Page 9 of The Exile's Curse

Charl was his best friend. He would be happy for him. He had schooled away any yearning his heart had in Chloe's direction and been a friend to them both. Or he had tried to. It had been difficult to watch them fall in love and marry. But watch and welcome and support he had.

Then Charl had ruined everything beyond recovery through sheer idiocy.

He'd died for his folly.

Chloe had fled.

And Lucien had been without either of his best friends for ten years.

Now Chloe had returned, but he feared the woman who had been his friend was gone for good.

There was no sign of warmth or light in her now. No sign there might be a way to slip inside the barriers she had so clearly erected. He could not blame her. He imagined if he had lived in exile for ten years, he might have some walls of his own. And he must leave her to hers and not do her the discourtesy of trying to batter his way through them like a lout. Things had changed. He would accept that fact.

"I will bid you good day, then, Madame."

He thought for a moment that he detected the faintest of winces before she regained her steely composure. He had never been so strongly tempted to send a whisper of his power toward her, to find out, if she spoke to him again, if she spoke true. But that would only add another layer to his betrayal. Not to mention go against all the oaths he had sworn to the emperor and himself. Truth seeking wasn't an easy talent and not one he would have asked for, given the choice. All he could do was try to use it for good. And even that sometimes led to unbearable choices.

And betrayal.

"Farewell," he said. This time he completed the bow and made himself step around her. There was work to do. His answer had always been to work. Work ceaselessly, and with a focus that had earned him a fearsome reputation within the judiciary and the Imperial mages. Until his father had died a year ago and he had become the marq and had to return to a life that required more of him than the work of a Truth Seeker.

The way titles passed was unfair, passing the burden of responsibility that came with them at a time when the recipient was also reeling with grief for the loss of a father. But he had shouldered the load and taken up his duties. In the last few months, he had even been listening to his mother's increasingly broad hints about heirs and grandchildren and starting to look at the women of the court with a different eye.

He hadn’t been entirely alone for ten years. There had been stolen nights and short affairs along the way. But he hadn't found a woman who lit the world for him as Chloe had.

But he didn't need that in a wife. He would choose a woman who he liked and respected and who offered him the same in return. That was enough for a family. A foundation that had carried many of the noble families of Illvya far through the centuries. Making heirs and protecting a heritage didn't require passion. It required commitment and friendship and a shared sense of duty. Marrying such a woman was the sensible thing to do.

But then he'd seen Chloe on the docks, and all the sense in his body had dissolved into dust and blown away.

Goddess help him, she was more beautiful than ever. He clenched his fists against the urge to turn back and look at her once more. He hardly needed to. The memory of her just now was still vivid.

Whatever had happened to her, it had polished her to brilliance like a diamond. Her face had lost the remnants of girlhood, and now the cheekbones had angles that only drew attention to the curving mouth and dark eyes fringed with thick lashes. Eyes that held no hint of the laughing besotted wife of his best friend. Well, it would be impossible think that ten years in exile had not changed her. But he hoped that same joyous spirit was still there somewhere inside.

Not that he believed he would be given a chance to find out. She had looked as though she would rather smite him dead than speak to him.

But he wanted the chance.

The stupid male part of his brain whispered that death would be worth it.

But it had been a very long time since the stupid male part of his brain ruled him. He would not let it do so now. He might want to ease the pain she still so clearly carried, but he would not add to it.

He had nearly reached the end of the hallway when he thought he heard her say, "Good day, my lord." It was another effort of will not to turn back, to see if possibly his ears were playing tricks on him and it was only his imagination conjuring the sound.

He’d had plenty of conversations in his head with both Chloe and Charl over the years since things had gone so horribly wrong. Long detailed conversations and arguments and rationalizations with the versions of the two of them who lived in his memories. Some might call it irrational, but he didn't think so. It was simply a way for him to make sense of how it had all gone so terribly wrong. And maybe it was his magic, wanting to find the truth that lay at the heart of the disaster. But he never had. Perhaps he never would.

A regret he would carry to his grave along with the regret that Chloe had not forgiven him.

Damn the man.

Chloe marched down the hallway, no longer entirely sure where she was headed but determined to put distance between herself and Lucien. She hadn't expected to see him here at the Academe. She'd not expected to see him anywhere, quite frankly.

He'd been perfectly polite. Regretful, even. But that didn't change the fact that seeing him was a lightning strike, carrying in its wake a storm of memories deadly as a flood.

Of her life before. Of the young woman who'd had hopes and dreams and had seen them all smashed to dust.

No.She wasn't her. And she wouldn't let memory rule her.

She turned right blindly and pulled up short when she found herself facing one of the outer doors. One shove and she was out in the sunlight, breathing hard, wanting only some air. And a chance to wrestle her feelings back under control.

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