Page 91 of Enslaved

I nod.

He spits a bitter curse. “How did he find out?”

“Does it matter?”

After a moment, the Prince shrugs. “I suppose not.”

“And it is true.”

His jaw ticks. But he nods.

Tears spill through my lashes, stream down my cheeks. “Why? Why did you do it?” I stop, my throat closing on a sob. When I’m sure I’ve mastered myself, I continue, “He was only a boy. He was fifteen—without a mother, a father, a sister—no one to look after him.”

“Yes. But his potential was tremendous.” The Prince looks me in the eye, gazing deep. Willing me to understand him. “And his pain was profound. I knew it was only a matter of time before he took up his pen, and then . . .”

I shake my head. “You don’t know that. You don’t know what he may have been, what he may have written. You took it from him, his gift, his strength. You took away his hope.”

“I merely suppressed the potential for terrible disaster. It’s my responsibility. To protect Eledria from the monsters men like him create.”

“Men like him? What about me?” I press my fists to my chest.“I’mthe one who did it.I’mthe one who broke your precious Pledge, brought a Noswraith into being, and killed your mother.I’mthe one who’s guilty. Not Oscar. He was innocent. He’s always been innocent. He never harmed you or yours. He never harmed anyone! Yet you were crueler to him than you’ve ever been to me. You gave me back my power, urged me to use it, urged me to be strong. But you crippled him! Broke him and left him as good as dead!”

“I didn’t have a choice.” He hangs his head, his voice low, rough. “I visited him every so often. Just to see if it was yet safe to let the curse go. Each time, I was only more convinced I’d done right. That boy’s soul is steeped in darkness. If he is ever set free, that darkness will seek to find liberty somewhere. He will put it onto paper, send it forth into the world, and let the combined magic of weaker minds bring it bursting to life. Make no mistake—I’ve seen it happen. Time and again. I’ve watched a newly-spawned Noswraith lay waste to scores of innocents in a single stroke. I cannot stand by and let it happen, knowing I could have prevented it.”

“So you’d condemn my brother to this miserable half-life existence?” I shake my head, sidling away from him, backing up further and further. “You don’t even know him, yet you judge him so harshly!”

“I know him better than you do. Because I see him truly.”

You’re not seeing rightly.

“I see the darkness in him and the unwillingness to let it go. He sits in it, brews in it. It’s seeped into every fiber of his being.”

“You’re wrong,” I snarl. “You’re wrong! You don’t know anything about him! He’s a beautiful soul, sensitive and caring and so terribly alone! He wouldn’t hurt a fly. And if I was there with him now, the darkness would soon leave him. You’re the one who’s made him like this. Your curses and your Obligations. You’re just like all the rest of your kind—cruel and heartless, manipulative.”

I could not have hurt him more if I’d struck him across the face. The Prince reels back, eyes wide. “Is this how you see me, Darling? Have I not shown you my true heart? Have I not proven myself willing to lay down everything for your sake? My city, my people. My very life.”

“None of it matters.” My voice is high, desperate, my heart pounding painfully in my throat. “What do I care what you’ll give up for me if my brother—my dearest, my heart—remains suffering in torment? And by your hand.”

The Prince takes several steps toward me, holding out his arms as though to catch and crush me in them. I draw back. “Don’t touch me!”

He looks horrified. “Darling—”

“And don’t call me that. I cannot bear it. I cannot bear you, the sight of you. That you would do what you have done. That you would kiss me, hold me. That you would take me. Knowing all the while if I found out the truth it would destroy me.” I’m weeping uncontrollably now. I can hardly see him through the blur of tears. “I loved you.” My voice cracks.

“Loved?”he repeats. “And what are your feelings for me now?”

His face is so heartbreaking, it nearly moves me to pity, to regret. I steel myself against it, draw my shoulders back. “What do you think I feel for the man who has tortured the one I love most in the world?”

He is silent. For a long, terrible moment. Then, very quietly: “Go on. Say it. Let me hear it.”

“I loathe you.” The words whisper from my lips like poisonous fumes. “I despise you. I . . . Ihateyou. For what you have done.”

He turns away. His back, his shoulders are like a wall between us. I stare at him, silently willing him to turn around, willing him to look me in the eyes. Willing my own voice to somehow find the right words to say, the courage to speak and tell him I didn’t mean it. That no matter what, no matter my pain, I could never truly hate him. Never.

But I am not fae. I am human—so I can lie. And lie so thoroughly, even I begin to believe it. So the Prince does not turn. And I do not speak. And we stand there in that terrible atmosphere of hatred and hurt, unable to escape. Unable to find one another.

At last, he says softly: “Your Obligation is ended.”

“What?”

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