Page 144 of House of Lilith

She doesn’t let me.

And she keeps touching me, but she also throws me this look.

And the look nudges me to say, “Just a little souvenir from a gáir.”

She raises her eyebrows at me. “Gáir?” she asks before she turns her eyes back onto her fingers still brushing my chest.

It makes me blow a soft laugh through my nose when I realize that that word must not be a thing here. I put one arm behind my head and one hand on her waist, leaning my head on my bicep as I shamelessly take advantage of this extremely rare opportunity to scan her face without the risk of getting her fist in my mouth.

“Where I come from,” I start to explain, my eyes dragging from her eyelashes to the curve of her jawline to that little Cupid’s Bow, “there’s not a lot of land with magic or resources left. So they divide the good parts equally, to make sure everyone has enough to go on. A gáir is what we call a person who takes the land from those weaker than them so they could live in luxury.”

She looks up at me, finding me already staring at her, and she squints. “You were trying to report one of them?”

For a second, I just blink at her.

And I don’t know what it is, that makes me tell the actual truth. A mix of incredulousness and defiance perhaps…

But I find myself letting out an amused scoff, grabbing her by the waist and pressing my forehead to hers, our lips almost touching. “I was trying tostealfrom him,” I tell her with a smirk.

“Steal?” she echoes as she breaks herself free.

It makes me laugh. “I see I’ve gone and scandalized you, Duchess,” I poke as I try to get my arms around her again. “Am I about to be thrown out the window?”

She fights me off and throws me a sober look. “What were you trying to steal? When was this?”

For a second, I just look at her, this bitterness suddenly flooding my mouth as I lean back against the pillows again, resting my hands on my lap. “Don’t worry about it,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, but failing a little. “I never went to jail for it. So technically, I’m not acommon criminal,” I drawl mockingly, “as the Overlord Ex Fiance would call me. You needn’t fret for your reputation.”

And I tear my eyes away from her, starting to feel observed somehow, and I busy myself with pounding the pillow behind me back into shape. But she doesn’t let it go.

“But you did escape going to jail for a crime you actually committed?” she demands, making me turn back to her, frowning and resting my hands on my lap again.

Her eyes are narrowed, assessing.

And the look makes me at the same time defiant and squirming with the need to correct any false assumptions, so I make my voice flat, but I just tell her the truth, plain as day. “They don’t throw kids in jail where I’m from. I was twelve, my brother was ill and I was stealing medicine for him.”

It makes her eyes flash with surprise. “What?” she mouths as she leans a little forward, resting her palms on my chest and making all the defiance melt away. Then she swallows roughly and whispers, “And he…”

“Didn’t survive,” I snap, letting out an awkward little laugh. “Got into all that trouble for nothing.”

What the fuck is wrong with me? And now she’s going to start pitying me, I think as I start gritting my teeth.

To my surprise, she just looks at me for a second and then comes to lie on my chest, her right hand starting to brush my arm.

“What was he like?” she asks in a voice in which I find zero pity.

For a second, I stay silent, looking down at her hair spilling over my chest and her leg thrown over me, this intense warmth spreading through my chest.

“Well,” I say in a pensive voice as I start stroking her upper arm, “the first thing you’d notice would definitely be the fuckingmaneof dark, hopelessly unruly hair. And he had this habit of starting to tell you a joke, realizing he’d forgotten the punchline, and then making you sit there as he started all over again.” I pause for a second, frowning as a fresh pang of old pain shoots through me. “And he was kind and the illness, strangely, only made him kinder.”

She pushes herself off my chest, making me have to suppress a grumble. “That must’ve been so difficult, losing him.”

“Well,” I say matter-of-factly, starting to stroke the porcelain skin of her neck and shoulders, “I had five other brothers I needed to focus on keeping alive, so I didn’t have the luxury of lingering on it. Besides, even if I did…”

Pulling her to me, I lean in for a kiss, whispering, “It doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past now.”

“I mean, yeah,” she starts as she pulls away, her tone dead serious, “but it’s also in the present. My father died years ago and I still carry him with me everywhere I go.”

That makes me frown, but just as I open my mouth to ask about it, she shakes her head and says, “What I’m trying to say is, you can’t just pretend something doesn’t exist because it’s painful.”

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