Page 90 of Kingmakers, Year One

“Anna,” I say.

My voice echoes in the empty space, even though I spoke quietly.

Her eyes fly up to meet mine, and even then, I can tell she’s looking for Leo. She thought he came after her. Painful disappointment flashes across her face when she sees it’s me instead.

She jumps to her feet, tossing her hair back over her shoulder, trying to maintain her composure even now.

I feel wild admiration for this girl who refuses to show a single crack in her armor, even when I know she’s about to break apart.

“What are you doing here?” she demands.

I hear it, though she tries so hard to hide it . . . a quaver in her voice.

I cross the room in three steps and wrap my arms around her.

I pull her close against my chest, cradling her head in my hand, pressing her cheek against my heart. She tries to pull away, but I keep her pinned in place, my other arm wrapped tight around her body.

I force her to take comfort from me.

She fights me, but not hard. She’s too beaten down by what happened. The strength has gone out of her.

After a moment, she submits.

She stops struggling, and she lets me hold her.

I inhale the scent of her hair—smoky from the fire, but still fresh and clean underneath.

I hold her tight, making her feel the warmth of my body, the strength of my arms, the tremor of muscle that betrays how long and how intensely I’ve wanted this.

And then some magic happens, something I couldn’t predict: Anna starts to cry.

She cries like her heart is breaking. Her tears soak the front of my shirt and her whole body shakes. When she looks up at me, her eyes are bright and wet, and her lips are trembling.

I see the moment, and I seize it without hesitation.

I kiss those soft and devastated lips.

15

ANNA

The next morning I skip breakfast, because I don’t want to see anyone.

It doesn’t work. Leo immediately corners me outside of my dorm tower as if he’s been waiting down there for hours.

He looks awful. His hair is a mess, and he has dark circles under his eyes. As soon as he sees me, he runs over and practically pins me against the wall with his bulk so I can’t escape.

I try to slip past him, saying, “I can’t talk right now, I have to get to the library.” It’s a transparent ruse. Leo doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Anna please,” he begs. “I don’t know what happened last night.”

“I do.”

I didn’t want to have this conversation, but now that he’s forcing me into it, the memory of the night before comes flooding back into my brain, more painful than ever. I can see him leaned up against that tree, his head tilted back in pleasure, and I can hear—as if it’s right in my ears in this moment—Gemma’s slurping mouth.

Last night all I felt was hurt. But this morning that hurt is turning into bitterness.

I know that Leo and I aren’t dating. I know we didn’t say anything explicitly to each other. But just as clearly, I know there was something between us—an understanding, an intention. It wasn’t all in my head.

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