Chapter 21 #4
The woman flinched at his hate-filled words. I extended a hand to her, offering a soft smile despite the anxiety tightening my gut. It must have scared her, because in a flurry of skirts, she rushed to her feet and fled the terrace.
Harthon watched her leave, his tumultuous gaze slipping to mine before returning to the scum in front of him.
“I do not care about the servant,” he delivered blandly, masking what I knew was a lie. “I care that one of the cabinet members of my new ally is so immature that he’d throw a tantrum over spilled wine.”
Smoke could have drifted out of Matthias’ ears, his skin was such a fiery hue.
“Is this something I need to be concerned about?” Harthon asked, looking to Aric. Again, Matthias attempted to loosen his grip, and again, he failed.
I expected the Aric to defend Matthias. Harthon was challenging the Princeps’ government in front of an audience, and Aric wasn’t submissive. Instead, he sighed, waving a hand. “You know how difficult it is to remove one of them. This one just managed to slither his way in when my father ruled.”
He wasn’t entirely apathetic to the situation, however, because he added, “That said, I would appreciate it if you unhanded him, before you create a problem I need to address.”
Harthon’s attention swung back to Matthias. With a shrug of laughable indifference, he released him.
Matthias huffed, lips curving menacingly as he straightened his tunic. “You—”
“I wouldn’t.” I was surprised the words made it past my tongue.
All those eyes and ears now turned to me.
“You’ve embarrassed yourself enough,” I finished.
And you’ve embarrassed me, too.
No. I’d done that myself, dancing with him the way I had.
And for what? To get under Harthon’s skin? Because his attention had felt nice? I couldn’t have been more of a fool or a failure.
Shame made my skin tight and itchy. The wine-soaked sleeve of my tunic clung to my arm. Harthon was watching me, I knew, but I couldn’t bear to see him. I couldn’t bear to be here.
“Excuse me,” I murmured, and then, like the servant, I fled that awful space. Tears of frustration constricted my throat as I rushed into the hallway, hoping I could find my way back to my room.
Stefano filed in behind me, and my throat grew tighter when I heard Harthon call him off.
Of course, he’d follow me himself.
I kept my hurried pace, in no mood to confront him.
His presence was a looming threat the entire way back to my room, ready to tell me I made a wrong turn, or that I’d done something entirely stupid, or that—guess what?
—Matthias wasn’t the type of man I should be dancing with, and I was a dimwit to give him anything but cool indifference.
Or maybe those were all the things I was berating myself with.
By some grace, I made it to my door. I couldn’t even be proud of how well I’d just navigated the maze of hallways, not when I so desperately wished to crawl out of my skin. It was when I palmed the doorknob that Harthon made his move.
I had a breath to be aware that his big body was now directly behind me before his hand landed on mine.
Every muscle in my body turned to rigid wood.
“Me first,” he said.
Right.
Him first.
So he can clear the room and make sure I’m safe.
Not because he cares for me, but because I’m his tool for accessing the Domus.
Of-fucking-course.
I turned the knob and shoved into the room, my body entering first.
“Etarla,” he growled. He roughly grabbed my shoulder, prepared to throw me aside as he examined the empty space.
I thrust his hand away, kicked the door closed, and all that simmering volatility boiled over. “What?” I demanded, rounding on him. “What’s got you so angry, Harthon?”
He jerked back, then slowly chuckled in disbelief. “The fact that you’re asking me this after you barged into your room without a thought of who could be in here suggests that what you did on that terrace wasn’t just temporary foolishness.”
I exploded.
“I’m not yours,” I roared. “You’ve made it abundantly clear the last few days that you don’t want me to be.” I stepped into him, jabbing a finger in his too-hard chest. “So you’re the foolish one if you think you get to judge my actions or make decisions regarding my safety.”
A fire burned behind his eyes, but I kept on going. “I can train with whomever I want to. I can dance with whomever I want to. I can walk into rooms however I want to.” My voice was a shaking snarl. “I owe you nothing, except the way into the Domus.”
He abruptly stepped into my space, forcing my finger away and my chin up.
His jaw worked, holding back what I knew were angry words.
Or maybe I didn’t give him the chance to let them loose.
I was too far gone to stop, what happened out on that terrace thrusting ever ugly emotion past my lips.
I was done holding them in, done walking on eggshells around this ridiculous situation.
“You told me, back in the Citadel, that you wouldn’t allow yourself to hurt me again.
Then you had the audacity to confirm it on the ship.
You’ve omitted information from me before, but you’ve never been a liar.
” It was my turn to chuckle, though it was hollow. “But that one? That was a fucking lie.”
His hands snapped up, one on my shoulder, the other curling around my neck. Tendons in his neck strained against his skin.
And still—still—he didn’t speak.
I tried to jerk away, but suddenly I was like Matthias, unable to loosen his grip. So I, too, turned to insults.
