Page 112 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

Loren balls his hands into fists, his face red with anger. But he does. With one last glance at me, he takes off, running down the hall.

“Please,” I beg. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Isn’t it?” Viridian asks, his voice ripe with the sting of betrayal. “I thought we were past this, but…” He recoils, mouth curled with disgust. “You still see me as some horrible monster.”

“No.” I shake my head. “No, I don’t.”

But he steps back, turning his face from mine. “I dared to let myself think…” his voice trails off, tortured agony gripping his handsome features. “Perhaps I have been a fool, after all.” His voice goes lower, heavy like a death sentence. “You will never, ever love me.”

“No!” I cry. My heart aches, like it’s breaking. It is breaking. “No, that’s not true.”

Viridian says nothing. And somehow, him saying nothing is so much worse.

Then he turns, facing his back to me.

“Viridian,” I plead.

But he ignores me and walks away.

“Viridian!” I start after him.

Still no response.

“Viridian!”

I sink to my knees. In the middle of the corridor. Tilting my head down, I hold my face in my hands. Instead of bringing him closer, I’ve only pushed him farther away.

Somewhere far beyond my reach.

Oh, gods.

What have I done?

Chapter Twenty-Nine

What little routine I’d had left is gone.

Viridian doesn’t dine with me anymore. Still, I go to the great hall, and I wait for him. Hoping I’ll see him sitting at the end of the table. Hoping he’ll be waiting for me with that smile I adore. The smile I miss, so desperately. I would do anything, if it means I get to see that smile again.

But he doesn’t come. And I eat my dinner alone.

Day, after day, after day.

Though no matter how much I wish to escape it, wedding preparations corner me at every turn. Cakes to try. Styles to choose from. Invitations to approve. As if that wasn’t enough, servants pepper me with questions about the wedding.

Where would you like the ceremony to be held?

Which flowers would you like?

Shall we place them here or there?

I don’t know how to tell them that I don’t care about any of it. That none of it matters.

The few times I leave my chamber, the halls are bustling with preparations. The finest drapes adorn the walls, and I swear every ounce of metal in the castle shines.

Even as the day grows nearer, the numbness that’s befallen me doesn’t show any sign of letting go. I know I should feel something. Anticipation, excitement, nerves. Some flicker of emotion that tells me that I’m a bride to be.

But there’s nothing.

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