“Makes one wonder why I bothered going.” Except Lara knew exactly why she’d gone to Ithicana. To save her sisters. To save her kingdom. To save herself. In this precise moment, she half wondered if she’d damned them all.
“Not your choice, I suppose.” Marisol’s eyes drifted over Lara’s shoulder, taking in the comings and goings of the common room. “What I do know is that you married the best man I’ve ever had a privilege to meet, so perhaps instead of drowning your sorrows, you ought to consider a better use of your time.” She inclined her head. “Either way, I hope you enjoy your evening, Your Majesty.”
“Good night,” Lara muttered, refilling her glass. She knew Aren was a good man. Her instincts, which she should’ve trusted, had been screaming it at her for longer than she’d cared to admit, but she’d ignored them in favor of what she’d been told. She’d been duped. Manipulated. Played.
She’d gone to the palace to kill her father.
Her plan had been to use the codes she’d been given to gain access, then wait for them to bring her to her father—and kill him. With her bare hands, if she needed to. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been trained to do it. They’d kill her afterward, but his death would be worth it. Worth that moment when her father realized that she, his prized weapon, had turned on him instead.
But as Lara had stood there in the pouring rain, her father’s soldiers watching her with bored interest, Master Erik’s voice had filled her ears: Do not let your temper get the better of you, little cockroach. For when you do, you risk your enemies getting the better of you.
It would be one thing if her loss of temper only cost her. But as she stood there, skin prickling with some sixth sense warning her of danger, it occurred to Lara that it would be Ithicana—and Aren—who would pay the price. The sheets of paper in Aren’s rooms at Midwatch still bore all of the bridge’s secrets. If even one of them reached Serin’s hands . . . that was damage that could never be undone. She needed to ensure they were destroyed. Once that was accomplished, she could turn to vengeance with a clear conscience.
She’d returned, intending to leave Aren a note explaining everything and instructing him to destroy the papers, but the vision of Aren’s face when he read it kept spinning across her thoughts. He, who was loyal to his very core, would take her act of disloyalty personally. He’d hate her. Lara swallowed the contents of her glass in big gulps, wishing the alcohol would work faster. Wishing it would numb her traitorous heart.
Filling her glass again and again, she ruminated until the bottle was empty, the whiskey doing nothing to numb the dull ache in her chest. She would’ve ordered another and kept on drinking, but there was no one left to serve her, all the bottles and glassware put away for the night, the room silent and still.
Rising to her feet, Lara turned to discover the common room empty of patrons and staff, chairs pushed into tables, floors swept, and door latched. Devoid of life. Except for Aren, who sat at the table behind her.
She stared blearily at him, her heart feeling as though it had been torn into a thousand pieces, then set aflame.
“Waiting for me to go to bed so you can go find Marisol?” The words were slurred. Spiteful. But she almost wished he’d do it if for no other reason than it would give her a valid reason to hate him. A valid reason to leave and never look back.
The corner of his mouth turned up. “Who do you think came to find me to deal with my shit-mouthed little cousin?”
Lara made a face. “She knows I’m not your cousin. She knows exactly who I am, and, by extension, who you are.”
“Clever Marisol.”
“You aren’t concerned?”
Aren shook his head, then rose to his feet. His clothes were wet, but whatever rainwater he’d tracked in had long since dried. How long had he been sitting there?
“She’s been spying for Ithicana for almost a decade—since your father hung hers and then spiked his head on Vencia’s gates. She’s loyal.”
Jealous words danced on Lara’s tongue, but she swallowed them. “She’s beautiful. And kind.”
“Yes.” His gaze was intense. “But she’s not you.”
Her body swayed, the room spinning. Aren closed the distance between them in two strides, hands catching her sides. Steadying her. Lara closed her eyes to try to stop the spinning, but the rotating room was replaced with the memory of his hard, muscled body, his tanned skin beneath her fingers. Heat blossomed low in her belly.
You can’t, she told herself. You’re a liar and a traitor. You aren’t the woman he believes you to be, and you never can be. You can never be yourself. Not without risking him discovering the truth. If she couldn’t find the courage to tell him the truth, then she needed to get back to Ithicana to destroy all evidence of her betrayal, and then disappear. Fake her death. Return to Maridrina for vengeance.
And never see Aren again.
Her eyes burned, her breath threatening to catch in a sob and betray her.
“Are you all right?”
She clenched her teeth. “I don’t feel well.”
“Not surprising given the amount you drank. You have a royal’s taste, by the way. That’s not a cheap bottle.”
“Paid for it myself.” She said the words slowly in attempt to make them clearer.
“You mean with the coins you stole from my ship.”
“If you’re stupid enough to leave them lying around, you deserve to lose them.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that through all the slurring.”
“Asshole.”
He laughed. “Can you walk?”
“Yes.” Untangling herself from his grip, she staggered toward the stairs, when all of a sudden, the bottom step was flying up to meet her. But before Lara’s face could slam against the wood, Aren caught hold of her, swinging her up into his arms. “Let’s not tempt fate.”
“Just need water.”
“You need a pillow. Maybe you’ll get lucky and the storm will linger long enough for you to sleep this off. But I doubt it.”
Lara made an angry sound against his chest, but it was more for herself. At the ease with which she curled against him. At how appealing a few more nights with him would be, despite knowing that it was only delaying the inevitable.
“Did the whiskey help?”
“No.”
“It’s never helped me much, either.”
A tear leaked onto her cheek, and she turned her face into his chest to hide it. “I’m sorry I’ve been so terrible. You deserve someone better than me.”
Aren exhaled, but said nothing. The methodical movement of him climbing the stairs lulled her, consciousness slowly fading away. She didn’t fight it, because against all the odds, she trusted him implicitly. Still, she was aware enough to hear him, his voice hoarse as he said, “Since the moment I set eyes on you in Southwatch, there’s been no one but you. Even if I’m a goddamned fool for it, there will never be anyone but you.”
You are a fool, she thought as darkness took her.
And that made two of them.
29
Aren
He’d never been able to sleep past dawn on a clear day.