Page 82 of A Kingdom of Destruction

She should make something up. Lie to him, or tell him to shove off because it wasn’t any of his business. Instead, Aven found herself saying, “I’ve applied my runes too many times, it seems. They’ve left a physical mark on my skin. I’m scarred.” She glared at him. “I know it just makes me even more hideous to you and your kind.”

“There is no judgment from me on your scars. You should know that. We all carry them in different places. Some of them are on the inside, and others, like yours, are on the outside.”

The statement clanged through her like someone had dropped a stone down a well. Her muscles tensed. “I don’t care about your life philosophies.” She pressed her hand tighter against the scar on her bicep. “I’d like you to leave. Now.”

He made it difficult to think with his proximity. Especially when he watched her the way he did, his head slightly tilted to the side, and it terrified her how much he saw. Not only her bare flesh but…her.

“What is it about the scars that embarrass you?” Roran asked. He reached for her arm only to stop himself before making contact. “Is it because mortal women want to be pretty for their imaginary princes? Do they think their handsome fae lover will not want to wed them if they’re damaged goods?”

She frowned at him. “Who are you calling damaged goods?” It felt better with him there. Awkward, of course, but better.

“I’m trying to get to the bottom of this embarrassment of yours.”

“By making me angry.” She shook her head. “You are such a bastard.”

“You have no idea.” He grabbed her hand and tugged it away from her body, the force of him enough of a surprise to have herletting go. Roran stared at the scars long enough she wanted to spit at him.

Still, he waited. “Tell me about these,” he said. The flatness of his voice twisted her heart.

“I already did. I’ve redone them all the time, and they’ve scarred over. I’m proud of them.” The second she said it out loud, Aven stopped. She actuallydidfeel proud about her scars.

“Then why do you hide them?” Roran asked softly. “Like I haven’t noticed the long sleeves you wear.”

She jolted. He’d put it together? How? “Just because I don’t show off my scars doesn’t mean I’m ashamed of them. They’ve allowed me to heal when I needed to heal, stay strong when I needed to be strong, and maintain the determination to see my battles through to the end.”

“An efficient way to look at things. And how do you feel about the wand?”

She had no answer for him—none that were forthcoming in the moment. She only stared at him like for a moment she might see through him the way he did for her. His grip lightened on her wrist, and she let her hand fall down to her lap rather than covering up the scars again.

A muscle in his temple twitched, and he broke eye contact, reaching between them for her wand.

“It’s saved my life multiple times. I can’t destroy it.” Aven gulped. “But it would be wrong to keep it. It doesn’t belong to me.” Nothing felt right. Like there was always a step she missed or something out of place. Especially with Roran this close to her.

“Please, don’t take it away from me.”

He stared down his nose at her before asking, “Why? If you were going to destroy it, then it shouldn’t matter if I keep it or not?”

“Because… it’s one of the only things I have left from my own life. Even if it’s just the pieces.”

They sat together for a long time, with neither one of them willing to move. As though one wrong move would break the odd peace blanketing over them.

Aven’s face burned while she waited for him to answer.

“I won’t destroy your wand, little princess,” Roran finally replied. “It’s yours as much as it is the Darkroot’s, because you’ve used it. You’ve given it your energy and it’s given you magic.” He reached out, like he might stroke the side of her face, before he changed his mind. “A symbiotic relationship.” Then practically threw the wand back at her. “So keep it,” he spat out. “Redo your damn runes. Cover your scars.”

“Roran, what?—”

She wasn’t sure where things changed, but the energy between them shifted out of balance sometime in the last minute.

His breathing turned ragged. “We’re all getting what we want in the end, aren’t we? Cillian is getting his bride, you’re getting the safety of the royal family, and our kingdoms have peace. Much-deserved peace.”

He hadn’t said anything about himself.

“What about you, what do you want? There has to be something.”

“Another thing you haven’t learned yet. It doesn’t matter what I want, because it’s not up to me. I’ve already been given more than I deserve. More than people expect me to be given. I should just be damned grateful.”

His voice roughened on the last word, his fingers twitching at his sides like he was physically restraining himself.

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