“No response? No lies to spew?” I taunted, gleefully poking the beast before me.
“You’re just going to hold me here, fuming like you are, because you don’t like what I have to say?
You’re going to continue barging into my room ahead of me, even though it risks the charade of who I am?
You’re going to piss all over the floor when I train with other men? ”
He lowered his face, nose bumping mine, and hissed, “I’m Princeps, Etarla. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
With his grip holding me captive and his head shoving into mine, his presence suffocated me. Frustration burned hot coals in my throat. “You are supposed to be the cold, unshakable Princeps fucking Harthon, yet you’re cracking at the seams.”
Stormy, furious eyes darted between mine, that granite jaw working, fingers flexing along my wrists. He gritted out, “I am cold. And I am unshakable.” His nostrils flared on a hot breath. “Except when it comes to you.” Then his lips crashed into mine.
The kiss was hard and aggressive and as livid as his eyes. The hand on my neck caged me as his tongue invaded my mouth, unforgiving. For a moment, I kissed him back, my brain short-circuiting as my traitorous body took what he gave.
Then I regained common sense and bit his lip. Hard. He jerked away, looking very much like a provoked wolf.
“You do not get to do this,” I said, my voice wobbling uncontrollably—not from tears, but from rage.
“You made me feel things for you, Harthon. You made me feel like that was okay, like you returned those feelings, and then you shoved it back into my face like I’m some toy you can play with. You don’t get to do this to me.”
He offered no response, just fucking stared at me.
“What is your problem?” I shouted.
“You,” he fired back.
My anger stuttered. “W-what?”
“You are my fucking problem, Etarla. You have been my fucking problem since I stole you from Koerlyn’s hands,” he revealed, his voice shaking as much as mine.
“And you’ve only become more of a problem, because I am fucking consumed by you, constantly.
I cannot seem to breathe or rest or think unless you are near or I know you are safe. ”
My lips parted as his confession barreled into me.
“And in several days, we will enter the Domus, and your purpose here will be done. All these weeks we have spent together, these moments I have had with you, will be finished.” Some of the tension drained from his grip.
“You’ll be free to go, and you will return to your life, and I need to let you do that because it is the right thing to do.
It’s what I promised all those weeks ago when I first took you. ”
Before my very eyes, his anger transformed into grim resignation. “You’re my fucking problem, because I am a selfish bastard and I cannot have you.”
For a fleeting moment, I wondered if this was real, or if I was imagining this out of desperation. Shock choked me, every word leaving me stunned, every statement shoving me off a new cliff to freefall. I needed time to digest this, to understand the meaning layered under every confession.
The only response I managed was, “What makes you so certain I would leave?”
The question caught him by surprise. If I was being honest, it surprised me, too.
He shook his head, his throat bobbing. “You would be foolish not to. I see the way you look at me, like I am worthy.” He choked out the word, and there was misery in it. “As Aric reminded us yesterday, I am not, carella. And I will not allow you to think I am.”
Skies…
“I was telling the truth when I said I wouldn’t allow myself to hurt you again.
I’ve been unkind, but to bring you true pain would be to trap you in a life you’d despise.
” He swallowed again, easing back, fingers slipping away.
“You will bring me into the Domus, and you will leave to build a life that makes you happy.”
I’d never thought about my life after entering the Domus. There were too many issues to deal with in the present moment. My entire world was here and now, overwhelmed by the Domus, and Harthon, and trying to stay alive. To think about the future was too presumptuous.
But now I was thinking about it, and it hit me with the force of a charging stallion that there was no life for me to return to.
I couldn’t go back to how things were—living for survival, ignorant of the world. Living in Second Territory, entirely removed, pretending I’d never met this force of a man. Pretending like he hadn’t changed my life irrevocably, like parts of me didn’t belong to him.
A gaping cavern opened within me at the mere thought.
“That’s why you’ve been such a temperamental ass,” I breathed.
“No, Etarla. I am an ass.”
“You are,” I agreed. “But not in the deliberate way you’ve been.” Lifting a hand, I traced the line of his jaw to the corner of his supple lips.
His body was a statue. One that was trembling with the effort to remain that way.
I said the only thing I was certain of regarding my future. “Your commitment to protecting others is part of what makes you so good. But this time, it was misguided, because the life that will make me happy does not involve leaving, Harthon.”
Those dark, gold-flecked irises blazed. “You need to think about that.”
This wasn’t him trying to control my life. This was self-doubt and fear from a man whose past would have crumbled and corrupted any other person.
I dragged my thumb across his bottom lip. “I have thought about it. And the idea of returning to my old life makes my stomach bottom out, and I think that’s because my world now exists within yours,” I confessed.
His lips parted. I felt his chin shift into my touch, his stubborn resistance beginning to crack.
My thumb paused. “You say you are not worthy of me, but sometimes I fear it is the other way around.”
He gripped my fingers at his mouth. “You are more than worthy.”
“Then show me.”