Page 67 of House of Lilith

“But in all seriousness,” I hear him say, “you know it’s not okay to refuse a man the chance to apologize?”

It makes me turn to look at him. And there’s a light smile on his lips, but it’s obvious he’s being serious.

“Apologize?” I ask with a frown. “Why would you need to do that?”

“It wasn’t right,” he says matter-of-factly, “the way I treated you that night in the dungeon.”

I shake my head. “Knowing what you knownow, sure. But at that moment in time, you were only being protective of your own. And, well…” I pause, shrugging a little. “Maybe youwerea bit hostile, but as I’ve already told you…” I throw him a sarcastic little squint. “Unlike some, I’m not a snowflake.”

He lets out a soft laugh, his eyebrows raising at me.

It’s at that moment I hear the Elevator door open and I turn to look back at the crowd. What I see makes me frown. Only a dozen or so people manage to get inside before the door closes again.

“What is it?” I hear Howe ask.

My eyes still fixed on the Elevator, I say, “It usually expands to fit as many people as it needs to.” For fuck’s sake, I think to myself as I let out a sigh. “But this,” I tell Howe, “this means its magic is broken and gods know how long it’ll take us to Graf Field.”

“Can’t we walk there or something?”

I turn to look at him, thinking. Straight to the Game, Max’s words echo in my mind. Yes, I think this would behispreferred option as well. “I guess itwouldbe faster,” I finally say.

“Lead the way,” Howe says with a grin.

“Alright.”

And I motion for him to follow me out of the crowd, down the Entrance Hall, in the direction of the gallery.

“So, why does this keep happening?” I hear him ask as he starts walking beside me.

“You expecting me to read your mind?” I drawl with a smile. “I don’t know. Laziness, self-centredness, could be a lot of things.”

I hear him let out a rough laugh. “I’m talking about you doing your brother’s duties.”

Blood comes rushing to my cheeks. “My brother is busy,” I protest, stopping and turning to look at him just as we reach the archway with a staircase leading down. “And besides, neither one of us is obliged to explain ourselves to you.”

He shrugs his shoulders, that fucking smile still on his lips. “I just thought a princess would be busier than some duke.”

It makes me so fucking mad. What right does he have to talk about me and my brother like that, I mutter to myself. My breathing heavy and my teeth gritting, I ask, “What do I have to do to make you understand that I’m not a fucking princess,yet?”

For a second, he just looks at me, the smile turning more cordial. “No worries,” he says, softly but with a touch of ice in his voice, “you just did it.”

My face still flushed, I feel a pang of regret, but I turn and I march through the archway, starting to make my way down the weathered, rarely used stone stairs.

I hear him follow me, but he doesn’t say a word.

We keep going down in silence, landing in a deserted hallway with classrooms on both sides, none of them in use at the moment, at least not to my knowledge.

A part of me expects him to fall into step beside me, but he doesn’t. We cross hallway after hallway with him walking behind me in silence, making my heart sink and my mind struggle to focus on anything else.

So when we turn another corner and find ourselves at the start of another hallway, I’m scrambling to find a way to break the silence.

I glance over my shoulder and I spot him eyeing a painting to our left. I come to a stop and so does he. “It’s from the fifteenth century,” I say, watching him watch the oil-on-canvas depiction of a bride walking down the aisle of a church in ruins.

“What’s with the coffins?” he asks, only shooting me a quick glance before he turns his attention back onto the painting.

I do the same. And it’s a disturbing sight, a mixture of dark browns, blues and reds, with barely any light coming through the church’s tall, broken windows, coffins lining the sides instead of pews.

“They’re the coffins of the women that came before her,” I say. “It’s the Robber Bridegroom.”

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