Page 66 of Haunted

And her tears—they will be my undoing.

Give me mercy or kill me.

My hands stroke her hair as I fight to ignore my torment. Creators above, please don’t let her consume me. I mutter, “Shh, Niawen. You’re not alone. Shh. And you’ll never be alone again.”

47

Niawen’s settled in a room I prepared for her, sleeping off her emotional journey. I reflect on her words as the hearth’s flames lull me. I didn’t expect her confession, but as I escorted her to her chambers, she blubbered the whole thing. Her father barred her from entering the immortal world. She was in a scuffle outside the entrance to the realm. Her father tried to take her dragon stone. She fought back, but he disowned her.

The fool!

Now she’s a frail mess.

I coveted her pure light from the moment I saw it, but her anguish is too much.

Too much of my doing.

Her father might have exiled her, but it was I who supported the chaos that spoiled her light.

She will never forgive me if she finds out.

I damaged her. I damaged her!

Just as the empress damaged you.

But her light. I rake my hands down my face. Did I intend this to happen?

You’re so ugly inside. She’ll mirror your pathetic shell.

Damaged, she is more susceptible to my influence. She is vulnerable.

I don’t want her vulnerable.

You do want her vulnerable.

So pure. So pure.

As pure as the driven snow, and I pissed on it.

48

Niawen strolls into the breakfast room the following morning. She dressed in a light purple gown I provided and looks refreshed and lovely.

I can’t get over how lustrous and fair her hair is. Such a stark contrast to mine, and even the humans’ I know.

I stand as my insides dance. “There you are. Looking recovered.” I bend at the waist in a slight bow, not taking my eyes from her face. I can’t take them from her face. She’s captivated me.

I extend my hand, thinking about how her skin would feel against my lips. Being around Niawen has me thinking such dangerous thoughts. Until I held her in my arms last night, I didn’t even think about kissing her creamy flesh.

I reach for her hand. My skin is several shades darker than her sublime whiteness.

With my hand extended, I pause, never making contact. I shouldn’t touch her. I can’t touch her again. My face twitches alongside my mouth. She knows something’s wrong. After righting myself, I gesture to her chair. “Please, sit.”

A servant gets her situated and pushes in her chair. I wave mine away as I sit, cringing inwardly. Breakfast hasn’t even started, and Niawen already thinks I’m odd.

“I feel a thousand times better. Thank you.” Her voice breaks as she fiddles with the napkin in her lap.

I busy myself, pretending I don’t notice, arranging the food on my plate. “I imagine you have questions. I shall answer them in due course, but please, enjoy your breakfast.” I chance a glance at her. Every glimpse races my heart.

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