“Why didn’t you kill yours?” He meets my eyes. “Why don’t you kill your brother?”
“I love my brother.”
Grimshaw looks unconvinced. His lip curls in distaste. “Takelove”—he says the word like it disgusts him—“out of the equation. Why don’t you kill your brother?”
I know what he’s asking me to admit. And I wonder, even with reading emotions, how he was able to intuit a truth I’ve only ever told Egan, decades ago.
“I don’t want to rule.”
Grimshaw nods calmly, as if he anticipated the answer. “Are you still pretending we’re so different?”
I swallow hard. We are nothing alike. But I’ll indulge his delusions, if it means protecting this island and those I love.
“You’re saying you don’t want your father’s throne?” I need to know what drives him. Understanding Grimshaw could mean unlocking his plans—or at least guessing at them.
“I don’t want anything,” he says. It’s true. His emotionlessness, his coldness ... they’re not an act. It’s clear Grimshaw shut down a long time ago. What happened to make him this way?
“Not even a woman?” I ask. Perhaps it was heartbreak that got him here.
“Wanting implies caring. I’ve never cared about any of the women I’ve been with.”
I’m shocked that he’s admitting this much. Why? Why speak so plainly to his enemy? But he’s been here for days, in isolation. Perhaps my presence is a solace.
Grimshaw rolls his eyes. “My lack of feeling shocks you.”
“What shocks me is that you seem to believe everyone is as heartless as you.”
He shakes his head. “No. Fools exist, second son. I’m sitting right in front of one.”
I smirk. “You think I’m a fool for loving people?”
He nods.
“Why?”
“Because love, the kind people like you believe in, doesn’t exist. Let me guess: You believe love is somedisease, something that happens to you without your own free will.” He scoffs. “Like it isn’t a decision you make. Like you don’t get to decide whether to give someone else power over you.” He frowns. “Loving someone is allowing them to train the tip of their dagger on your heart at all times. And smiling about it. It’s idiotic.”
I shake my head. For the first time since I’ve been in these prisons, I laugh, truly. I can’t help myself.
His voice is cutting. “You think that’s amusing, second son.”
I nod. “I do. I think it’s funny how you think you would be impervious to it. To love.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “I am impervious to it. Because I refuse to be a fool.”
I think about all the people I’ve loved. My mother. My brother. My friends. It isn’t exactly what he explained ... but it’s close. I would do anything for them. That love is endless.
My mother.
I close my eyes against the images of her being cut down. Of her body, turning to ash—
“The pain you feel now is because of thisloveyou speak so highly of,” Grimshaw says.
I tense.
“Yes, I can feel your pain,” he says, glaring at me. “It’s enormous. It’s tiresome.”
I grind my teeth. “I apologize that my all-encompassing sorrow over my parents’ murder by your father isinconvenientfor you,” I snarl.
