Had she scratched him by accident? Slowly, she held up the keys and extended a hand. “I won't hurt you. I just want to free you.”
“No,” Castien ground out through gritted teeth. “Leave them. Don't take them off. Don't.”
Stunned, she rocked back on her feet. Why would he want the chains? Shaking her head, she said, “You don't deserve this. Castien, let me help you, please. You need to rest and–”
The chains shook as he slammed a fist against the bench. “I need the chains! Anais, I killed two guards before I ran. I remember. They didn't fight back. It was quick. Seconds. I… I need to be certain that won't happen again. Seconds, Anais. If I lose myself for even that long… I need the chains.”
Her heart shattered. Beneath the sharp pieces was burning rage, but she couldn't be angry at him.
Closing her hand over the keys, she said, “Anything but chains. Castien, I can't see you like this.”
“Then don't see me. Go.”
Her lips were still wet and swollen. The rage rose higher. She wasn't angry at him, but she let a hint of it show.
Tucking the keys to her belt, she grabbed his hand. He sucked in a breath but didn’t resist. Her claws pried open his fingers. She plucked a dagger from her belt and slapped the hiltinto his palm. Closing his fingers, the Queen dared her Escort to reject the weapon.
“This is how you feel safe. Not chains. Not rotting in a cell. Protect yourself, Escort.”
The fire had returned. The hunger. Beneath her hand, his fingers twitched.
Anais let her head drop, inclining her forehead against his knuckles. Softer, she said, “Protect your heart, Castien, because it belongs to me.”
Into his other hand, she slipped the Consort’s ring. His ring. She resisted the temptation to slide it over his finger. Whether he wore it or not was his choice.
He drew in a harsh breath. “You’re not taking this seriously. I could slit your throat right now.”
She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to hold him as though, if she squeezed tightly enough, she could bind the pieces of his heart together.
He continued in a hurry, “I can't trust myself. Every night, I dream of a different way to kill you. My hands around your throat. Pushing you off your balcony. Tying you to a bed and cutting you a thousand times until you bleed to death. Do you know what I feel in those dreams?”
When she laid her hands on Yelena, each and every one of those nightmares would be inflicted on the bitch Queen’s flesh.
Calmly, she said, "They're just dreams."
"Satisfaction. Sometimes, joy. I like hurting you in my dreams. It terrifies me."
“Castien, stop–”
"What if I wake to you dead beside me one day because I acted out one of those dreams?"
"You had the chance to kill me. You didn't."
"I didn't fight the poisoning. I remember dosing your wine and being so glad when you finished it. I smiled. I–" He panted, choked on the words.
"Octavius said the first command is the strongest. They probably spent most of their time reinforcing that one."
His eyes became distant. The dagger in his hand still hovered just above the bench, as though he spent all his concentration on keeping it still. “They did,” he mumbled. “I remember… a vial. Countless vials. Countless green-eyed women.”
His gaze snapped to her face, the intensity burning as he examined her eyes. “They made me pour the vial into a drink, into soup, gravy, sauces, everything. I was supposed to carry a conversation while I watched them drink or eat poison. They whipped me if I apologized. Thirty green-eyed women. More. I lost count after thirty.”
He shivered and closed his eyes. “I killed them all.”
She cautiously touched his leg. Perhaps he wouldn’t believe her yet, but in time, she hoped he would accept what she was about to say. “Yelena killed them. Frances killed them. The guards and soldiers and nobles who failed their duty to protect their people killed them. They used you like a tool, a weapon. The blade isn’t at fault for who it cuts.”
His eyes flew open, something flashing too quickly across his features for her to decipher. Then he stared at the dagger. His lips flattened into a stubborn line, and his expression shuttered.
He wasn’t willing to listen yet.
