Page 99 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

I curtsy, and then rush out into the hallway after him.

“Viridian!” I call, but he doesn’t seem to hear me. “Viridian, stop. Please.”

He freezes in his tracks, still facing forward. I catch up with him, and stand before him, looking up at his face.

Tempests rage in his eyes, yet I dare to reach out to him anyway. Gently, I place a hand on his arm.

“Look at me,” I beg.

And he does. His expression softens when his eyes find mine, though I can still see that his walls are up, shielding what’s inside.

“Talk to me,” I say.

“Cryssa, please.” Viridian sighs and presses a hand to his mouth. “Not now.”

“Fine,” I surrender. “But at least let me join you for dinner. I—I miss you.”

For a moment, I see past his barriers. I see him—my Viridian.

“Very well,” he says with a slight nod. “I will see you at dinner.”

Tiffy is quiet when she does my hair tonight.

I am, too. It’s not because I don’t want to speak to her. It’s because there’s a numbness I feel, invading my bones. Emotions swirling in my mind, trapping me in my own skin.

It almost makes me yearn for the simplicity of life in Slyfell. The depth and range of emotions I’ve felt here, at High Keep, compares to nothing I’ve felt at home. Not even the death of my mother—after all, I was much too young at the time to truly understand it.

When Tiffy finishes, I stand, smoothing out my skirts. “Thank you, Tiffy.”

“Of course, Miss.” Tiffy bows her head, and then she and my other ladies’ maids leave.

I wait in the comforts of my bedchamber for a moment.

Unfamiliar nerves jumble in my abdomen.

Am I doing the right thing?

Am I a fool for trying? Should I let Viridian go, and let the distance between us grow?

No.

The thought of letting him drift away makes my body go rigid. I don’t want to let him go.

I have to try. I have to be brave.

No matter what it takes.

Taking a deep breath, I hold my head high and make for the great hall.

When I arrive, I take my seat across from Viridian. He tilts his head down, loose black hair falling in front of his eyes. Shielding them.

He doesn’t say anything. No greeting, no acknowledgment.

Nothing.

Anger sparks in my chest, but I suppress it. If I give in to my anger, I’ll only push him away more.

That’s the opposite of what I want.

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