Page 23 of Ruling Destiny

“I’m a man between worlds.” He shrugs. “I go where Arthur needs me. But, if you must know, this here’s the part of Gray Wolf that’ll always feel closest to home.”

Something about the way he said that reminds me of Freya.

If it’s possible Freya’s not from this timeline, then does the same go for Killian?

I would just come out and ask him, but considering how Killian’s always working an agenda, I’ll need to do so in a way that doesn’t alarm him.

“How about you and I make a deal?” Killian leans across the table, his fingers lightly drumming just inches from mine. “You tell me where you were really sneaking off to, and I’ll fill you in on my backstory.”

“First of all, I wasn’t sneaking anywhere,” I say. “I was about to exit through the front door, in the middle of the day. Not exactly the definition of subterfuge.”

“And second of all?” Killian quirks his eyebrows at me. Then, responding to my look of confusion, he adds, “Usually, when one begins a sentence with ‘first of all,’ it means there’s a whole other thing lined up in the barrel, ready to shoot. So, tell me: what’s part two?”

I hesitate, unsure how I’ll answer, when Maisie reappears. And after serving us each a sizeable square of shepherd’s pie, she leaves with a brisk nod for me and a wink for Killian.

I push the plate aside, drag my coffee in closer, and cradle the ceramic mug between my palms. Killian’s right about there being a next part. Though I’m not sure I should tell him how his use of the word “backstory” only confirms my suspicion that Killian du Luce isn’t just a made-up name but a made-up person as well.

Between all the accents and his seemingly infinite storehouse of secrets, sometimes I wonder if he even knows who he is behind his golden-boy facade.

Still, I just say, “No part two. I’m just waiting to hear all about thisbackstoryof yours.”

He shoots a quick look around the room and says, “Earlier, when you asked if I’m some sort of conquering hero… Well, please know I’m not speaking from a place of hubris when I confirm I’m exactly that.”

I squint, waiting for whatever comes next. Because honestly, I was just being flippant.

“Take Maisie for instance…” Killian leans closer, fixes his gaze hard on mine. And what I find revealed in those endless pools of his eyes is not at all what I’ve come to expect.

The sort of flirty charm offensive he usually leads with has been stripped away, leaving a new version of Killian in its place. One that’s so open and trusting, I’m taken aback. But it’s what he says next that really blows my mind.

“I… Well, to put it bluntly…” He pauses a beat. “I saved her.”

“Saved her from…?” I abandon my coffee, tuck my hands into my lap, eager to learn whatever he’s willing to confess.

After another quick look around, Killian inhales a sharp breath, and on the exhale, he says, “I saved her from being burned at the stake.”

13

I stare at Killian. No way is he serious.

“But they don’t burn people at the stake anymore,” I remind him.

I watch as he rubs his lips together and takes another glance around the room. When Maisie catches his eye and starts to head over, he’s quick to hold up a hand and wave her away.

“Maybe not.” He returns to me. “But I never claimed she was from this century, did I?” Then he digs into his food as though he’s totally unaware of the impact of his words. Totally unaware of the lightning bolt striking my brain.

So there it is—the answer I was looking for. And now that it’s here, what exactly am I supposed to do with it?

“And what about you?” I ask, my voice uncertain. “Are you from this timeline?”

I study him closely, catching the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers nervously grasp at his fork. With his gaze burning brightly on mine, he says, “What do you think?”

I shrug, aware of my breath coming faster, more shallow—frantic puffs of air blowing in and out of my lungs. While I definitely have my suspicions, there’s no way of knowing for sure unless he decides to confess. And even then, there’s no way of knowing if it’s really the truth.

He goes in for another bite, taking his time chewing, savoring, and gesturing for me to do the same. So I do. And the shepherd’s pie is so delicious, another bite quickly follows.

“You probably don’t know this,” he says. “But my Trips aren’t like yours. Arthur doesn’t send me out to steal art or jewels or things of that sort—or at least, not very often. Though there have been many occasions when he’s sent me out to redistribute those items among the poor. And while I thought that might shock you, going by your expression, you already know.”

I nod. “Arthur told me how he does that sometimes.”

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