Chapter Eight #2
Suddenly, he whirls back towards me and grabs my wrist, pulling me into his space.
“Do you really believe that?” His voice cracks on the question, raw and stripped bare.
The words come out barely above a whisper, each syllable weighted with a pain so visceral it seems to hollow him out from the inside.
His jaw works, muscles tensing as if he’s physically holding back something that threatens to break free.
“It’s you who told me that, if you remember. And why should I think any different? What have you said or done that’s made me doubt it? The cold indifference, the cruel words, the fact that you allowed your so-called friend to touch me like that and even seemed to enjoy it?”
“I’m nothing like my father, Alaya.”
He dips his head. When he looks back up at me, his eyes burn from beneath his sweaty fringe.
“He’s a vicious, power-hungry animal.” The words come out rough, scraped raw. “Everything he touches turns to shit. Including those he feigns to love.”
His chest rises and falls, unsteady.
“You think I escaped that?” A bitter laugh catches in his throat. “I’m his life’s disappointment. The one thing he couldn’t control the outcome of. And he’s reminded of that every day—by my Gift’s weakness, by the fact I can’t even keep my future wife happy.”
His hands curl into fists at his sides.
“His apathy has moulded me into the Prince you think you know and hate.”
My next words come out sharp, each one edged with barely contained fury.
“He killed my father, turned my mother into a Thorn Guard right in front of my eyes, and gave me this scar to remind me of my place. Then I’m brought here, told to be dutiful and respectful, to remain almost invisible amongst the Fae who openly fear and despise me, and given to a Prince who—worse than ignoring me—treats me like an inconvenience. ”
I let out a quick, sharp breath. I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud.
He lets out a sigh of frustration and grabs my other wrist, stepping closer. His gaze pierces through me, stripping away every defence until I feel utterly exposed, as if he can see straight through to the raw, vulnerable part of myself I’ve spent years hiding.
“You were never an inconvenience.” His voice drops, rough with something like regret.
“I thought—if I kept my distance, if I made you invisible to him, you’d be safer.
From him. From me. From whatever twisted thing he’s turned me into.
” Another bitter laugh escapes him, short and humourless. “Clearly, that worked brilliantly.”
I’m shocked by his admission, by the sincerity in his intense gaze.
His hand drops one of my wrists and comes up towards my face to brush my cheek. His stare softens, and his lips start to form a word, but he only huffs out a breath and pulls away, dropping my other hand. He picks up the two fallen swords and leaves.
I stand there, swirls of turmoil coursing through my body, and I let him walk away. As he reaches the rise of the hill, I feel an overwhelming need to say something—anything.
“What I said before? I don’t hate you,” I blurt out, the words tumbling free before I can stop them.
He turns and throws a small smirk over his shoulder. Then he carries on, disappearing over the rise.
Prince Kiernan
I am undone.
The final crack in my resolve shatters it into thousands of glittering shards.
I knew her story before she spoke it aloud.
But that look in her eyes when she told me—Gods, it nearly broke me.
I wanted to pull her into my arms right then and never let go.
To kiss the words from her lips, soothe the hurt from her eyes with my touch, whisper the three words I’ve never said to anyone: I love you.
Anything to erase every harsh word I’ve ever thrown at her.
Hell, I wanted to fuck her right there in the sand until we both forgot—forgot who we were, forgot I’m the son of the man who ruined her life, forgot she’s the Fae forced to marry me.
But I have to be careful. Until we’re married, she’s still in danger.
And I can feel her conflict, the war raging beneath her skin.
I need her to choose me as thoroughly as I’ve chosen her.
Alaya
A chill has settled in my chest.
The echoes of his voice and the hard press of his words still vibrate in the air.
My fury is righteous, rooted in memory:
His father killed mine.
Every time I look at him—at the line of his jaw, the arrogant tilt of his head—I see the shadow of the man who shattered my life. And Prince Kiernan has done nothing to earn forgiveness, testing my loyalty with cruel indifference.
I should despise him.
But this hatred is not pure. It’s polluted by feelings I can’t name, let alone accept.
Chaotic and formless, like a hidden undercurrent in a dark river.
When we were on the sand, with him above me, there was the humiliating heat of defeat, but also something else—the raw, undeniable awareness of his strength, his warmth.
The brief, terrifying closeness of his body.
A magnetic, unwanted pull towards the same face I often want to strike.
A strange, electric tension whenever he’s near—a reaction that betrays my deepest resolve.
I’m trapped between two opposing forces.
The duty of vengeance demands I hate him. My mind screams for his downfall, but a traitorous part of my heart aches for his touch.
This baffling, visceral attraction insists the connection is real, terrifyingly so.
I’m not just confused—my fortress walls are crumbling. The impossible war between these two desires has left me trembling with exhausted confusion.
I don’t hate him. I hate myself for wanting him.