Page 92 of We Are the Match
She lets me, eyes raking up and down my face with curiosity and concern and hunger all rolled into one.
“Helen,” she says. “We could leave him and run.”
I shake my head.
Milos is staring at me, terror in his wide eyes.
“Your father will kill her,” he says. “You know that, Helen. I’m—I’m sorry. Iam. I didn’t want to kill your guard. I didn’t—”
Paris rips cloth from his shirt unceremoniously and shoves it into his mouth. “If he doesn’t even know Tommy’s name,” she says. “We don’t need to hear from him.” She looks at me. “Helen,” she says, her voice coaxing now. “We can make it.”
“Paris,” I attempt, but I can’t get the words out. I am not sure, now, what is even left to say. My plans were shaky at best—Tommy helping us lead an insurrection, reaching out to Hana or Frona to forge a new alliance. And now they are shattered on the ground around me.
But without any hope at all, without any chance of survival, Paris reaches for me anyway and says:
“Run away with me.”
I start to weep again, fragile as I am after all I have lost today.
Milos writhes against his bonds, anger and fear fighting for dominance in his face.
“Helen.” There is urgency in Paris’s voice. “Please.”
But I am not a child, and I will not be coaxed any more than I will be coerced.
“We could make it.” Paris sounds more desperate, but when I look at her, it is just weariness on her face. “All this ... Helen, all this bloodshed. We can get you away. You could befree.”
We can getyouaway.
Does she not intend to remain at my side, then? Does she not intend to outlive this war?
The thought tastes bitter.
“Paris,” I murmur. “I will follow you where you go—to Troy, to the mainland. To freedom. But wait for me at the boat below? My attendant will meet you there after she gathers my things.”
Paris’s shoulders sag with relief, as if she had expected me to put up more of a fight about leaving, and then she leaves with one last nod at me.
I pull the gag from Milos’s mouth, alone with him at last.
“No one can hear you,” I say. “No one will come for you.”
“Helen,please.” Milos’s eyes are desperate, but how dare he be desperate, when Tommy was so calm?
“Yes, husband?” I tilt my head, watch him carefully.
“We were made to rule, Helen,” Milos attempts. “You and I. We were born for this. We areroyalty.”
“Yes,” I murmur. “We are royalty.”
“You could embrace it.” Desperation colors his tone now. “You are as guilty as the rest of us. So lean closer to this world, wife. Rule with me. I will—I will do whatever you wish.”
I sigh, the release of breath a release of so much more.
“You were mine,” Milos whispers now. He raises his eyes to me, beautiful man, horrible man, ruler and god. “You weremine.”
I replace the gag, my hands gentle and sure, and his eyes go wide again. “I was always going to rule,” I tell him. “But not because of you, Milos. I have never once needed you.”
He had Tommy in front of him, and he pulled the trigger.He pulled the trigger.
