Page 40 of Break Her Heart
“Binding? Are you serious? I would never bind myself to you!”
“Well, you are.” August lifted a brow, the corners of his mouth twitching like this was all mildly amusing to him.
“No, August. I’m not.”
“It’s already been decided.”
He waved his fucking hand again, that same dismissive flick that made my blood boil.
I lunged, grabbing his arm and pulling on his magic, forcing him to his knees with a satisfying thud. “Do not ever wave your hand at me like that again,” I hissed, magic still thrumming at my fingertips.
His gaze landed squarely on my chest—which I could only blame myself for considering it was only inches from his eyes given his current position—and I scowled, ready to snap at him. But then he looked up slowly, amusement flickering behind his dark eyes, and gave me a real, unguarded smile.
As if he liked that I fought back.
“What’s worth more to you, Winnie?” He tilted his head. “You or your brother’s freedom?”
He knew the answer to that. My stomach twisted as I turned away from him, dragging my hands through my hair in frustration.
“That’s why you haven’t made the decree yet.” I spun back around to face him—only to find him already on his feet. “You were planning this.”
“No. I actually just came up with it. Pretty good, right?”
“You’re horrible.”
“Consider it another…incentiveto ensure we find a way to stop Carrow. He doesn’t take over my body, I’ll live forever and you’ll never see me in the afterlife.”
“I will haunt you.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “You’d just add to the voices I already hear. It won’t make a difference.”
He turned and began walking slowly toward the doors, speaking as casually as if he were discussing the weather. “I have several things to take care of before the ceremony so I will have food sent to you. Relax. Take a long bath. Sleep as long as you can before a nightmare wakes you.” He reached the doorway, paused, then glanced back over his shoulder and winked. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
12
Bronwen
“Oops,” I mumbled to myself, taking in the wreckage I’d left in my wake. August’s clothes were strewn haphazardly across the floor, torn from his armoires. The once-elegant curtains now lay in shreds, dangling limply from their rods. I had screamed, hurled objects until they shattered, torn down everything within reach. Then, I had stood in the middle of the wreckage, breathing hard, weighing my options: storm through the castle and track down whatever crypt August had buried himself in to finish our fight? Scale the towering window—which, I now realized, was far too high—and run for my life? Or use the magic I’d hoarded from Lavina and August and reduce this castle to a smoldering ruin? I’d conjured twin flames in my hands, ready to start with the bed. One spark, and it would all burn.
But I stopped myself.
Because it wouldn’t stop Carrow.
So here I waited, numb and motionless, for Jane and the seamstresses to arrive and prepare me. My hands sat folded in my lap like they belonged to someone else.
I had been as calm and submissive as I possibly could since we arrived. Only defending myself. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe I hoped August would change his mind if he saw how we could work together. Maybe I wanted to believe the version of him I saw in fleeting moments—the one who spoke gently, the one who looked at me like I was more than a weapon or a pawn.
But he didn’t change.
He went off the fucking deep end.
I heard the door handle twist before I saw him. A gust of cold air swept in ahead of him, curling around me like a warning. My breath caught. Somehow, I already knew it would be him.
Then, the doors swung open, slamming against the walls with a force that made me flinch. I jumped to my feet, my fingers instinctively trying to smooth the folds of my dress, even as my heart began to hammer in my chest.
August stepped in, the dark fabric of his coat catching the candlelight as he fumbled with something in his hand. His expression was unreadable as he glanced around at the mess until his eyes met mine—and then, for the briefest breath, something shifted. The cold mask slipped. He looked like the August who had shown me where his mother used to take him. He looked as if he might say something.
This was it. He regretted it—he was changing his mind.
