Page 71 of Until the Stars Fall

Slowly I lowered one hand until it rested beside my leg. I was not sitting on the cold, hard floor of the dungeon as I’d expected, but on something soft, plush, luxurious.

No. No. No.

Where was I?

What had he done?

As my mind whirred, I blinked rapidly but still couldn’t see anything. How was it so damn dark in here? Turning my head, I searched for any light—from under a door or between some curtains or something—but there was only blackness. I scrambled backwards, then winced as my knees protested. When my back hit a wall of pillows, I released a less than attractive whimper.

Then the scratch of a match being lit pulled my attention to my right, where someone sat lighting a lantern. I didn’t see his face until the light was adjusted and the entire room was illuminated.

Connor.

Slowly, he turned to me, and the flame reflected in his eyes—eyes that roved over me. Fumbling, I clutched the blankets at my waist and dragged them up to my neck to cover myself.

“How’s your head?” he asked as he rose and walked across the room. He proceeded to start a fire in the large grate opposite my bed, and confusion swept over me. The fire caught quickly and was soon blazing, granting me my first view of my surroundings.

The room was larger than the one I shared with Millie. Stars, the bed itself was nearly the size of that room. No decorations adorned the walls except for a gilded mirror above the mantel. The lantern Connor had lit sat on a low table beside a chaise lounge, and to my left, beside curtained windows, sat an elegant desk and chair.

“You can still speak, yes?”

Connor’s question startled me. He was sitting once again on the end of the chaise, his elbows resting on his knees. I blinked at him, still not quite convinced this was real. But even if it was a dream, Connor wasn’t likely to accept silence. Talking was the best way to get him out of my hair as quickly as possible.

“It hurts,” I said curtly, pursing my lips.

“Understandably,” he said with a faint tilt to his lips. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

That drew a frown from me. Yes, I must have hit my head. Maybe I’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe all of it was just a dream—the encounter with Griffin, the sentencing, the…announcement.

Yes, it must have been the result of a head injury.

But some small part of me still wondered, pushing me to ask, “What happened exactly?”

“Well,” he said, lifting his eyes to the ceiling, “you collapsed and smacked your head on the floor.”

I reached a hand up to the back of my head and pressed lightly against the tender spot. At least there didn’t seem to be any blood. That would have been embarrassing.

“But why did I faint?” I asked, and his expression turned into one I’d never seen on him before, like a mix of amusement and concern, as if he wasn’t sure whether to laugh at me or worry about me.

“You don’t remember?” he asked.

Was that hurt in his eyes? Had my poor memory offended him in some way?

“No,” I lied, not wanting to share my ridiculous dream with him.

Tapping a finger against his lips, he watched me with such intensity I had to look away.

He let out a loud exhale. “Well, Lieke, I announced our engagement, and in the excitement of it all, you lost consciousness. Not a particularly flattering reaction, by the way.”

I forgot how to breathe.

It was true?

It hadn’t been a dream?

“But why?”

I didn’t realize I’d asked the question aloud until he was answering me.

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