Page 52 of Ogres Don't Play

His laugh was low, melodious. “That does sound problematic.”

“No, it’s fine. We’ll be musical associates. Good friends.”

“We are already mated, but I do not object to us being friends as well.”

I gasped and then pressed my lips together, because I didn’t want to distract from the performance. The first notes had begun, and the organ sang as sweetly as an organ could.

I glanced at Rook. “It sounds heavenly.”

He smiled. “Don’t tell Balry that. He prides himself on conveying the depths.”

“I love you.”

I turned to face the organ, trying to block out the man at my elbow, shocked that I’d said that out loud, and during a concert that was absolutely phenomenal, but not even Balry’s haunting cantata could distract me from the living, breathing work of art beside me.

Rook spoke slowly, thoughtfully. “It would be romantic to throw away hundreds of thousands of lives to love you. This is why romance is so difficult for me.”

I shot him a horrified look. “That’s not romance, that’s idiocy. Your first duty is to your people. Duty comes first. Always. It’s when love is married to duty that it becomes truly powerful. Love without constraints, without sacrifice, isn’t worth anything.” Had my mom felt like it was worth sacrificing her life to have me? Did she really know she was going to die, and choose to have me, anyway?

“You are not very romantic.”

“Angels aren’t. People romanticize us, but…” I shook my head, because I should be focusing on the music. Even if I was staring at the organist and talking out of the side of my mouth, people would notice.

“Love married to duty. Yes. I would prefer that. Pleasure and practicality instead of forbidden romance.”

I glanced at him, an ogre. Thinking of my father, I shook my head slightly. “You’ll always be a forbidden romance to me.”

“Not if we are married according to tradition.”

“My father would have to give me away.”

“He married your mother.”

“He didn’t know what she was.”

“He knows what you are. You are his Miracle.”

“Yes, which is why he wouldn’t give me away to an ogre. Particularly one who is betrothed to someone else.”

“It is a political arrangement.”

“Most angelic unions are, as well.”

“We are mated. It is a lifelong binding.”

“But it is not a marriage. I didn’t understand and choose to be bound to you. I played a song I had no idea you wrote so that you’d make me a harp. I was just your propaganda tool.”

“I love you.”

I grabbed his hand because I couldn’t hear that without agonizing pain going through my chest. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe evenly, holding his hand to my heart. What did love mean to an ogre? I had no idea, but to me, hearing those words from the one I loved, it was everything.

Chapter

Eighteen

Iwoke up to angels singing, specifically one, right next to me, and it was the same song he’d sung to wake me up as long as I could remember.

I reached over and put my hand over my brother’s mouth, trying to stop the sound, but he just gave me a high five, and then squeezed my fingers painfully enough that I sat up, awake. I’d been having the nicest dream about Rook, picnicking on a mountain with a beautiful waterfall on the left, birds singing, me playing my harp while he lay, head propped on his elbow, and wrote music that I’d get to play before anyone else.

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