Page 43 of Ties of Starlight

He had abandoned her.

The one person who was supposed to love her—the only person she cared about finding her desirable—could not stomach being married to her. She'd known—Bror's words to her confirmed it, if her other lifetimes hadn't shown just how repulsive she was to most elves. But Olaug was supposed to be the one who was different.

In their first lifetime, on their wedding night, when she’d been terrified, and he’d been little more than a stranger, he'd told her she was beautiful, unlike anyone he'd ever seen before.

That was the moment she'd fallen in love.

And now she was something to escape.

She'd tried so hard to be perfect for him. But it wasn't enough. It couldn't make up for what she'd done in her past life.

And she still had no idea what she'd done in that one that had caused him to cheat on her.

She reached for her bag, pulling it closer and taking out Bror's account of what had happened. The first time she'd read it, after discovering she was Inga too, she'd been shocked at the way Bror had told the story. She remembered all that time in the castle, working as a chambermaid, his disgust, his hate, how he'd called her a mongrel. But in his account, he spoke about her with a respectful indifference.

Then she remembered her death, and his words as she bled out in his arms. His version of the story was nothing like it.

She read it over again, the passage where he claimed he stabbed her because her savage human blood had taken over and after killing Olvir and the other elf, she was trying to kill him. Once he’d put her down, he'd gone to alert his brother.

Cold indifference.

It hadn’t been her fault she was human. The violence was in her blood. It was her nature. Who could truly be surprised Olvir’s actions had caused her to snap? How could someone hate a creature for their very nature?

She looked back at Olaug’s letter. No sob came up this time.

He didn’t love her, not in this life. Killing him in their past one must have ensured it.

She was empty. Completely numb.

She was still sitting there when the tent shifted and Nyrunn returned. She braced herself—this was Bror's nephew, after all.

But his face was ashen as he took in the sight before him. He looked exhausted. Devastated.

“I'm sorry.”

Idonea blinked. She hadn't expected that.

She also didn't expect him to kneel on the ground in front of her, push the letter out of the way, amidst the mess, and pull her into his arms.

She gasped, but no dagger came this time. It was just Nyrunn's hands on her back as he pulled her into his lap. “I shouldn’t have done that, but I let my anger get the best of me. I'm so sorry. I kept that letter from you for so long because I just wanted to protect you. I didn't want you to read what he wrote about you.”

She was perfectly still, but she did let him pull her close, resting her head against his chest. Her voice was hoarse as she rasped, “Why?”

“Because it's not true.”

How naive her king was.

“It is.” Her voice cracked, but there was nothing left to break. “I deserve it. I can't ever get it right. I always do something that drives him away. Why can’t I ever be good enough for him?”

One of Nyrunn's hands started running up and down her spine. “Don't say that.”

She let out a soft huff of laughter. “Is that an order?”

“No,” Nyrunn said, but then he was shifting and within seconds she was in his arms as he stood up, carrying her over to the bed. “But this is: rest.”

She curled a hand into his shirt as he moved to put her down. It was the strangest thought, but she was too weak to fight it off. She didn't want him to go.

He wasn’t Bror.

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