Water drips from the ends of my hair, pelting my shoulders as I swirl a finger in the warm bath.
I bask in the luxury of it all, lathering sweet-smelling soap onto my skin. Leaning my head over the edge of the porcelain tub, I shut my eyes and focus on this last bit of calm I feel. Because the water I’ll be venturing out onto tomorrow will not be so peaceful and contained. It terrifies me, the unknown and uncontrollable, nearly as much as it inspires.
After a long day of packing and silently gathering my courage, I’ve approached dusk with much fear of the day that follows. So, as the night yawned on and sleep evaded, I decided to drown my sorrows in a bath.
I’d been buried beneath bubbles for so long that Ellie came to check on me. It took several attempts to convince her that I was, in fact, capable of getting to bed without her being there. After finally giving in and hesitantly wishing me good night, she left to get the rest I desperately wished I could.
Dipping my head beneath the water, I’m reminded how easily something so warm and soothing can swallow me whole. Even this bath is dangerously unassuming. But the sea is far less enticing.
I’m running out of air.
I don’t even know how to swim. If I end up overboard, the sea will claim me quickly.
My lungs tighten.
There would be no fighting my way out of Death’s clutches.
Now they burn.
I’ll be completely vulnerable.
I break through the surface, gulping down the damp air. I allow myself another moment to sit within the water, feeling every ripple and lap of it against my skin. Then I’m combing my wet hair back from my face and standing.
Throwing on the silken robe Ellie set out for me—only after smiling at the bag of chocolates she left beside it—I pad into the bedroom, intent on flopping face-first onto my mattress. Not that I expect to get much sleep. No, it’s a combination of nerves and boredom that has me wishing to do nothing at all but rot with my thoughts.
This may be my last night on solid ground.
I feel queasy.
A gnawing worry grows within the pit of my stomach. I think vaguely of how I might leave this world. Fighting? Regretful? At peace?
No, peace implies that all is well in my life. But there are wrongs to be righted and forgiveness to be earned. I refuse to die until I’m satisfied with the way I lived.
I groan.
In the end, it is the imminence of death that manages to drag me from my bed.
I knock hesitantly on his door.
My heart pounds wildly in anticipation. I’m not normally the one to do this, and I doubt I’ll ever do it again because of how annoyingly nervous I—
The handle turns.
And when the door opens, I almost expect to be met with a cocky smile, a mess of black hair, or a familiar set of lips that have tasted mine.
But everything before me is unsurety.
This mouth is slackened with surprise, and one I’ve never met. The hair atop his head is blond and neat and the opposite of his brother’s. He is opposite of his brother.
I stand in the doorway, blinking up at the shocked Kitt.
“Hi,” I say, if only to fill the silence.
His response is equally awkward. “Hi.”
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
“Oh, no.” Kitt rubs the back of his neck, an action he frequents. He looks over his shoulder, seeming slightly surprised to find the air unoccupied. “No, I don’t sleep much anymore.”
My gaze dips to his stained hands. “Are you writing something?”
“Just… notes. It helps me think.” He clears his throat. Mumbles something under his breath. For a moment, I think he’s forgotten my presence.
My eyes narrow at his strange behavior. “Are you—?”
“Is there a reason you’re here at this hour?” He’s blinked the bleariness from his distant gaze.
I’m momentarily startled by his sudden composure. “Right, yes.” I lift a bundled blanket between us, one I’d ripped off my bed after quickly dressing. “I thought we could have a… picnic?” I wince. “I’m not sure, really, but I have chocolate?”
We stare at each other, both of us knowing precisely what this is—a peace offering. Kitt glances over his shoulder again, as if weighing whether this is worth a pause in his writing. I’m beginning to believe the king will turn me away when he finally steps aside. “I can’t say no to chocolate.”
With a relieved smile, I creep into the room. The folded blanket hangs limply from my fingers while I try not to look so intrigued by his bedchamber. It’s surprisingly plain for a king, at least compared to the lavish lifestyle I assumed one would have. But it is not void of character. Potted plants litter the room, dotting each corner with color and twining around anything in reach. My eyes skip over the crumpled bed to find books piled on either side. Their broken spines pile to dangerous heights around the room, never far from a strewn map or scribbled document.
“I would have tidied up had I known you were visiting,” Kitt says, sounding only slightly self-conscious. He sweeps aside a cluster of inky parchment as I set the blanket on the ground.
“No need to clean on my behalf.” I unfold the fabric to reveal that bag of sweets Ellie left me. “You’ve seen where I lived.”
“I have.” He sounds regretful.
Taking a seat on the stretched blanket, I fold my legs beneath me and beckon for Kitt to follow. He obeys, sitting stiffly to my right with all the comfortability of an acquaintance, not the man meant to be my husband. And that lack of progress is exactly why I’m here.
I offer him a chocolate before unwrapping my own. “I haven’t had one of these since our game of catch in the kitchens.”
Popping the sweet into his mouth, Kitt mumbles, “I was the only one catching. You were dropping.”
“All right.” I sigh out the words. “No need to gloat.”
He smiles, and that is progress. “So, why did you really want to have this makeshift picnic with me?”
“Do I need a reason to eat chocolate with you?”
“No,” he says slowly, “but you likely have one.”
“So you do know me, after all,” I tease.
“I thought I did.” Another chocolate disappears into his mouth. “Once.”
