Page 48 of Beneath Scarred Vows
"Don't what? Speak the truth?"
She rolls her eyes.
"It's true. It's just another part of you," I tell her. "A part that shows me exactly who you are."
"And who am I?" she asks.
"A survivor. A fighter." I pause, looking into her eyes. "A queen."
She laughs, and then a serious look comes across her face.
"Can I ask you something?" she asks hesitantly.
"Of course."
She turns and props herself up on one elbow, her expression serious. "I'm grateful for the words you've said regarding my vulnerability, and for making me feel safe when I told you I've never been with a man before, but Ares, if I'm truly to be your queen..." She hesitates. "Then I need to know my king. "
My body tenses, but I keep my face neutral. "What do you mean?"
"I see something in you," she continues, her voice gentle. "A burden you carry, like I have mine. You watch those security feeds all night. You barely sleep. You're hypervigilant about protecting everyone."
I clench my jaw, fighting the instinct to shut this conversation down.
"If you want vulnerability from me, I need it in return." Her hand comes to rest on my chest, right over my heart. "Tell me something real, Ares. Something you haven't told anyone else."
I sit up, putting some distance between us. Cold air rushes into the space where her warmth had been. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my back to her.
"You're asking for a lot," I say, my voice rougher than I intended.
"I know," she says, sitting up.
The silence stretches between us. I can feel her waiting, patient but persistent. This woman who'd just let me see her most guarded secret is asking for the same in return.
Fair, but terrifying.
I've never been vulnerable with anyone. Not even my siblings know the depths of what I carry—especially now as Don. Vulnerability is weakness in my world, and weakness gets you killed.
But if she's to be my wife, really my wife, not just in name or as a strategic pawn—how can I expect her loyalty without giving her my truth?
I take a deep breath and turn to face her. She sits cross-legged on the bed now, in her bra and underwear, having ditched the dress on my third time devouring her.
"My father," I begin, the words sticking in my throat. I clear it and try again. "When they found my father..."
I stop, images flashing before my eyes that I've tried desperately to forget. The room goes cold, and it's as if I'm back to that terrible day.
"You don't have to—" she starts, but I shake my head.
"I do." I meet her eyes. "I was there."
Her face softens with understanding, but she doesn't speak.
"I was the one who found him." The confession slips out, heavy as lead. "Not the guards. Not my brothers. Me."
I close my eyes briefly, fighting the memory that comes roaring back. When I open them, Katerina has moved closer, though she doesn't touch me. She's giving me space while showing me she's here.
I clench my fists, remembering everything.
"I saw the blood first. Fuck, there was so much of it." My voice drops. "Too much for one man, I remember thinking."
