Page 138 of The Spark that Ignites
Gods, she wanted to hit something. Or set fire to this whole fucking room. Char that lifeless white to the black of death.
Emmery stalked to the door, her blood pounding in her face as she laid her hand on the handle and turned back to face him.
The air thickened as they both panted, glaring at one another.
Destonne’s eyes flared. “Sit. Down.”
She lifted her chin, defiance simmering in her words. “Make.Me.”
What was he going to do? Pick her up and carry her back to the table? She would like to see him fucking try.
Grinding his teeth, the King’s chest rose with a heavy breath. He said, his voice a quiet rage, “You’re unbelievable. I gave himeverychoice. Every chance to change his mind and do right by you. He treated you like property. Like you werenothingto him.” The words snapped from him, a mouse trap triggering over and over. “Do you know how quickly he agreed to the deal? Doesn’t that anger you?”
Emmery quieted, exhaling through her nose. “If you dangled the chance to bring my sister back, offered up my freedom and my home ... I would’ve taken it too.”
“Was that not your plan all along? To steal it all and slip away?” He leaned back in his chair, his finger skimming the rim of his goblet. “You almost had everything you wanted. And you gave it all up. For what? To bring back that filthy traitor?” Something akin to pride and rage glistened in his eyes. “We’re more alike than you think.”
Destonne’s stare stripped her to her bones, and she hugged her middle. “You don’t know that,” she protested but she couldn’t even convince herself. “And I’mnothinglike you.”
“You’re a terrible liar.” He clucked his tongue. “About as transparent as a vat of water.”
Emmery was done with this conversation. Done being told that she had been manipulated and used, and gods ... it all hurt too much. When the room began to swim and the weight of the wine struck her in the face, she stumbled.
Destonne shot to his feet as she teetered.
It hit her all at once.
How damned tired she was. How hopeless her heart was.
She swayed on her feet but clung to the door handle.
“If that was my plan,” she said, her voice rough. “I clearly didn’t go through with it, so what does it matter?”
Her face burned differently than before. Her anger subsided and eased into gut wrenching humiliation—an all-consuming sadness threatening to swallow her whole. The back of her throat burned, her vision blurring with tears as she fixated on the white tile.
Vesper had cheated her, taken advantage, and lied to her. How could he? Damn it, how could he do that to her? But what he’d done was complete now. And there was no going back. No pretending.
Emmery’s voice whittled, now just a whisper. “None of it matters.”
Destonne took a large step toward her, his long legs easily shrinking the space between them. “Sit down.” He looked her over, seeing something she couldn’t be sure of, before gently adding, “Please.”
When their eyes met, his softened and his brows pulled together.
And Emmery’s body slowly gave out, buckling under the pressure.
Maybe it was the wine or everything finally sinking its claws into her. A sick medley of exhaustion, devastation, and such terrible, impossible sadness weighed down her limbs as her world collapsed, crumpling like parchment in an unyielding fist.
She stumbled and Destonne lunged to steady her, his hands under her elbows. It took her by surprise and Emmery inhaled sharply at his proximity, his large presence seeming to suck all the air from the candlelit room.
Drinking all that wine on an empty stomach had been a terrible idea. She should have stayed on guard. Because look where she was now. In the arms of her enemy. Completely helpless.
Fuck.
Blinking back the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, she tilted her head up to catch a glimpse of the King. He was tall and warm, and she almost leaned into him, a strange comfort stemming from the way he’d caught and steadied her.
Destonne’s throat bobbed with a swallow, and he met her gaze, his expression flat but eyes swimming with something she couldn’t name.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, his voice hoarse as he scanned her face, again sketching some sort of assumption about her. Like he was picking her apart, separating skin from bone. “I’m very sorry. For everything.”
