Kiva bit her lip, fearing he’d now have another reason to be angry at her — not that he needed it. As it was, he already appeared to be debating whether or not to close the door on her.
“Please,” she rasped. “I’d really like to talk.”
Caldon’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he moved to the side, allowing her entry.
Slipping past him, Kiva looked around his quarters with unveiled interest. Aside from the bed, desk, bookcase, and wardrobe, the room was bare, the space practical and functional. There was no art on the walls, no clutter on the floor, everything perfectly in its place — with no personality whatsoever. It was so antithetical to everything Caldon was that Kiva felt a thread of alarm, enough that, instead of opening with a repeat of her earlier apology, the first thing she blurted was, “Why don’t you live in the palace?”
Caldon closed the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his semi-bare chest. “Why are you here, Kiva?”
He didn’t answer her question. But worse, he’d called her by her real name. Not Sunshine, not Sweet Cheeks. She loathed them both — or so she told herself — and yet she would have given anything to hear either of them from him right now.
“May I sit?” Kiva gestured to the chair behind the desk.
Caldon didn’t move from the door. “No.”
Kiva had known this would be difficult, but he wasn’t even trying to make it easier for her.
“I know you’re upset with me,” she said in a placating tone. “You have every right to be.”
“How generous of you,” he said flatly, his face hard.
Wincing, Kiva reminded herself of why he was so angry — and that it wasn’t just because she’d drugged him.
Do you have any idea how that feels, to know someone you care about is missing, possibly in danger, and you don’t know how to find them?
Unable to hold his angry gaze, Kiva looked away, her eyes landing on his desk and seeing something she’d missed during her initial scan, the only hint of color in the otherwise utilitarian space.
It was a small, framed portrait — a boy and girl, both grinning widely with their arms around each other, behind whom stood a man and woman smiling adoringly down at them.
Kiva’s heart gave a painful throb as she shifted closer, her fingers itching to take hold of the frame, but she made herself resist. Even so, she knew exactly what she was looking at: Caldon and his family, before tragedy had ripped them apart.
“I screwed up,” she whispered.
Caldon straightened in surprise.
“I made a mess of things today. I should have just told you I needed some alone time. I hate —” Her voice broke. “I hate that I put you through that.”
She reached for the portrait then, trailing her fingers gently along the edge.
“I know what it’s like to have your family taken from you,” Kiva said hoarsely. “To feel that emptiness — that pain — and fear it’s never going to leave you.”
Caldon’s throat bobbed.
“I know how it feels to be left with nothing but darkness,” Kiva went on, before offering a quiet, dangerous admission. “I know what it’s like to become that darkness, how consuming it is. It’s so much easier to hide in the night than to fight for the light.”
Gods, did she know that.
“I also know how tempting it is not to feel any of those things,” Kiva whispered. “To shut everyone out so you never have to experience that kind of agony again. I know, Cal. I know.”
He uncrossed his arms, his eyes shining with the hint of tears.
“My family was taken from me ten years ago,” Kiva continued to whisper. “What I did today was wrong, but can you really tell me that if you were given the choice, you wouldn’t do whatever it took to be reunited with your parents again?”
It was a low blow, using his own heartache against him, but nothing Kiva had said was a lie — not this time.
“I truly am sorry,” Kiva said quietly. “More than you’ll ever know.”
Caldon’s jaw was clenched tight, but as he looked at Kiva and saw the genuine remorse on her face, he finally loosened it and sighed loudly, before ordering, “Get over here.”
Kiva hesitated, worried that he was about to throw her out.
But then Caldon was moving toward her, his strides long and swift, until suddenly he was drawing her startled body into his arms.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again, do you hear me?” he whispered into her ear. He pulled back to hold her eyes, adding much more firmly, “And if you ever — ever — drug me again, I’ll throw your ass in the dungeon for a week. Maybe more. Is that clear?”