CHAPTER 26 - THE TRUTH HE ASKED FOR
The name drops into the quiet room like a blade falling onto stone.
Isaac.
For a moment, everything inside me stops.
The warmth from the wine vanishes from my chest so quickly it feels like the air has been pulled from the room. My fingers tighten instinctively around the delicate stem of the glass in my hand, and the thin crystal creaks faintly beneath the pressure of my grip.
Across from me, Achilles does not move.
He is still seated on the floor where he lowered himself earlier, his broad back resting against the edge of the couch. One knee is bent loosely, the other leg stretched slightly forward across the carpet, but there is nothing relaxed about the way he is watching me.
His eyes are fixed on my face.
Not blinking.
Not soft.
Just watching.
Watching the way the color drains from my skin. Watching the way my breath becomes shallow and uneven. Watching the way my fingers clutch the glass too tightly.
He notices everything.
The silence stretches.
Heavy.
Waiting.
"I—"
The word escapes before I can stop it, but it collapses before it becomes anything meaningful. My throat tightens, and I swallow quickly, trying to push the words out before my fear betrays me any further.
"I... he..."
The sentence dissolves into nothing.
Achilles tilts his head slightly, studying me like someone examining a puzzle piece that doesn't quite fit.
The movement is small, almost lazy, but something changes in his expression. Something sharp slides quietly into place behind his eyes.
"Careful."
His voice is soft.
So soft that the word almost sounds kind.
But there is nothing kind about it.
"Do not even consider lying."
The warning slips slowly through the room, cold and deliberate.
My stomach twists painfully.
"I wasn't going to—"
"Good."
He reaches for his wine again, lifting the glass in a slow, casual motion. The dark red liquid shifts along the glass as he tilts it, catching the candlelight like thick blood.
He drinks slowly.
And the entire time his eyes remain locked on mine.
Because he already knows.
He knows exactly what that hesitation meant.
"I asked you a simple question."
His voice remains level.
Measured.
But the patience inside it feels dangerous.
"Who..."
He lowers the glass and places it carefully on the floor beside him.
"...is..."
His gaze sharpens slightly.
"...Isaac."
My heart pounds violently against my ribs.
"He's..."
The word sticks in my throat like something sharp.
"...an old friend."
The reaction is immediate.
Achilles laughs.
The sound is short and dry, echoing faintly against the stone walls of the chamber.
"An old friend."
He repeats the words slowly, tasting them like something sour.
Then the smile disappears.
"I will give you one more opportunity."
His eyes lock onto mine, and something inside the room grows very still.
"My patience with you is generous."
He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms loosely against his knees.
"But it does have limits."
My throat tightens.
"And when those limits are reached..."
His gaze flicks briefly toward the sword resting against the table nearby.
"...I stop asking questions politely."
The threat is not loud.
It is not dramatic.
It is simply stated.
Which makes it worse.
"I would rather not have to extract answers from my wife."
His voice lowers, almost gentle.
"But if necessary..."
He shrugs faintly.
"...I will."
My gaze drops to the carpet beneath my hands.
Shame burns through my chest now.
There is no point hiding the truth.
Not from him.
"He..."
My fingers twist into the fabric of my skirt.
"...he was my lover."
The confession leaves my mouth quietly.
Barely louder than a breath.
For several seconds Achilles does not react.
Then slowly—
He smiles.
Not kindly.
Not warmly.
Just amused.
"Was that so difficult?"
He leans back again, resting his head against the couch behind him as though the tension that filled the room a moment ago has suddenly bored him.
"You see?"
His tone almost sounds pleased.
"That was very easy."
He gestures faintly with one hand.
"We are adults."
"We have pasts."
His eyes drift toward the tall windows, where the fading afternoon light spills across the marble floor.
"We are not children pretending innocence."
Then he looks back at me.
"As long as your past remains exactly where it belongs..."
His voice softens slightly.
"...in the past."
He reaches for his glass again.
"...we will not have a problem."
A thin thread of relief flickers through my chest.
Fragile.
Temporary.
Because the moment he speaks again, it disappears.
"However."
The word lands heavily in the quiet room.
Achilles leans forward once more.
His elbows rest on his knees, his hands loosely clasped together.
And the faint curve of his mouth sharpens into something darker.
"If I ever become suspicious..."
His voice lowers.
"...that this man exists anywhere near your present."
My stomach twists painfully.
"I will find him."
The statement is simple.
Calm.
"And when I do..."
His eyes rise slowly to meet mine.
"...I will bring him here."
The air feels colder suddenly.
"You will sit beside me."
He gestures lightly toward the carpet where I am already seated.
"Right where you are now."
My breath becomes shallow.
"You will watch."
His voice remains conversational.
"I will keep him alive."
He lifts one finger slowly.
"Just long enough."
Another finger rises.
"I will break every bone in his body."
His gaze never leaves mine.
"One at a time."
The images begin forming whether I want them to or not.
"I will begin with the fingers."
He taps his own hand thoughtfully.
"They make very interesting sounds."
My stomach churns.
"Then the wrists."
"Then the elbows."
His tone remains disturbingly calm.
"The ribs take longer."
He tilts his head slightly.
"You have to avoid the lungs if you want them to keep breathing."
My throat tightens.
"I will remove the skin slowly."
His eyes darken faintly.
"Piece by piece."
The horror of the words settles heavily in the air.
"Until he no longer resembles a man."
The room is silent except for the faint crackling of candle flames.
"You will watch the entire process."
His voice softens again.
"And when he finally begs for death..."
He pauses.
"I will deny it."
My breath catches.
"The only mercy he will receive..."
He taps the dagger resting beside him.
"...will come from you."
The meaning lands slowly.
"You will take the blade."
His eyes hold mine steadily.
"And you will place it in his heart."
The image sinks deep into my chest.
"You will watch the life leave his eyes."
His voice lowers to almost a whisper.
"And you will live the rest of your very short, very miserable life knowing..."
His smile fades slowly.
"...that it was your hand that killed him."
Silence fills the room.
Then Achilles leans back again.
The tension disappears from his posture as though the entire speech had been nothing more than a passing thought.
"As long as he remains a memory..."
He lifts the wine to his lips once more.
"...we will never have this problem."
I nod slowly.
"I understand."
Inside my mind, another realization forms quietly. I am not afraid of what Achilles might do to Isaac. Isaac would have done worse to me.
If I had stayed.
Then suddenly he exhales softly.
"Well."
He lifts his glass again.
"At least there is one advantage to his existing."
I blink.
"huh What?"
"I do not have to teach you about sex."
The sudden shift makes me stare at him.
He shakes his head slowly.
"I had to do that once."
His mouth twists faintly with remembered irritation.
"And I am still traumatized by the experience."
"You're joking."
"I am not."
He takes another slow sip of wine.
"Explaining anatomy to someone who faints at the word bed is exhausting."
He gestures lazily toward me.
"So congratulations."
His voice returns to that strange dry humor.
"You have spared me the trouble."