Page 69 of The King has Fallen

“Try it,” she murmured.

I was about to open my mouth, to demand that she never again enter my head, when another image appeared there—an image of…me.

It was her memory. The moment I’d entered the King’s tent, striding into his presence then kneeling. And although I knew the memory was true—I remembered that moment, knew she was showing me the truth of what I’d done and what I’d said—the vision was… colored differently.

Breathless.

Awed.

Nervous.

“You can see that it’s from me. You know that. Push it away, Melek,” she said quietly.

But it took me a moment, because there was something I didn’t understand: An inkling in her memory ofhope.

Was the memory colored by her own thoughts and feelings in that moment? Or was she merely trying to soften me so I wouldn’t be so angry?

I didn’t know, but I sucked in a deep breath, took hold of myself, and pushed the images away.

And sure enough… they were gone.

Vapor blown on the wind.

Relief coursed through me—but was immediately followed by suspicion. Had she only let go of the control so I’d believe I could make her do it?

“Fetch are not evil, Melek,” she whispered. “We are not puppet masters—not in that way. I can give you images, show you things. But you can deny it at any time. And the more opposed you are to receiving what I show you, the harder it is to make the connection at all. If you do not want me in your mind,simply decide so. Like holding your hands over your ears—my whispers will not penetrate.”

I rolled my jaw, considering her words.

They could be blatant lies. But I didn’t think so.

Over forty years on this earth and I had learned to trust the instincts God gave me. They’d led me through battle, helped me navigate tense political conflicts, even friendships…

Then I blinked and focused on her properly.

She was still sitting, holding her injured arm carefully, chin down and eyes up on me. There was no guile in her expression.

There was some fear.

“Why?” I asked her bluntly. “If… why would you do that? Was it truly simple gratitude? It seems an odd way to…thankme.”

She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze to the floor. “I may have… overstepped,” she murmured, grimacing. “But you should know it… I could not… Iwouldnot have contact with your mind in that way if I did not trust your… restraint.”

Restraint. Of course. She’d been abused, threatened, on the cusp of violation and I had saved her.

It was a strange response, but not uncommon. I’d seen it in men on the battlefield—winners in the end, but having walked the line of death, it was as if every emotion, every drive were heightened.

Desire became need, and need became survival.

In the wake of battle, I had fallen into the arms of a woman more than once myself.

And those moments were nothing. A drive. A need tofeel.

I stared at her, still unwilling to trust, but cautiously accepting that perhaps I understood what had just happened more than she did. And that understanding gave me compassion for what she had been through, but also left me a little… sad.

“I will not violate you, Yilan. I would kill you first.”

“I know,” she said simply.

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