Page 101 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

I want to tell him otherwise, but my mouth feels as if it’s been locked shut.

“So no, you haven’t done anything wrong.” He takes a greedy swig of wine, tipping his head back.

“Regardless,” I say, finding the words, “we are to be married. I want to be friends again. Please, try. That’s all I ask.”

He takes another sip of wine, swishing it around in his mouth. He swallows, and then looks at me, eyes narrowed. “Fine. I’ll carry on as usual. As if nothing’s happened.”

Tears prick at my eyes. This isn’t what I wanted. How can I make him see that? How can I pierce the veil he’s pulled between us?

I know it’s unlike me, but I don’t hide the sadness in my eyes. Part of me wants to say something. Anything, if not to let this conversation end like this.

But I have nothing more to say.

No energy to fight.

Viridian stands, and his chair scrapes across the floor when he does. Without another word, he slips from the great hall, leaving his dinner half-finished.

And me, all alone.

Chapter Twenty-Six

As much as I hate it, Viridian and I fall back into our old habits. While we still dine together every night, he’s retreated behind his princely mask, cold like the stone walls he’s built between us.

Part of me wonders if this—us—is even worth fighting for.

What happened to the Viridian I’d come to know? Is he even there anymore? Or was he never real to begin with?

I spend more of my days in my studio. Though, being there reminds me of how things used to be. Servants interrupt my peace there with wedding preparations. With endless questions about the ceremony, the flowers, the music.

I merely smile and nod.

Now, I sit in my studio, at the table. I have an easel before me, and I hold a pencil to the parchment it holds in place.

I trace an all too familiar outline of a face.

This time, I draw Viridian the way he used to look at me. Amber eyes bright, the hint of a smile tugging at his soft lips. An easy, relaxed expression at his jaw.

Leaning back, my eyes follow the outline of my sketch.

I barely have time to react when a flaming arrow flies through the window. It lands behind me, and the flames quickly spread across the floor. Dangerously close to the wooden doorway. The flames start to lick their way up the threshold.

If I don’t act quickly, they’ll block my way out.

I glance toward the windows. Like the others in the castle, they’re adorned with thick, bronze colored drapes.

If I can pull one down…

Then I might be able to put out the fire before it grows.

Picking up my skirts, I rush to the closest window and grasp fistfuls of the curtains. Throwing my whole body into the motion, I tug on it.

“Come on,” I mutter, trying again. “Please, Imone,” I pray, begging the Goddess of Mercy to take pity on me.

I pull, leaning back as I do.

The curtain rod holding it in place whines and snaps. It gives way, and I fall, landing hard on my back. The metal rod clangs on the stone floor.

I drag the curtain toward the door and throw it over the flames. Then, I back away, waving smoke from my face.

---