I don’t want to feel like this. I trusted Alistair to protect me.
“What will I tell Cilla and Stacia?” I whisper, agonized.
“It’s not your fault,” he says soothingly. “Blame me.”
“If not for me, they wouldn’t be here! He wouldn’t have abandoned his daughters without a word. Me, yes, but not my stepsisters.” I thrust my arms into the dress and yank the ties tight. He’s not telling me the truth. “The prospect of being trapped in this castle—as opulent as it is—with a man who can’t be honest with me…I can’t do it, Alistair. I won’t. I’d rather live with Maxine.”
“The witch?”
“Yes, the witch.”
I yank on my stockings and shove my feet into my shoes.
“You are not going to run away from me, Elinor Scinder. Not again.”
He manacles my arm and spins me to face him. I study the sculpted planes of his face. His elegant throat with the masculine knot in the center. The flare of his collarbones into broad, muscular shoulders. He is breathtaking. I love him so much, yet looking at him makes everything inside me ache.
He doesn’t love me enough to understand the most basic, foundational thing about me. This love is as much of a fantasy as my gown at the ball. A sparkling illusion.
I wrench out of his hold. One thing I have learned, out of necessity, is how to break a man’s grip on my arm. “This isn’t about me, it’s about your pride. You can’t stand the fact that Princess Aurora ran away. But keeping me captive won’t fix that.”
His jaw works. The devastation written in his face almost changes my mind. I think of wearing that beautiful dress and walking down the aisle on his arm and I want to cry.
“What would convince you to stay, Elinor?” He brushes my cheek with the pad of his thumb. I turn my face into his hand, torn. I’m such a soft touch. How pitiful of me to still yearn for the fairy tale, yet I can’t help it.
My mind reels. What would show me, conclusively, that he loves me as I am, for who I am, that he will never hurt someone on my behalf again? His remorse seems genuine.
Tremaine could feign remorse. After he touched me, he would hang his head and ramble on about having needs and how I wouldn’t understand a man’s loneliness. All manipulation, pure and simple. He needed me not to tell anyone what he’d done. Young and traumatized, with nowhere to turn, I complied.
I’m not that pathetic little girl anymore. I can stand up for myself and ask for the things I need. What I need most is for my sisters to be out of my hair, permanently. “If you want me to marry you tomorrow, or ever, you must find each of my sisters a husband.”
He groans. “That could take weeks.”
Considering their personalities, it could take years, but I don’t say that. “I am willing to wait as long as necessary.”
Please, for once in my life…someone fight for me.
“I, however, am not willing to wait,” he grinds out. “I warned you once, Princess. I am not a patient man.”
“Then you had better get cracking. And that isn’t all I ask of you.” I scrape back my hair, shrugging out of his loosened hold in the process. Pacing the rug at the end of his bed in short, sharp strides helps focus my mind. What else can I ask of him? “You must repair your friendship with Killian.”
He groans. “That’s impossible. I can’t evengetto him, up on Thorn Mountain.”
“You’ll find a way, if you want me badly enough.” I’m starting to like this.
Asking for things I need.
Speaking up for myself.
Holding him to account.
Kindness doesn’t have to make me a doormat.
“What is the third task?” Alistair grumbles.
“You must share your discovery of the fae’s hiding place with the world.” Silence, heavy and thick, falls over us. I may have pushed him too far. “Or, if you cannot do that, I need an explanation as to why it would be a bad idea.”
“What’s acceptable to you?”
