Page 81 of Princess Broken

“No need to apologize.” Kneeling beside me, she shakes her head. “You stopped as soon as I remembered the right word to say. I had bad memories. It’s not your fault.” She closes her eyes. “My panic. My fear. My reaction to the spanking. It had nothing to do with you.”

“Of course it did.” I look deep into her eyes, trying to understand. “It had everything to do with me. I hurt you.” I suck in a shuddering breath. “First, I fucked you like an animal, and then I struck your body as if you meant nothing to me. Nothing.”

I close my eyes. I’ll never earn back the right to gaze upon her pure beauty and goodness again. I’ve ruined that. Ruined everything. Extinguished the spark of whatever it was that might have built into something real between us.

“The spanking,” she says softly. “At first, it was…exciting…but it brought back memories. Bad memories of something I’d forgotten for a hundred years.”

Turning toward her, unable to deny myself, I open my eyes.

Her gaze is cast down, looking at her hands clasped on folded legs, as she kneels. Her body trembling.

Pulling Ana into my arms, I cradle her against me, and one of her hands reaches up to my neck as the other comes to rest on my chest. The burns on my hands have fully healed, but her touch brings a different kind of heat—and an even better kind of calmness than the fire can deliver. The calm overtaking me now isn’t about feeling numb. It’s more about feeling…feeling everything.

It’s like my body and mind are absorbing the entire world. Absorbing everything that’s bad, but also everything good. And instead of overwhelm, I feel safe with Ana in my arms, calm with her small soft body held against my chest.

Perhaps I’ve found a new way to find peace.

“These bad memories,” I ask her softly. “Do you want to talk about them?”

“No.” She shakes her head against my chest. “Not yet. Is that okay?”

“Of course.”

“You burned yourself because of me,” she says softly. “I feel terrible.”

“It’s okay.” Warmth spreads inside me. I don’t understand why, but I feel a connection to this woman. One that’s different, but just as powerful as the connections I feel with my brothers—perhaps stronger—and it hurts that she believes it was her that drove me to burn myself. It wasn’t her fault. Just like she claims I didn’t cause her panicked response to the cruel spanking.

“Burning myself,” I tell her. “That wasn’t your fault.”

Pulling her head off my chest, she looks up into my eyes and it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. Her chestnut brown eyes are full of questions and wonder and concern. Concern for me.

“Why did you do it?” she asks softly. “Did something happen to you? Back when you were human? Your scars.” Looking down, she shakes her head. “I shouldn’t ask you personal questions when I just refused to answer yours.”

I tip up her chin. “It’s okay. I want to tell you.” And I do.

My lungs and heart swell, and my chest triples in size as she rests her hand over my heart, almost like she can absorb its beating. Snuggling into me, she rests her head against me again, and I hold it there, loving how my hand is big enough to cradle her entire skull in my palm, loving how she trusts me enough to let me.

My brothers bore witness to how some of my scars arrived, but I’ve never told them—or anyone—the full story behind my original scars. How it all started. I’ve never even wanted to tell anyone, but the memories are suddenly like flames inside my belly, ready to burn their way out if I don’t release them.

“When I was a little boy…” Closing my eyes, I drift into memories of a childhood long forgotten, and see the flickering candle next to my parents’ bed, the melting wax trailing long droplets down its side. I smell the smoke from the embers in the stove that heats our one room cottage; hear the soft snoring of my parents and older sisters as they slumber.

“I was always fascinated by fire,” I tell her. “It seemed so powerful. Fire is what allowed us to see once the sun set, what brought us warmth through the long winter months, what cooked our food.” I draw in a long breath. “Fire is a miracle.”

“Yes, it is.” Her hand shifts on my chest. “But it’s also destructive.”

“Yeah. I know that. Believe me.” Sadness and regret smolder inside me. Grief I haven’t felt for so long. “Fire is what killed my family—my human family.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She looks up into my eyes, and the compassion in hers nearly knocks me to the other side of the room. Ana feels bad for me, when she should feel disdain.

“That’s a lie.” I close my eyes. “Or it’s not the whole story.” I open them again, knowing I need to face her while I reveal the truth. “Fire didn’t kill my family. I did.”

Her chest heaves and her hand strokes my neck. Instead of pulling away in disgust, she comforts me. If fire is a miracle, then Ana is a miracle a thousand times greater.

“Tell me what happened,” she says softly. “If you want to.” Her thumb strokes my neck, stimulating the artery throbbing beneath my skin, and it rises to her touch. Even my blood wants to be inside Ana.

“I’ve never told anyone,” I say in a near whisper. “Back then, the people in our Swedish village, they talked about what happened. Adults and kids alike shared the story of the fire-starter, the monstrous child who killed his family. But me? I never spoke a word about it. Never corrected anyone or revealed the whole truth.

“I was a little kid. And I heard others tell their version of what happened so many times, at some point I no longer trusted my memories.”

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