Page 11 of Elven Prince
She opened her mouth to offer another partially true excuse, but after all the half-lies she’d already given him, the unbelievable pain flaring through her and the heavy weight like cement in her veins at the mere thought of continuing to lie to his face became too strong. She couldn’t withstand it any longer.
Fuck this connection.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and prepared herself to do what she hadn’t done in centuries. To open herself up, just a little. To give himsomething.
Because, despite her suspicions, she couldn’t convince herself Maxwell didn’t deserve at least something.
“Honestly, it’s not as straightforward as just having another elf around to help with some quick-fix healing magic.”
As soon as the words were out, the heaviness lifted from her body. The pain clenched around her core loosened. The excruciating wrongness of trying to lie to him softened and began to fade.
Rebecca hadn’t cultivated an appreciation for being manipulated, or even the inherent meaning in the physical relief of doing the right thing. But By the Blood, the relief was enough to make her give in.
She fixed her gaze on Maxwell’s silver eyes beneath his darkening frown, the muscles of his jaw and along the sides of his neck pulsing as he held himself in check his nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly with every breath.
“It’s not simple at all, actually,” she continued. “I wish it were. But Blackmoon and I… A long time ago… Well, it’s not really relevant to now, mostly. But it’s still important.”
She couldn’t believe she was here, literally standing on the precipice of revealing everything, of sharing with Maxwell Hannigan the details of her relationship with Rowan. That they used to know each other, a long time ago. That they used to be friends, maybe even something more, if things had turned out differently. If they’d made different choices.
That she and Rowan had each been promised to each other, sworn to uphold their duties to the Bloodshadow Court and Agn’a Tha’ros and every elven clan of Xahar’áhsh, according to their station and alleged roles in a prophecy no Agn’a Tha’ros elf had laid eyes on in over a millennium.
Rebecca was about to give in to what she wanted for herself and what Maxwell wanted from her. To what this nearly sentient connection between them wanted.
Now that she was here, staring down into the abyss, she knew she could never turn back.
3
“You don’t know anything about me beyond what you’ve learned since I got here,” Rebecca told him, caught in Maxwell’s silver gaze and taking the leap she had to take. “You can’t find anything, because it’s all somewhere else. Blackmoon and I are both—”
…old-world Xaharíwas what she’d almost revealed, but then a loud, urgent knock cut off her words and ruined her train of thought.
That knock carried the weight and rhythm of urgent importance the Roth-Da’al couldn’t in good conscience ignore.
As Rebecca turned away from Maxwell to face the door, even that sharp, piercing jolt of pain when they separated paled in comparison to her overwhelming relief that she’d been interrupted.
That had been a close one. Too close.
Thank the ancestors she’d avoided one more possible misstep of spilling her guts to her Head of Security, and she certainly wouldn’t be expected to do sonow.
“Come in,” she called,.
Even her greeting sounded relieved.
How strange, to be relieved by another interruption of someone else needing her, because it had saved her from dropping into a massive hole she could never climb her way out of again on her own.
The doorknob turned with a squeak, then the door whispered open.
It was Nyx.
“Hi…” she said cautiously, poking her head through the door while still halfway in the hall. “I hope I’m not interrupting something.”
Rebecca shot her a quick smile. “If you were, I would have told you to wait. What’s up?”
With hurried, nervous movements and her usual levels of bashful uncertainty, Nyx stepped into the office and gently closed the door behind her with the soft snick of the latch catching. “I just wanted to talk to you for a second.”
“Already tired of your welcome-back party down there?” Rebecca moved casually toward the edge of her desk, then sat back against it and folded her arms with a smirk.
The ache of putting more distance between her and Maxwell, even with this perfectly timed interruption, made her worry her legs might give out beneath her. But she thought she hid the discomfort fairly well. Hopefully.
