Page 229 of Disillusioned
He kissed the top of her head twice before speaking again. “Urging you toward Maximilian, the idea of you marrying a great and powerful leader, those were not betrayals,” he whispered gently. “Not in my mind. Because in the marrow of my bones, every godforsaken night I’ve walked to your tower and climbed those stones to watch you sleep, I’ve known that I’d guard you—loveyou through peace or bloodshed. Through every victory gained and every soldier lost.” His throat bobbed. “And there will be losses, Eleanor. Many.”
She turned her face toward him, eyes brimmed with moisture and heat as she rested her chin on his chest. “You didn’t just urge me, Garin. Youmanipulated. You orchestrated my marriage to Maximilian like a commander planning an insidious siege.”
“It was my mistake.” The words were rough. “Even before our thrall bond was sealed, I feared what it might become—whatImight become—if you ever mirrored what I felt.”
“Why are you afraid of this? Of us?”
Garin shifted himself against the pillows and pulled away enough to look at her. Truly look at her. As she rose on her forearms over him, his eyes reflected the firelight in the vanity reflection, combing over her hungrily—desperate to soak her in.
As if summoned by her hammering pulse, the flames surged in the hearth next to them.
“What I feel isn’t love, Eleanor.”
She pushed off of him, sitting up. Her face wasfilledwith blood. Her cheeks, her ears—even her pounding throat, were stained in the shade of berry that made his eyes darken.
“Not the way mortals understand it. Know it. This isobsession. And you should be afraid of what I’d do to keep you, if what I’ve already done isn’t proof enough.” He grasped her hands before she had a chance to pull them away. “Maximilian is not for you, despite how hard I’ve tried to convince myself. Your kingdom, Brocéliande—they need the defenses more than ever, anything beyond the meager army your father and those Le Tallecs left you.Yoursafety comes before everything else to me. Everything. Even before truth.” This was a truth that evidently ate him alive. Burned him toadmit. “There’s a part of me, Eleanor—a part I keep buried, deep down—that would do terrible things to ensure it.”
Her pulse would shatter her ribcage, want and horror existing there together.
There is no cost too great. For me. What, then, are you to pay?
It was what he’d meant at the inn. He’d known it even before she’d enthralled herself to him. There was no tempting a fate already sealed in blood.
“You speak of my safety as if it were yours to guard in the first place.” She took a breath—measured, but bitter. “As if I haven’t lived for this crown, tarnished it, bled for it more than anyone alive or dead.”
Garin merely shook his head. Slowly, as if he couldn’t believe the horrid things he’d done. “If you ever find yourself pondering,” he murmured, taking her hand in his and pressing it to his lips, “whether in this kingdom or the next, this life or the after—know this: I am yours till my last breath, and whatever lies beyond. A ring is too mortal a signet to bear in the name of the breadth of what I feel for you.” His eyes were distant—wistful—and she knew his thoughts were in a different time and place. “If ever the day comes I do own the privilege of placing one onto thine hand, it will be wrenched from my blood and yours, on arcane soil. Tragedy making us whole.” A sad, bitter smile touched his mouth. “No king shall bar your name from my lips. No crown shall hold you from me.”
“Do you really think I don’t see you for what you are, Garin? You think I don’t understand what it means to say yes to you?” Lilac’s throat tightened. “It would ruin my reputation with Brittany. It would end my relations with several allies, including the one offering us a way out. And still, I’d—” She reddened, giddy with the hope lacing her impossible words.
Garin leveled his gaze with hers. “You want to be my wife, Eleanor?”
41
The proposal was laced in cruelty and hunger, sounding more a dare than a solemn offer, yet Garin made no attempts to hide his burning curiosity. He didn’t blink. He waited patiently, brows slightly raised. Too calmly.
Lilac gritted her teeth. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? More than anything. Slowly, she placed her hand in his, lips parting to answer, when Garin’s head suddenly snapped toward the door.
A sharp bang at the door made them jump.
“Ofcourse,” Garin muttered, releasing her.
“Who is it?” she whispered, knowing he was already listening.
He said nothing, fuming and padding to the door. She licked her lips, watching his rippled back move in irked stealth for a moment before rising.
“Wait,” she hissed, already across the room rummaging in her boxed wardrobe from Herlinde. Lilac fished out another dress—this one cream, sleeved, and most certainly solid. She tugged a leather waist belt out and scrambled for the bundle of burned gown beside the tub, ears burning. Reeling.
Lilac straightened and threw him a towel from the table; Garin hastily wrapped it around his waist as she donned the belt and tucked the book into the pouch at the front.
The moment he undid the latch, Bastion burst in with a bundle of what looked like stationary in his arms. Piper and Adelaide promptly followed, and last—Myrddin, huffing and out of breath as he stumbled in and shut the door behind them.
Piper gasped. Adelaide’s ochre eyes widened at the sight of Garin. “What thefuckhappened to you?”
“Well?” demanded Garin, ignoring them as Bastion strode straight to the vanity. “Did you do it? Where is the chest?”
“Delivered.” Bastion swept his hand across the desk, knocking perfume bottles, jewels, and trinkets onto the floor as Myrddin sealed the door with a spell.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Lilac shrieked, stomping over.
