Page 110 of A Queen's Game
“Yes, I’m angry.”
“At him? Or Keyain and King Wyltam?”
“Oh, my gods. Yes, all of them,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “I’m tired of being treated like an object, pushed from one hand to another. Brynden proved he would claim me just as they have.”
“Because he wants you as his wife.”
Wants. As in,still wants.
“Though I’m free of my father, Brynden will now have to ask King Wyltam for my hand, which he will not get.”
Sylas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s his next step in this asinine plan to win you back—to ask the King for your hand.”
King Wyltam would turn him down, undoubtedly, for she was an asset to his crown. Elyse bit her lip to keep from saying something she would regret and held out her hand.
Sylas crossed the space and gave her the letter with a softened expression. Was it compassion? Sympathy? Whatever it was, Elyse preferred the scowl that matched her ownemotions. She cut him a look, pausing before unfolding the paper.
Like a sailor drifting lost at sea, shipwrecked and alone, my body thirsted—an aching need for water, though surrounded by it. A goddess came, blessing me with her rain, quenching my thirst, and offering me salvation. Oh, how parched I was, so close to death, yet unaware until she bestowed on me her gift.
I drank greedily, happy to take my fill and rejoice in the goddess’ blessing, but forgot to offer my gratitude, swept up in my own salvation. Within a blink, she disappeared, cast away by my negligence and selfishness, and again, I was alone in my suffering, with only myself to blame.
Having drunk the goddess’s blessed rains, to fill myself with her gift, to then have it taken away, made the parchedness return with fervor. To have and have lost, only then did I realize the depth of my gratitude.
So each day, I call upon the goddess. I pray to her to return, if not to quench my thirst, then to offer the thanks she so deserved. To show her that I, a parched male, forgot myself and turned blind to that which was gifted. To express the impact the goddess had made, though my time in her presence was short. To let the goddess know that, each day, my aching need reminds me I have lost something divine, for I was swept up within myself.
So each day I pray to her.
And pray.
And pray.
Hoping the goddess deems me worthy of her presence again.
A lump formed in her throat, emotion choking her at the unexpected words of Brynden’s letter. “He’s poetic.”
“He’s dramatic,” Sylas said, a smile curling to one side of his mouth.
Elyse reread the letter. “He couldn’t have just written a normal apology?”
Sylas laughed, a full smile coming to his face. “Nothing he does is normal. Everything he does is extravagant and over the top. He wanted you to know that the only way to make peace with a goddess is through prayer, so he wrote one.”
She shook her head, trying not to smile. “But does he mean it? Does he regret being a drunken ass? For claiming me like every other male in my life?”
“In his own way, yes,” Sylas said with a shrug. “By the way you left the library, he understood you were upset enough to call off the marriage, though he wasn’t sure exactly which part did it. He’s been manic at the townhouse, replaying the entire day with me repeatedly, and I, unfortunately, know too much about you two now.”
“Oh, my gods… how much did he tell you?” she said, blushing.
“You’re acting bashful when I found him headfirst in your skirt? When I was the one to retie your dress?”
Elyse clenched her eyes shut, sighing. “I try to block that part out.”
“Well, besides that, he shared what you said after we smoked—that you would love him forever if he could help you experience life, things that you missed,” he said, frowning as he looked out over the pond.
“I did say that.” And she had forgotten about it from all of that day’s excitement.
“He also told me about your singing—that goddess was an accurate name for you based on your voice alone,” his gaze slid to Elyse. “And he told me of the song you sang for him.”
“You know it too?”
