Page 65 of Betrayed By Dragons

Part of me thinks I should turn around and walk away, or give her the same glare that chased off the couple who were here before me, but I don't have the energy to push her away anymore.

We stand there together in silence for a few minutes, watching the bright colors of the sun setting over the Crimson City.

After a long moment, she asks, "Are you ready to talk about it yet?"

A rough echo of a laugh pushes past my throat. I keep my gaze on the horizon. "Definitely not."

"I didn't think so." I feel her shrug. "Thought I should ask, though."

"Not sure what there is to talk about anyway. My father is a dick intent on starting a war, yada yada yada, blah, blah, blah." I force myself to turn my head. She's staring up at me with soft eyes, and my vision threatens to blur. Is that emotion or alcohol? A mix of the two? Blinking hard, I shrug and look away. "Old news."

She chuckles softly, but there's no humor in it. "There do seem to be a lot of those kinds of fathers running kingdoms at the moment, I have to admit."

I shake my head. "I don't want to talk about Jianyu."

I spit his name, even though I don't mean to. Ember's mouth twitches--I'm not sure if it's because of the way I say her other mate's name or because of something else. I don't think she knows too many other princes with criminally insane fathers, though.

Lifting the bottle toward my mouth, I tip my head toward the still-open double doors behind us. "You should go back in there. He's better company than I am."

"Yeah, at the moment, he is."

And that fucking stings. It shouldn't, but it does.

She puts her hand on my arm, though, and it soothes the wound in a way that infuriates me. I hate how she takes this all in stride. How she's so calm when I'm a fucking inferno.

Quietly, she reminds me, "But he doesn't need me right now."

And I can't help it. I look back down into her eyes, and they're so deep and dark. I want to sink into them. I want to lose myself.

But is that any better than drinking myself to death the way my father told me to?

So gently it hurts, she drifts her fingertips along my forearm. Her hand wraps around mine where it's curled around the neck of the bottle, and I get it. She's right.

She takes the vodka from my hand and leans down to set it on the floor.

"Someone's going to trip on that," I tell her.

"Shh." She reaches up and grazes my cheek with her thumb. It feels like magic and dying, and why am I like this? Why are we?

What the fuck are we even doing here? We have a war to stop. A couple of crazed kings and a summit in flames to get to the bottom of.

For now, all I can do is let her hold my face in her hand.

She lets out a breath, like she wasn't sure I'd allow her to get so close, and that's my fault. I've been an asshole to her for days now, but I'm tired. Weak.

Her voice trembles as she brushes the backs of her knuckles down my jaw. "A part of me wants to just hold you forever and tell you that your father's wrong about you."

An ache starts just behind my ribs.

"Only a part?"

She drops her hand from my face, and I hate it. "The rest of me knows that you don't need me to do that."

She's both right and wrong, and I'm twisted in an angry, self-loathing knot.

"Then what do you think I need?"

She gazes right into my eyes. Then she lifts her hand again, holding it up like she wants a high five, which is fucking weird. I crinkle my brows, but she's not laughing.

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