Page 43 of Honeythorn
“I cannot tell you how much I regret what I have done. I sought to prove that Jack no longer had any control over me, and all that has become obvious is that I am as much under his control as I ever was.”
Milan took a shaking breath. That could not be true. “Raphael,” he started, for it was not the time for honorifics. “I am very sorry, Husband, for what happened to you.”
Raphael revealed his eyes from under his hand. They were wide and wet with suffering.
“I cannot absolve you completely. I don’t even know if I have the power to do so. My body…it still fears you, somehow. It still…”
“I let my fears torture you. I tortured you.”
Milan shook his head. “It does no good for us now to describe what has happened in such a way. You say that your intentions don’t matter. Perhaps it won’t change what has happened—but it will affect our future. And what counts more than that, now?”
Raphael shook his head again. Milan persevered.
“I…I don’t have the ability to sort through everything in my mind and emotions and come up with who is wrong and who is right. What I have gone through has been…trying. What happened to you was horrific. The will of man…perhaps we expect too much of it, in such circumstances.”
“How can goodness prevail if we don’t expect it of people?” Lord Raphael demanded.
“How can goodness prevail when we expect it of people regardless of the cruelty of their situation?”
Raphael opened his mouth to fight back, but Milan cut him off with a shake of his head.
“We cannot start philosophising now. All we can do is figure out where to go from here. If we become entrenched in the past, we will go nowhere. Let’s forget about forgiveness for a little while. Let’s just…”
Lord Raphael looked at him for a moment. “In the beginning, you said that, even if there could not be love, maybe there could be companionship. I do not deserve to ask anything of you now, but if I did, it would be for you to let me prove myself to you—that I will no longer put you in danger. That I will do all I can to never let anything like this happen to you ever again,” he implored.
Milan remained silent for a while. “It is not that I do not believe your conviction, but how are you so sure that what you say will be possible? Your actions were guided by the fear of being truly bonded with another. Of letting me into you, of allowing me to feel you like no other, and for you to feel me. How can you expect that fear to disappear?”
Raphael took a bracing breath. “I do not expect the fear to disappear, but that is why I am responsible for what has happened. One can conquer fear to do what is right, something which I failed to do. Seeing you there, dying, because of me…my fear of that happening again is far greater than allowing the bond to grow. What you have said in the past is right—you did not choose this. I agreed as much as you to marry, I lay with you and bit you to create the bond. What’s done is done. This is the only option I have left.” Raphael’s eyes were beseeching, pleading with Milan to believe him.
What else could Milan do but accept what he said for now?
Milan smiled weakly before nodding. “All right.”
As if that agreement had cut all his strings, Milan felt a sudden wave of exhaustion. That conversation had been far more than his body was ready to handle.
“I know I have just dragged you all the way here, but perhaps you were right—I overestimated my ability to stay awake. I think it is best if we rest. As much as I abhor the idea of returning to my bed, I believe it’s become a necessity.”
Raphael sat up at once. “Of course.”
The walk back to Milan’s room was filled with an odd, ringing silence, as if Lord Raphael’s words had been so loud that it left the quiet trembling.
They both paused in front of the bed, trepidation crawling up Milan’s spine. Lord Raphael seemed to notice it at once.
“I will sleep on the chair, of course. If it’s all right, I’d like to tie a soft piece of cloth I have there around our wrists, so that our hands do not separate in sleep.”
“All right.”
Milan felt guilty leaving such a worn out Lord Raphael to rest poorly on the chair, but even with all he had learnt, he couldn’t quite face having his husband in his bed.
Despite all that was churning in his head and the strangeness of sleeping tied to another person, exhaustion took him quickly.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After a fitful night of sleep, Milan and Lord Raphael organically agreed on a routine. Lord Raphael made it clear that he would abstain from working outside for the time being and suggested that they spend their time together in the library, knowing, of course, that this was where Milan had previously spent his days.
Even if they rarely talked, it was strange to spend so much time with Lord Raphael. To see his frown of concentration as he worked or how he would sometimes mutter to himself, numbers and odd words as he tried to figure something out.
Sometimes, Milan would pretend to read even as all his attention was on Lord Raphael. Or, at least, on thinking about him, and all he had revealed about his past. Milan wished he could see the whole thing, his story included, play out at the theatre. To divorce himself from the situation and watch as an observer instead of a participator. That, however, was impossible—he could not evaluate what had happened with only logic. Emotions would seep through, both for the abuse that Lord Raphael had gone through and for his own experience.
