Page 102 of The Ashes and the Star-Cursed King

“And you aren’t Neculai.”

“Damn right I’m not,” I muttered, though I sounded less convinced than I’d like. I wasn’t like him. So why did I feel him shadowing my every move these last few months?

“Let her in, Raihn,” Mische said, softly.

I rubbed my temple. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. Yes you do.”

I caught my snappish response in my teeth—isn’t that a little hypocritical coming from you, the girl who locks up every time anyone tries to ask you anything fucking real?

But that was a childish response. None of this was about Mische.

Maybe it wasn’t even about Oraya.

“Everyone has abandoned her,” Mische murmured, her eyes sad. “Everyone.”

“I’m not abandoning her.” My words were sharper than I’d meant for them to be. “I made vows. I’m not doing that.”

Your soul is my soul. Your blood is my blood. Your heart is my heart.

I’d been struck by it even that night, the way those words felt rolling over my tongue. With so much weight.

It would be so much easier if this was the game that I tried too hard to convince everyone else it was. But I knew, deep down, the truth of what this was. I could lie to everyone else, but I wasn’t good at lying to myself, not even when I wished I could.

I turned away, studying the rolling dunes outside the window, my arms over my chest. The view was beautiful, but within a few seconds it blurred to the image of Oraya’s pained face. Her face the night of the Kejari. Her face on our wedding day. Her face when she’d sobbed at the top of that tower in Lahor. Her face just now, on the verge of tears.

I had fucked up.

From the first moment I’d seen Oraya, ready to throw herself into a pack of drugged vampires to save her blood vendor friend, I’d been fascinated by her. I told myself it was just curiosity at first—totally practical interest in Vincent’s human daughter.

That pretense didn’t last long. No, I’d never been very good at lying to myself. Never even bothered trying to tell myself that the only reason I kept Oraya around was because of what she could offer me.

“I thought I could,” I said, finally, not looking away from the dunes. My voice caught in my throat a little. “Thought I could—I don’t know.”

Save her.

Those weren’t the right words. Oraya didn’t need to be saved. She just needed a soul beside her on the dark walk to her own potential. Someone to protect her until she was strong enough to save herself.

I settled on, “I thought I could help her. Keep her safe.”

“You can. You are.”

“I don’t know about that.” I turned. Mische had fallen back into the armchair, her knees drawn up to her chin, her eyes wide and rapt. No one listened quite like Mische.

“I hurt her,” I choked out, “so fucking badly, Mish.”

The wrinkle between Mische’s brows softened.

“You did,” she said softly. “So what are you going to do about it?”

I had thought I’d known the answer to that question. I’d give her everything that had been taken away from her. I’d hand her the power that Vincent had tried to keep away from her her entire life. I’d protect her. Defend her. Arm her.

It felt like the only right thing. And the world didn’t deserve Oraya—but what a magnificent thing she could become.

I wanted to see that. What the hell was the point of any of this if I couldn’t do that? Right this one wrong?

But now, doubt crept into the dark corners of those thoughts.

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