Page 84 of Thrones We Steal

“I’m not done. Do you have any idea what might have happened to you if I hadn’t seen you beside the road? If someone else had come along first? The things people will do for money or fame is insane, Celia. Insane. Or let’s say you had decided to rough it in the woods overnight. Do you know what the nightly temperatures are this time of year? You’re not dressed for that kind of weather, and you didn’t bring a single blanket with you.”

I lift my chin in defiance. “Beck and I would have kept each other warm.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m unbelievable? No, you’re unbelievable.” Like a drunkard, I punctuate my words by stabbing my index finger into his chest. “You expect me to stay locked in a tower while you go off and sleep with any woman who will have you. Except for me, of course. That’s unbelievable.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “One has nothing to do with the other.”

“Only because one is you and the other is me!”

“No, because one is a harmless pastime. The other is life and death!”

We’re screaming now, only inches apart.

“Why do you even care what happens to me? I’m surprised you haven’t run me over yourself.”

“Trust me, I’m considering it,” he growls. “But that wouldn’t serve my purposes. I need someone responsible at my side to balance out my image. It’s easier to gain the people’s trust that way.”

I can almost feel the knife. It slips through the soft flesh of my belly and tears through the thick lining of my stomach, leaving a gaping hole, blood gurgling out. It shouldn’t hurt—used to it as I am—but it does.

I was wrong. There was no misunderstanding, no hidden explanation. This is who Henry is, who he’s always been. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to make me hate you any more than I already do, but congratulations. You’ve just accomplished it.”

“I won’t ask you to understand.”

“What a relief. Because it’s beyond comprehension.” I wheel around and climb back into the car. Let him spend all night out there, railing at the stars about my unbelievableness. With any luck, he’ll be the one to catch hypothermia.

I sink into the rich leather of the seat and adjust the radio dial until I find a station playing heavy metal—much more fitting for the moment than the jazz he’d been playing—and crank the volume so loud that conversation will be impossible. He joins me a few minutes later and lowers it.

I wait until he’s distracted putting the car into gear before turning it back up. His hand shoots back over, and now we’re playing that stupid middle school game. I finally give up after he shuts the power off, not out of defeat but boredom.

His phone sits in the cupholder between our seats and when it vibrates, my eyes automatically flit to it. Before I can look away out of deeply ingrained politeness, Bea’s name snags my eye like a flash of lightning in a black sky.

I grab the phone, finishing school be damned. “Why is my sister texting you?”

He lets out a resigned sigh but doesn’t attempt to retrieve the phone. “I don’t know.”

“Right. This is just an isolated incident then?”

“She texts me sometimes, okay? There’s nothing going on.”

“Do you actually expect me to believe you?”

He looks at me then. “It would be nice for a change.”

“Sorry. I’m not feeling generous tonight.” I hold the phone out to him. “Prove it. Unlock it and let me read your messages.”

“You have major trust issues,” he says but unlocks the phone and passes it back.

“I wonder why that is.”

Henry’s phone is a treasure trove, likely the reason it’s guarded with three different encryptions, but I stifle the temptation and only open the message thread from Bea. There are an astounding amount of texts exchanged between them, including pictures from Bea, fortunately still wearing clothing. There’s nothing overtly suggestive about the messages, but it doesn’t stop the rage from bubbling up. I should be angry with her—she assured me she wanted nothing to do with him—but she’s not here and he is and I’m already furious with him so what’s a little more fuel on the bonfire?

“You told me you’d stay away from her. You’re texting her every day!”

“It’s not every day and it’s never for long. I feel bad not responding.”

“But you don’t feel bad about breaking your promise to me?” I toss the phone back into the cupholder and cross my arms.

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