Page 46 of The Assassin's Bride

Thea blinked hard as she cut the last thread and thrust the shirt toward him at arm's length. “Here. My end of the bargain is complete.”

Gil regarded it in silence, then crossed the room to draw the shirt from her fingertips. “Thea.”

She refused to look at him, refused to let him see her weakness and emotion as hot tears spilled from her eyes.

He didn't let her hide. Slowly, he sank to kneel before her. His warm hands cradled her face, his thumbs wiping each tear from her cheeks.

Her breath caught in her chest and she choked back a sob. Gil pressed a thumb to her lips as if to still it as the fingers of his other hand tangled in her hair. He drew her closer, until she could no longer bear to look at the ordinary illusion she'd forged. She closed her eyes, envisioning him as he really was—his handsome face, his smoke-gray eyes, the hints of red in his beard that caught the morning sun—and when his lips finally claimed hers, she surrendered so readily that everything else fell away.

Relief and elation exploded in her chest, a whirlwind of fluttering feelings she'd fought down for so long. So desperately, she'd wanted this; the heat of his hands against her skin, the tender brush of his mouth on hers, the taste of his lips as he took what she'd so fiercely wished for him to want.

But fear, dismay, and heartbreak surged right along with her joy. He was a killer, a monster, a man who should have terrified her to her core. Yet when he finally broke away, she couldn't help the rush of butterflies as he rested his brow against hers.

“You are worth far more than any bride price,” he whispered. “And you deserve far better than me.”

Slowly, he released her, and when he stood, the shields she so often saw him use to bury emotion were back. “Pack your things.”

Her heart sank, but she nodded as he drew on his new shirt. Her mental image of him as he was warred with her eyes, but the illusion won, stronger and better than anything she'd ever designed. He was a plain man, as unremarkable as his name, and it was too late for anything to change.

Gil had his mission, and they had their deal.

It didn't matter how they felt.

Their marriage was still a lie.

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

He did not kissher again.

More than once, Thea caught Gil looking at her. Sometimes the glance was wistful, other times so solemn that she feared what he might be thinking. Each time, she reminded herself it didn't matter. They were so near to Danesse, to her new life. They'd part ways soon, and she did not expect she'd see him again.

Instead of blunting her feelings, that thought process made things worse. When they stopped for the night to camp at the edge of the road, Thea rested her head against his shoulder and Gil did not stop her.

As they neared the Ranorsh capital, they saw more travelers on the road. The lack of bold colors in the wardrobes of passersby reassured her the plan to offer things she dyed herself was wise. She'd have a future here, but the longer she thought about it, the more she realized it still felt hollow.

She no longer saw herself happy alone.

“I've realized what's wrong with me,” Thea announced as they passed another farm settlement. They'd spoken less often after leaving the inn and the look Gil gave her now was something between expectation and surprise. She chanced a smile, though the way it curved her lips felt insincere. “I've developed Sartherian Madness.”

His brows lifted. “Is that so?”

“Think about it. You're a dangerous man who's appeared in my life without warning. When we met, I was sure you meant to kill me, but now that we've been stuck together for some time, I...” She trailed off without finishing. She what? She certainly didn't idolize him the way Sartherians idolized the king who tore their country asunder. She didn't complete her thought, but he still chuckled and replied.

“There are two problems with that,” he said. “Firstly, we aren't in Sarther. You've never even been there. I am relatively sure it only counts as Sartherian Madness if it happens there. Kentoria likely has its own name for it. Secondly, the Hostage King of Sarther spent months conditioning his subjects by forcing them to endure deliberate suffering from which he could rescue them. Had he tried to move from the cause of the problem to the solution in a span of weeks, I don't think anyone would have fallen for it as readily. And thirdly, which I just thought of, I absolve myself of any responsibility for your madness because I never intended to cause you difficulty, nor did I intend to...” Like her, he trailed off, and his face fell.

Thea gazed at him hopefully, willing him to finish the thought she couldn't.

He did, but not in the way she hoped. He sighed and stared off into the distance, where the city of Danesse rose from the heart of the river valley. Their downhill trek made things easy, and his pace remained steady, but she took the distinct sense he wished he could slow down.

“It will be difficult to part ways with you,” Gil said after a time. “I did not anticipate that I would so greatly enjoy your company.”

“Nor I, you.” A lump rose in her throat as she admitted it.

“But Rilion surely waits,” he added. “He is more tangled up in this than is fair to him, and I cannot let him down. I only pray he has not tried to continue without me.”

Thea nodded. An informant's role was dangerous. The one Gil worked with risked much by entangling himself in Kentorian affairs. “His name is familiar to me. I swear I've heard it before.”

“You should have. It's the most popular name for Ranorsh males there is. Rilion was one of their legendary heroes, near mythological in status.”

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