Page 106 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

I do miss Loren. But not like that. Not the way he thinks.

So, why don’t I tell him that? It’s as if there’s some part of me that’s still holding on, that’s still afraid to jump into the unknown.

“Your silence is answer enough.” Viridian stands. “I won’t get in the way of your happiness.”

“Viridian,” I protest.

But he’s not listening. His back is to me, and he’s walking to the door.

“I’ll have your message delivered.” Then he steps into the hall. And moves farther away from me.

I stand, my chair scraping across the floor when I do. When I reach the hallway, Lymseia places a hand on my shoulder.

“Give him time,” she tells me.

“But—”

“It’s not your fault, but he’s hurting.” She sighs.

“I know he is.” And it tears me apart inside.

She gives my shoulder a light squeeze. “There’s nothing you can do but let him work through it on his own. He’s too stuck in his own head to see anything but what he’s convinced himself to be true.”

The rational part of my mind knows she’s right. Still, I yearn to hold him. To make his hurt disappear.

But I nod. Though my eyes stay fixed in the place where I last saw Viridian.

Idebate whether or not to see Viridian for hours. Trying to give him time, as Lymseia said, I fill my afternoon with mindless activities. Walking the grounds. Visiting Nightfoot in the stables. Drawing.

But nothing is able to pull my mind from how he looked at me in the library.

Not anger. Not denial. Gods above, not even sadness.

Pure and utter defeat.

Hopelessness.

And I realize I can’t wait any longer. I have to see him.

I march through the halls. I go to the first-floor library, the grounds, and then the kitchens, to see if he’s there.

Lastly, I climb the main staircase and turn the corner, not stopping until I’ve reached his bedchamber. It would be my luck that I’ve been searching all over the castle, when he’s been right next to me the entire time.

When I reach the door, I raise my fist to knock. But I pause.

There are voices coming from behind the door.

And I know it’s wrong, but I can’t seem to stop myself from pressing my ear to it. From slowing my breathing.

“I have to break off the engagement.” The voice is a low rumble. Viridian’s. “Before my father forces my hand.”

“Enough of this nonsense, cousin,” another says with a sigh. Myrdin. He sounds tired. How long have they been discussing this? “You want to marry her, do you not?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. More than you know.” Viridian hesitates. “But the gods were wrong. We are not fated.”

“What do you mean? How could you possibly—”

“She is in love with someone else!” Viridian says harshly. I shudder, and it’s not even directed at me.

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