A frown pulls at my mouth. “I haven’t changed. I’m still that girl you knew during the Purging Trials.”
“No,” he counters. “You’re hardened.”
I stop chewing. Our eyes lock in silent scrutiny. “I have to be. That is the only way Ordinaries can survive in Ilya.”
“Well, soon you won’t be Ordinary.” The king sounds ruffled. “You’ll be royalty.”
My laugh is humorless enough to draw a look of surprise from Kitt’s stoic features. “Maybe. But your father ensured I would never forget who I really was.”
Maybe it’s habit, or anger, or a cruel mixture of both that has my gaze falling to the top button of his crumpled shirt. It seems history refuses to go unrepeated. Once again, I’m avoiding the gaze of a man who nearly killed me. And despite the reminder that these green eyes do not belong to Edric Azer, I still find it difficult to meet them. Even in death, the late king tortures me.
“There you go again,” Kitt murmurs.
I will my stare to meet the speculating one he’s pinned on me. “Hmm?”
“There was a time when you couldn’t look me in the eyes,” he says evenly. “Just as you’re doing now. And in the gardens, you told me it was because I reminded you of someone. It was my father, wasn’t it?”
I lean back, slightly startled by his question. But if I want to restore that relationship between us, I need to be honest. “I thought your father killed mine,” I explain softly. “And, well, in a way, he did. It was Kai he gave the order to. Kai I watched bury a sword in my father’s chest. But I didn’t know that until the king taunted me outside the Bowl.”
Kitt’s voice is numb. “And that is when you killed him.”
“Barely,” I murmur, remembering every blow the king rained down on me. “It was like he had been waiting for that day. Like every blow was planned. It’s all become such a blur now but…” I glance over at his stiff form. “But, yes, I avoided your gaze, your company, because you look so much like him.”
The chocolates sit forgotten on the floor, now little more than witnesses to our hushed conversation. “And when you did seek out my company,” Kitt says dryly, “it was because you needed to find a way into those tunnels.”
“No.” My explanation is a flurry of rushed words. “Well, maybe at first. Yes, I needed a way into those tunnels, but it became so much more than that. I wanted to spend that time with you, be honest about what I was doing. But I wanted to make a difference more. And I knew how close you were with your father….”
“So you assumed I was against the Resistance, against Ordinaries, as well,” he finishes for me. This is followed by an indifferent shrug. “To be honest, I never much cared what happened to the Ordinaries. Banished or not, it didn’t matter. But my father was obsessed with ridding Ilya of them, and it was his undoing. His greatest failure.”
I fiddle with an empty wrapper, rolling it between my fingers. “And now you’re marrying the one thing he hated. Better yet, the one thing that killed him.” My whole body tenses in anticipation of my next question. “And you’re okay with that?”
“I don’t really have a choice,” he mutters. “You know, I didn’t think I would be able to look at you, either. Not after what you did. But I quickly realized that my father wasn’t worth pleasing. His praise wasn’t worth obsessing over.” He mindlessly gathers the chocolates in a tight circle. “Now, I will be the one to make Ilya great. My own way.”
I nod slowly. “I’m glad to hear he doesn’t still control you.”
He lets the words hang between us. My fingers take advantage of the tense moment and lift a chocolate to my lips. I savor it, tasting nostalgia between each nutty bite. This is the chocolate I used to steal for Adena on special occasions. The last of which was her birthday, though we hadn’t known it would be her last at the time.
“I can’t say the same about you.”
I’m pulled from my thoughts and back onto the king’s plush floor. “What do you mean?”
“He clearly has control over you. My father,” Kitt clarifies. “Otherwise, you would have no issue looking me in the eyes.”
I’m doing it again. My gaze snaps up from his throat to crash into the familiar gaze above. It is heavy atop the purple smudges of restlessness.
It’s time he knows.
Kitt opens his mouth again, but I’m already moving, already gathering my courage alongside the folds of my shirt. Determination overrules my sudden desperation to hide this marred piece of myself. But if this man is to be my husband, he will soon see every bit of brokenness that makes up my being.
So I might as well start with the scars on my heart.
I shift in front of him, forcing the tremble from my voice. “He doesn’t control me. He haunts me.”
My hand lifts to tug the collar of my shirt down, down, down….
I know the brand is visible when his face pales.
“Is that…” He swallows. “Is that an O?”
I don’t bother looking down at the jagged letter that defines me. “For Ordinary.”
Kitt is shaking his head now. “I… I don’t…”
“After trailing his blade down my neck,” I say flatly, “he promised to leave his mark on my heart, so I never forget who broke it.”
He raises his hand, as if wishing to run his fingers over the scar before thinking better of it. “This is not the man I knew.”
“The man you knew didn’t exist.”
His eyes trace that mangled circle of flesh. “I’m sorry.”
My voice is hoarse. “I am too.”
“You’re not the girl I knew during those Purging Trials,” he says softly. “Not anymore.”
His words don’t startle me like I thought they would. Because he’s right. I’ve already mourned the girl who died alongside Adena in that Pit. Something broken staggered out of the Bowl Arena that day. And I have only been stronger for it.
“And you are not the boy I knew either.” My throat is dry, but I scrape the words off my tongue. “Now, I want to know this king you’ve become.”
Kitt’s voice is light despite the weight of his words. “I worry for what you will find.”
