Page 92 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

My heart constricts and my throat tightens. If not for my body’s natural instincts, I would have forgotten how to breathe.

Oh gods.

Loren.

I’ve forgotten all about him. Again.

An all too familiar guilt seeps through my chest, replacing the lightness I felt mere seconds ago with gohlrunn. I’d been so caught up in my own head the past few days, that I may have actually fallen for the illusion I so desperately wanted to believe.

That Viridian and I could be together. That we could be happy together.

The man I swore to save is still a prisoner. The man I once loved, above all else. And while he’s been suffering in a tiny prison cell, afraid and alone, I’ve been dancing, and dining, and kissing the fae male that’s responsible for all of it.

My cheeks sting.

I’ve been betraying him.

All this time. Every moment I’ve spent enjoying Viridian’s company has been no better than a knife in Loren’s back.

I press my palm to my chest in an effort to even my breath.

“Take me to him,” I say to the servant.

“Cryssa—” Viridian starts.

“Now.”

The servant looks to Viridian.

Nostrils flaring, he takes a deep breath and balls his hands into fists. His voice is weak, barely above a whisper. “Do as she commands.”

The servant bows his head, and then motions for me to follow. “Come with me.”

The descent into the dungeons lasts longer than I’d like.

Viridian’s eyes burn holes into my back the entire time, and he stays about a foot away from me. As if he can’t bear to be any closer.

How could we have fallen so far, in such little time?

We pass several cells before the servant stops. I don’t look into them as we pass, in fear of what—or who—I’ll see inside.

But there is nothing that could have prepared me for this.

I follow the servant. And turn to the prisoner inside.

Loren stands with his back to me. He presses his forearm to the wall and leans forward, resting his forehead on it.

I take deep breaths. Though, my breathing grows more ragged with each one.

Viridian reaches for my hand, as if on instinct. His hand is warm on mine. It feels nice. Comforting, even.

But I can’t bring myself to hold his hand in return.

No doubt sensing my stiffness, Viridian lets go of my hand, returning his own to his side.

I don’t want him to let go of my hand.

But my mind is too focused on the man in front of me, too consumed by the guilt, and the discomfort that tears me in two, that I don’t say anything. I don’t say anything at all.

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