CHAPTER SEVEN #2
“I’ll have someone teach you to swim. Maybe Vera. Oh, or Cyrilla, though she may just toss you in the water and call it a day.” He pondered this. “Perhaps not Brennen. He would only be able to teach you the doggy paddle. Not ideal.”
She couldn’t acknowledge the humour in his tone, not as she studied the ground and the vulnerability sank in, the reveal of her exploitable weakness, especially with the rumours about her.
“No, I—I don’t want anyone to know,” she stated firmly.
“You just told me.”
“You coerced it out of me.”
The King sighed, the sound flustered yet bloated with words he restrained. Smart man. It seemed he had some self-preservation after all.
“Fine. I’ll teach you. Then it’s between us.” He raised an eyebrow. “Fair?”
Emmery groaned and buried her face in her hands. “That’s worse.”
“How so?”
In so many ways she couldn’t even begin to uncover. “Forget it. I’ll do it on my own.”
A long silence stretched between them as she clasped her hands together then braced her forehead against her fists.
This whole situation was one composed of nightmares.
She wasn’t even sure she could teach herself something like that, but the discomfort of being around Destonne and that intense way he looked at her, that twinkle in his dark stare—
“I’m teaching you,” he said. “It’s final.”
Their eyes met briefly before she looked away. The rumbling embarrassment grew to a violent quake. This fear, and the humiliation of not knowing how to do something as basic as swimming—it was all so mortifying.
“Fine,” she agreed, the word snapped out like a fist. Her heart sank but she knew she had little choice. If she wanted to retrieve her memories, this was what she had to do. And those memories … well, they could change everything.
She nodded to the coin in his hand. “It’s my turn to ask a question.”
With his shirtsleeve, Destonne dabbed a stray rivulet of blood that trickled from his crown, then shoved his sleeve back up to his elbow.
Too many questions simmered within her. What was the situation with the children in the mines?
Why were his people starving? What was he planning to do about it, and why was he letting the Council push him around?
Why did he snap Guthrie’s neck, and what was he even doing with those children that day in Malheim?
“I think that’s enough for tonight.” He stood, pocketed the coin, and snagged the wine bottle out of her hand.
Emmery leapt to her feet and lunged, but he easily held it out of reach.
She growled, actually growled, her anger peaking and khaos flame pressing against the restraints once again.
The second these marks came off she would melt his damn face off.
“That’s unfair!” she protested. “You get your answer and you’re done? I don’t get to ask any questions?”
“That’s not true. I answered one of yours.”
“Hardly! That was barely even a question. It was the equivalent of asking a child the colour of the sky!” Emmery stepped away.
She refused to give him any more satisfaction than this display already had.
Because by the sparkle in his eyes it was evident he relished in her torment.
Bathed in her fury like some fucked up forbidden hot spring or raging geyser.
“I didn’t know you found me so fascinating, angel. There will be other times for your burning questions. In fact, tomorrow will be one of them. So you had better get your beauty rest and sober up for your big day.”
A lump the size of a peach pit lodged in her throat. “Big day?”
“It’s your first lesson.” The King’s lips twitched.
“Don’t believe the myth that bribing your teacher is in bad taste.
Bribes are highly encouraged and remember, first impressions are important.
I respond positively to grovelling. But don’t let me put ideas in your head. I want to be pleasantly surprised.”
Her stomach sank and she used every bit of her self-restraint not to clock him in the jaw. Because this was one thing she couldn’t avoid, one thing she’d put off facing for too long, and if she could overcome this, she could do anything.
But there was something else she’d been avoiding: a problem staring her in the face. Maybe dealing with it first would provide some sort of chain effect and give her the momentum to shatter the glass walls that had become her cage.
As she looked up at Destonne, a sigh from deep inside her soul pushed past her lips. “There’s something I need to do first. Can you take me somewhere tomorrow?”
He raised a brow, but she provided no further explanation.
“I’ll call on you in the morning.” He gave her a brief dip of his head and sauntered to the door.
The shadows seemingly bent for him, drawn by the same dark magnetism he held over the world.
Destonne lingered in the doorway, drumming his fingers for a tense moment, before he caught her gaze over his shoulder. “One more thing.”
Emmery raised a brow at him.
“Don’t be weak. It doesn’t look good on you. You’re more than that.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came. They stared at each other across the garden, his back to her and face angled in her direction. His heated words matched his stare and Emmery merely gaped.
“Don’t let your fears win. And don’t ever let your past make you feel inferior. Make it pay for feeding you doubt.”
Her cheeks heated as he disappeared inside the castle.
How dare he? She was not weak.
But Destonne had done one thing: successfully transformed her despair into anger. And anger she could deal with. Could come back from. And it lit something inside her.
She retrieved the empty bottle behind her then fidgeted with the label until it peeled away bit by bit. As Emmery caught her reflection in the glass, a realization sank in. Seeped into her skin like a heavy balm. She mulled over his words and picked at the paper until it fell to shreds at her feet.
When right and wrong fail, the truth does not falter.
But her truth had shifted, morphed, and now, though she despised it with every morsel of her raging heart, the truth was that she needed Destonne O’Daire.