Page 74 of Break Her Heart
This had been the darkest winter we’d endured, and yet it seemed to pass faster than any before. The ground had begun to soften, thick patches of snow were melting, and if you stood in the sun long enough, you could feel a moment of warmth.
Maybe the gods had taken pity on us and thought we’d been through enough this year.
When I wasn’t traveling, I trained with Jonah and Darrin, ensuring my skills didn’t falter. We might have a weird sense of safety right now, but deep in my gut I knew that something else was lurking out there, waiting to strike.
And then there was the one moment of weakness when I came across Talia in the woods, still searching for Shadow.
For a second, I wanted to reach for her. I wanted to say I was sorry for how we ended, for the truth she never got to hear. And when she stepped closer, when her fingers brushed mine and she looked at me with something almost like forgiveness, I didn’t pull away.
We didn’t speak. Not with words. Just a quiet desperation that pulled us together beneath the cover of trees and fading light. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t wise. But it felt inevitable. I held her like I used to, kissed her like I still meant it. And when I whispered her name against her neck, I felt her shudder like she’d been waiting years to hear it.
She still loved me. I felt it in every touch, every breath she shared with me that night. And I loved her too. I always had. But loving her was dangerous. My life wasn’t safe. And no matter how much I wanted to stay in that moment, in her arms, I knew I couldn’t let it happen again.
Because the next time, it might kill her.
As the sun rose higher, I forced my thoughts back to the present. I brushed the dirt from my clothes and sheathed my blade before heading down the trail that led to town. The walk wasn’t long from Darrin’s home, just far enough to separate the quiet of the woods from the low hum of life in the streets.
People were beginning to emerge from their homes, wiping sleep from their eyes, some carrying baskets for Market, others leading sleepy children by the hand. A few stopped to greet me, smiling in that cautious, grateful way I still wasn’t used to. I offered nods, a few quiet words. But I kept moving.
The whispers followed me. Not loud. Not obvious. But I’d caught enough to know what they were saying.
“She’s a witch, isn’t she? The king married a witch!”
“Her parents were burned by his father. Can you believe that? What kind of man marries into the bloodline his father tried to wipe out?”
“I heard she turned one of them to ash with a flick of her wrist.”
“He was working with the Legion. Hunting his own kind!”
“And now magic’s back? What does that mean for the rest of us?”
Speculation hung in the air like smoke from a hearth fire. Bronwen’s name was enough to stir unease. She had become a symbol. Of freedom and of fear. She was the quiet storm that unsettled the entire kingdom.
I kept walking.
Because I savored every fleeting moment I could spend with her now.
23
Bronwen
August tried to fight me on this every week, trying to use every possible reason to keep me from going, or at the very least let him come with me. I wouldn’t back down on this. No vampires would be in town in the middle of the day. The only ones capable of it were his siblings and I thought they understood well enough now that I was off limits.
The first time I went for breakfast with Adar, August rode with me to the gate, tried to come with me, but when I threatened to spell him to the carriage bench until I returned, he complied.
I had given August everything he asked, but I wasn’t budging on this time with Adar.
We eventually settled on a compromise: one Legion soldier would accompany me into town. It was unnecessary, and we both knew it. I could handle myself. But August insisted, calling it a matter of “appearances.” I was the queen now, after all, andit was already strange enough that I chose to walk the streets of town once a week like I was still just a seamstress’s daughter.
I walked down the cobblestone street with my head high, even as people around me gawked and whispered, their words brushing against my ears like biting wind. I didn’t need a crown for anyone to know who I was. Some bowed, some turned away, and others just stared with wide, uncertain eyes. But I kept walking, spine straight, chin lifted.
Over a month had passed since the night August and I gave in to each other again. In that time, we’d developed a rhythm—if you could call it that. A truce, maybe. During the day, we worked in the archives with Benedict, who served as a buffer more than anything else. The space between us remained tense but manageable as long as we had something to focus on.
We would have dinner together, sitting on opposite ends of the table. Other than the servants bringing in food and Halston waiting until we sat at his decorated table to leave, we were alone. Then we would go downstairs to the parties and act as the model king and queen. No one brought up August slamming the vampire into the ground, but the broken marble reminded everyone to be careful.
But at night—every night—we unraveled. We undressed each other with equal parts fury and hunger, like it was the only way we knew how to speak. Each touch burned, every breath was a surrender, and when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, August would push me further, drag me over the edge again and again, only to hold me after like I was something precious.
Still, it wasn’t a relationship. It wasn’t love. Just sex—violent, necessary, addictive sex. It made being around each other easier. We didn’t have to talk. We could just release all of our frustration and fear into each other’s bodies and collapse, too worn out to keep the war going.
