2 Theodore #3
“Every decision, every action I have taken, has been for the kingdom and the crown, yes, but at its root, it has been for you.” His gaze locked with mine and he spoke with precise conviction.
“And there is no action too vile or ignoble—there is nothing I would not do to keep you and this kingdom together.”
My roiling anger turned at once to icy fear.
Eftan was ruthless, calculating, determined.
He located and extricated a person’s weakness with a healer’s precision.
And he viewed Imogen as more than just my weakness.
To him, she was a disease. A blight. Suddenly, the thought of him letting her leave Varya—as he’d said he’d done—felt impossible.
Not when letting her do so meant she could possibly return.
“What did you do to her?”
He went still. He did not blink. Did not breathe.
I stepped nearer, glaring down at him. “If you harmed her—”
“I told you the truth,” he said. “Shockingly, she did what was right. Left of her own accord. Had enough sense to let you marry and leave you be.”
He straightened his spine and tipped back his chin.
Resoluteness hung about him as he made for the cabin door.
Slowly, he bent and retrieved the sack that lay before it and took his time returning, heeled shoes clacking languidly over the floorboards.
When he reached the end of the table, he tossed the sack upon it, careful not to hit the wine flagon and stack of contracts.
“Do you remember the last words she spoke to you, Theodore?”
The air knocked from my chest. I remembered her last words. They had left a festering gash in their wake. I stared blankly at the sack, unable to pull in a full breath.
Eftan spoke in a light, mocking tone. “‘See to your duty and let me see to mine.’” I could feel the weight of his attention. When I remained still and quiet, he pointed to the sack. “Go on. Have a look.”
“I have no interest in entertaining your manipulations, Eftan.”
“Very well, I will do it for you.” Like a viper attacking, he snatched the sack and ripped open the tie, then poured a heap of iridescent black silk onto the table. Afternoon sunlight snagged on the gentle blues and greens and purples that swirled over its surface.
The binding gown I’d gifted to Imogen.
Something rocked through me. Hot, then cold. Pain, then numbness. And yet I made myself like stone.
Eftan took the gown and laid it out over the table with care. “It was found discarded on the Hercule. The ship that Mela had reserved for her. The one whose captain she murdered. It is no surprise to any of us that the ring you gifted her was nowhere to be found.”
It took every ounce of strength I had to remain impassive.
Eftan gave a huff, eyes darting over me, searching, studying.
“You can try as you might to convince me of your indifference, but I know what a man in love looks like.” He turned on his heel.
When he reached the door, he stopped. “If you will not listen to me, then perhaps you will listen to her. She did not want you and there is your proof.” His gaze cut to the dress, then back to me.
“Whatever symbol that gown was meant to represent—hope or a promise, I’d guess.
Knowing you.” He chuckled. “She rejected it, and she left. I praise the memory of the Great Gods that she did.” He opened the stateroom door.
“Marry Halla properly. Bed her. Do your Godsdamned job, Theodore.”
The door slammed behind him and I stared blankly at the gown, fingers twitching at my side, until finally, I tried to smooth one of the deep creases in the skirt. “Fuck.”
I poured more wine. Took a deep gulp. I traced the ebony stitching on the neckline, my vines and her wings woven together. I couldn’t escape the ghostly refrain of Imogen’s voice, playing cruelly through my mind.
See to your duty and let me see to mine.
Another gulp of wine. Another attempt to quiet the memory of her, but she was strung through my body like sinew.
However desperately I tried to understand why she’d severed our bond and left, to understand all that she had to do, I still couldn’t help but feel like I was now missing a vital part of my body—a limb, an organ—and she’d been the one who had ripped it from me.
The last gulp of wine didn’t keep my anger from swelling. I took the dress into my fist and made my way toward the armoire in the cabin wall.
Do your Godsdamned job.
I wrenched open the door, but as I balled the silk in my hands, I stopped.
A golden ray of light caught on long, waving brown strands of hair. I lifted it closer, inspecting the sparkling black button that had snared them.
Imogen had worn it.
She’d worn it long enough for it to steal a piece of her and hold it tight.
I let the strands slide between my fingers once before I forced myself to rest the gown upon the shelf.
Releasing it felt like peeling my own skin from my body, but I told myself this changed little.
She’d still left me. I still had no choice but to marry.
My ears rang with Eftan’s threats. My duty felt like an unbearable weight.
For a king, one greater than the Great God himself, I marveled at how utterly powerless I’d become.