Page 67 of Blood On His Lips

Darkan. Darkan wasn’t my dark angel. Darkan was Raniel. Raniel whom I’d been forced to forget for years. The Prince.

All of these years, all of this time.

This wasn’t a dream.

I glanced down at my chest, surprised to find it whole and my heart still beating at a normal pace. I patted myself down, but no, my guts and organs were still inside my body.

My hand fell to my side.

Juliette stared at me, arms still gripping my biceps. “What's wrong with you?” She shook me a little, but I just blinked at her. “What's wrong with you, Aerinne?”

“I don't—I can’t—” I stopped talking until I could gather my wits.

I fell silent. How could I explain to her the simultaneous emptiness and tidal wave of combined rage and anguish? Endless loss, the absence of a mind that was so much a part of me, it felt as if some giant had plunged its claws into my middle and ripped out all of my insides. I hadn’t felt this kind of pain since my mother died. Not even when Danon was captured.

How was I still alive?

“Darkan is Renaud,” I said. “And Raniel.”

“What? Who?”

Of course she was confused. She and Numair didn't know the whole of the truth. “You all thought I was crazy all this time. I told you I wasn’t.”

Juliette’s jaw clenched, but she softened her tone. “Cousin, now is not a great time for one of your episodes. You've got to keep it together, babe. We need you.”

I jerked away from her, her forced calm inciting a tiny bit of temper. Enough temper to begin to thaw away at my numbness.

“That's what I'm trying to tell you.” I kept my voice cold, even, through force of will. Any hint of emotion would destroy my credibility. “The voice was never a figment of my personality, Susenne was wrong. It was Darkan—Renaud. The entire time. It was Renaud. He's been in my mind all these years, since I was a child.”

She stared at me, eyes wide. Opened her mouth, closed it.

“Nayya, the Ancient. His mother. She ripped away the beguilement.”

Another long beat of silence. “Oh. Oh shit. All these years, Aerinne. . .that bastard has been playing in your mind all these years?” Her already pale skin turned a sickly shade. “How much does he know about our House? About our operations?”

I closed my eyes briefly. “I think we're too late to worry about that.”

Édouard had been right. I'd been a security breach all along. And all because anyone who knew had just accepted I was traumatized, rather than asking questions. Not even Nora had suspected. Why. . .because I was a halfling. That infernal Fae dismissiveness of anything human had tainted their perception of me, a half-blooded Fae, as well. They’d accepted my apparent weakness as a matter of course, and worked around it for the honor of the House. In the end, I was Skilled, and useful, and there were worse things than functional insanity. Houses were flush with insane Lords. No big deal.

I couldn't be too angry with them though—I'd assumed the same thing. I'd gaslit myself worse than Renaud ever had. At least he had never called me crazy. He had contradicted the term every time I’d labeled myself. How many times over the years had he told me he was not a splinter of my personality, and that I was not insane? And each time, I had brushed him off.

I staggered backward, knees weak and stomach churning.

“Aerinne—”

I straightened from my crouch, gritting my teeth to push aside the storm of emotions that I didn't have the time or strength to process. I wanted to fall to my knees and break into a million pieces, but I didn't have that luxury.

“Where's Numair?” I asked.

“Gathering anyone military trained still at the faire to help route innocents out of the Prince’s path.”

I braced. “What has the Prince been doing?”

She gave me a look. “You'll see. . .steel yourself, Rinne.”

Gods.

I reminded myself over and over again that I didn’t have time to fall apart.

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