The hearteater just watches, fingers trembling by her sides. Her anger and hurt engulf me, but she remains silent.
Speak, I want to tell her, as I simmer in the shadows.
Defend yourself.
But she doesn’t. And, when her guardian finally leaves, she slips down the painted glass to the floor—and cries.
I should be disgusted by her weakness. Rulers do notcry. I haven’t in centuries.
Instead ... my chest tightens. I feel ... angry? But not at her ... at the one who made her cry.
If her guardian were to die unexpectedly, would it be suspicious? I hardly care.
I stay until she finally falls asleep, curled against the floor, tears dried upon her cheeks.
I don’t know what I am doing. But carefully, so carefully it doesn’t wake her—I take her into my arms. I walk her to her bed. I gently place her atop the sheets, then cover her with blankets.
It’s cold, I tell myself. I don’t want her to die from the elements. She is weak. I don’t want her injury getting worse.
But that doesn’t explain why I remain through the night, sitting on a chair I dragged by her bedside.
Something about her has captured my interest. Perhaps it’s her powerlessness. Perhaps it’s her lineage—both Wildling and Nightshade.
Whatever it is, it needs to stop. Every day, I say that, but I keep showing up here, thinking tonight will be the night that I lose my interest, that I am able to give her up entirely, but like any addict, the claws of my obsession are just deepening.
She’s just ... a woman. Closer inspection would determine that she is the most beautiful woman imaginable, but beauty means little.
Beauty is not enough for her to have snagged my mind.
So, what is it?
What has she done to me?
“Do you have any idea?” I say, softly, from my shadows. She doesn’t even stir. “Do you have any idea how many ways I could kill you right now?”
I shake my head.
“Do you have any idea how many ways you’re killingme?”
I shouldn’t be watching her sleep.
I stay until the sun rises.
WATCHING AND WANTING
Thanks to her people’s elixir, her ankle heals quickly. Less than two weeks later, we continue our search for the sword.
It isn’t on the Wildling newland, like I might have assumed if my general had truly claimed it. No, according to the blacksmith, the sword was stolen, and last sensed on Nightshade—so Isla suggests we try to extract information from the most notorious thieves in my realm. The moment we portal to the fishing town I feel her panic rush like poison through my veins.
I whip around, ready to strike at any danger.
But she’s just staring atme.
Is she afraid of me? Finally?
No ... as my own wave of panic dissipates, I feel the truth.
She’s afraidforme.
