Page 47 of The Maleficent Faerie
I purse my lips. “How should I know? He took me to my room and then left. I came in here looking for—an extra candle.” I seize one and nod to him. “Good night. Happy sweeping. Oh, and don’t bother sweeping my room. It’s very clean. Very tidy. No need to touch it at all.”
I back away, toward the door between the rooms, but Kyan says sharply, “Wait.”
Heart racing, I pause.
“I wanted to apologize for threatening you.” His words fall heavily, as if they weigh on his tongue as well as his heart.
“I should apologize toyou.” I bite my lip. “Your sister—I’m sorry.”
The words are pitifully inadequate, but they’re all I have to offer.
“You were doing the job you were given.” His hands are white-knuckled around the broom handle, and his silver wings slump, trailing on the floor. “This war—everything has become so tangled I’m no longer sure what is right. Perhaps you feel the same way sometimes.”
“You don’t believe in what your King is doing?”
Kyan grimaces. “I never said that. I believe the King wants the best for everyone, and I trust his judgment, that the blood of the next Conduit is the necessary catalyst for the spell he wants to attempt. He would not claim such a thing without reason. He is a good man, though he doesn’t always believe that.”
“I don’t think anyone is good,” I mutter. “Everyone lies, cheats, murders, and betrays.”
Hearing myself say it aloud—it hurts. My view of the world has darkened so much in just two days. When I stood beside Dawn at the Lifegiving I was so hopeful and excited because in three months’ time, she and I wouldn’t have to worry about the curse anymore.
The girl I was at the festival is gone now. Someone far more bitter, angry, and reckless has taken her place.
Kyan is watching me soberly. “I understand grief, as do others here. You may be an enemy by your birthright, but not by choice. So if you ever need to speak with someone… if that would bring you ease…” He clears his throat. “I would listen. So would Andras.”
Drinking and fucking has formed a fragile shell over my emotions, but that barrier cracks at his words, and my pain spills out.
“Why?” I say hoarsely, incredulously. “Why would you show me kindness? I’ve killed your people, your sister. You want revenge on me, remember?”
“I want revenge on those who are truly responsible for this war. But if giving up my vengeance could secure lasting peace, that is what Forresh would want me to do.” He steps back out into the hall, pulling the King’s chamber door half-closed. “You should sleep, Your Highness.”
I can’t find the words to say, so I slip back into my room and close the door. After setting the candle on the dresser, I walk to the bed and unlock Malec’s bluesteel cuff, barely glancing at him. He gets up, stretches his wings, and preens a few of the ruffled feathers with his claws.
When I sit limply down on the bed, he says softly, “Are you all right?”
I lie down without answering and pull the covers over my whole body and my head.
A moment later, the mattress dips under Malec’s weight, and his claws peel back the sheets. He scrapes my tangled hair away from my face.
“What happened?” he murmurs. “What terrible thing transformed my dominant mistress into a creature who hides under covers?”
I close my eyes tightly, but two hot tears slip out anyway. “Forgiveness.”
“Ah. I thought I heard voices through the door. Who was in my chamber?”
“Kyan. Sweeping. I killed his sister, and he offered to listen if I need to talk. How could he say that? How could he—goddess, I can’t bear any of this.” I flop onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow.
The King continues stroking my hair—well, combing it with his claws, really.
He’s vain, insecure, impulsive, self-loathing, heretical, and careless with his powers. I should not find comfort in his presence. I should not know all those things about him, after so short an acquaintance—nor should I understand that he’s also compassionate, determined, well-mannered, loyal to his knights, and considerate of his people.
I hate him for being here, for being a person I cannot truly despise. I hate him for touching me like he cares.
I flip over and knock his hand aside. He frowns as I scoot away from him on the bed, wrapping my arms around my knees.
“How long do I have?” I bite out.
He raises an eyebrow.
