips part. “What? Why?”
“Because it was my burden, not his.”
“Or,” I counter, staring imploringly at him. “Your brother loves you just as much as you love him, and you know he will forgive you.”
Damien exhales sharply. “It isn’t that simple. His isn’t the only forgiveness I need. Not anymore.”
Oh. Swallowing past the lump lodged in my throat, I tighten my hold on his hand. “The baby?”
He nods curtly, and for the first time, I see his eyes shining.
“I could almost stand it when it was only Ben whose life I ruined. I could support him, be there for him… The baby, though…” A choked noise breaks from between his lips.
“I couldn’t stay and see her every day, playing the devoted uncle, when I’d taken her future before she was even born.
Knowing she would shoulder the weight of the duty I shirked. ”
Slowly, I rise from my chair, reaching out as I step to his side of the table.
Part of me is expecting him to push me away, to reject any sort of comfort, but he doesn’t.
Folding his thick arms around my middle, Damien drags me to stand between his legs and presses his face into my stomach.
I feel him break. “You didn’t know,” I whisper over and over again, pressing my lips to his hair and struggling to be strong for him, to keep myself from breaking down, too, as silent sobs wrack Damien’s body.
God, he’s carried the weight of this for so long, all by himself.
I can’t imagine the courage it took to tell me this, but despite his fears, I don’t think any less of him. Not even a little.
On the contrary, as I hold him, tears spilling silently down the sides of my face, a surreal sense of clarity seems to settle over me.
Of course I would have fallen for him.
Of course I would.
How could I—who has only known the coldest, most conditional kinds of love—not have been drawn to this brave, loyal man, who loves his family so fiercely that even inadvertently hurting them has all but destroyed him?
My eyelashes are still damp when, after his body has stopped shaking and his breathing has evened, Damien finally loosens his hold on me and sits back.
I don’t move, lifting my hands to his face and wiping away the lingering wetness.
“You are the best man I’ve ever known,” I whisper, unperturbed by the tremor which wracks his body at my words.
“This doesn’t change anything for me, but I’m not the only person who needs to hear it. ”
His hands tighten on my waist, but I’m encouraged when he doesn’t look away. “I know,” Damien admits at last, his voice hollow. “They deserve the truth.”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” I assure him, because if I’m exhausted from the day’s events, I can only imagine how he’s feeling.
Damien allows me to pull him to his feet, his eyes never leaving my face as I tug him backward toward the bed, leaving our cold, untouched tea abandoned on the table.
The corners of his lips pull into a wry smile as I pull his shoulders down, guiding him to sit on the edge of the mattress.
I stand back, watching as he pulls his sweatshirt off and drops it to the floor beside the bed.
“You didn’t even fold it?” I tease gently but swat his hand as he reaches automatically for the fallen garment. “Oh my god, I was joking, Damien. Leave it. You can be a lazy slob, just this once.”
Chuckling quietly, he allows me to push him back into the pillows. “Habits are important. If you let things slide, you might find yourself being managed by a woman half your age who once called you Satan.”
I purse my lips as I begin removing my own clothes, making a point to drop my sweatshirt on the floor beside his. “I’m not half your age. And, besides, if I were fifty and you were sixty-six, nobody would care.”
“Hmmm,” Damien hums, his eyes already closed as he shifts to the side, holding out his arm in invitation.
I join him, pulling the blankets over us both as I settle against him, loving the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath my ear.
“You seem to have put some thought into this, but I suppose only time will tell,” he murmurs.
“We’ll have to take a general survey when you’re fifty, and I’m sixty-six. ”
For some reason, the words make me want to weep all over again, and I turn my head, pressing my lips to his chest. “Or,” I suggest, tilting my chin to stare at his shadowy profile, “you could just admit I’m right.”
Damien doesn’t open his eyes, but I see his dimples deepen, as if he’s holding back a smile. “Where’s the fun in that, princess?”