Page 82 of Fae Exile

Since he stabbed me in the heart. The one fact that was impossible to forget.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not safe, Rush,” I corrected. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be safe again.”

His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he ran a hand over his face, leaving another slash of smears across his forehead and cheekbones. “Yeah, I know. I know. And it’s fucking killing me.”

“Given what you did last time we were summoned to the throne room, seems like a poor choice of words.”

His tattoos flared brightly, vines climbing rapidly to encase his eyes, which swirled and churned with an anguish so tangibleit dispelled any remaining doubt. This man before me had suffered over his choice nearly as much as I had.

But never as much.

Unwilling to soften the effects of his actions, reaching beneath Saffron’s arms, I tugged down the neckline of my shirt. Umbrac gunk crusted onto the fabric, and flecks of their black ink rained down to the carpet.

I rubbed at the still raw scar on my chest where I’d forever bear the mark of his betrayal. The scar had formed into a puckered pink kiss—an irony that labeled it thekiss of death.

His brows lowered in evident distress, his stare pinned on my fingers as they massaged the skin around his lethal kiss.

“El,” he murmured, taking a step toward me. But then he quieted, his next breath shuddering.

Gently, I tapped the skin around the wound that, according to Finnian, would likely never fully heal, the magic of the mate bond too potent to not leave a mark.

“I thought of you every single day,” I voiced in a hush before regretting the vulnerability of the admission. He still had so much to make up for.

When his silver eyes glimmered with a flash of hope, I glanced down at my scar, seeking to dash it. He’d hurt me so terribly, dammit!

“With this pretty thing you left me with, there was no avoiding it. Of course, that was after I gained consciousness. For days, they didn’t know if I’d live or not.” I whispered, “Days when I thought it’d be easier to just die.”

He sucked in a sharp inhale. “El…” he breathed.

Still, I didn’t look at him.

The echo of his handprint surged across my skin, encompassing his kiss of death, as if he cupped that wound in his hand. The outline of his mark glowed silver.

“Why this?” I asked of the new brand he’d left me with.

“I-I didn’t know that would happen. I’m sorry ... to have left you with another reminder of me you can’t get rid of.”

When I finally glanced up, he sighed, the corners of his eyes and forehead creased, and took another step toward me. If he stretched his long arms, he’d reach me.

“When the dragon touched your forehead, you collapsed. You were out a long while, long enough for me to worry. I thought...”

When he didn’t continue, I prompted, “You thought what?”

Meekly, he shrugged. “I thought the touch of your mate might bring you back to me.”

“But why’d you touch me there, of all places?”

“It’s what I felt I should do. It’s like when...”

“When what?”

He flicked a pointed look up to the corners of the room, to the seams of the lilac walls and the cream ceiling that implied a softness the queen’s court lacked.

“They’re there,” I said of the severed eyeball and ear that bobbed along the ceiling. “Does it really matter, though? She already knows everything.”

He rubbed both hands across his face, leaving more jagged streaks of filth. “Yeah, you’re right.” Even so, he softened his voice so even the ear might struggle to pick up his words and took another small step closer.

When his breath came, I felt it flutter across the bare skin surrounding my wound.

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