“I know.”
“I suppose ignorance is bliss,” I murmured.
“Knowledge rarely makes things easier.” He inhaled deeply. “What I shared with you? It is forbidden to do so.”
I looked over at him. “Then why would you?”
“Yet again, I don’t know.” He laughed. “I think I felt the need to explain why I’ve done the things that I have, because it feels . . .” He frowned. “It feels important that you understand that I’m not . . .”
That he wasn’t a monster.
I drew in a ragged breath. I didn’t know what to think. Was he a monster? Possibly. He claimed to feel no compassion and laid waste to cities at the King’s orders, but he carried the weight of the King’s orders. I could see that even now.
I did know that he was neither bad nor good. Nor was I, and I didn’t need my intuition to confirm any of that or to know he saved those he could and mourned those he couldn’t.
“If you wish to leave, Calista, I will not stop you. I wouldn’t even blame you,” Prince Thorne said, drawing my gaze to him. “That I promise.”
Nodding, I backed up and turned from him, because that was . . . that was what I thought I needed to do. I crossed the space, the feel of his stare burning into my back. I reached the door, wrapping my fingers around the handle. It turned in my grasp. The door cracked open. My heart began to pound as I stared at the thin opening. I was frozen, at war with myself, because I . . .
I didn’t want to leave.
Despite the fact that I should, and despite what I’d learned, I wanted to stay, and I knew what it meant if I did— what I was agreeing to. The kind of company he wanted didn’t involve me teaching him the intricacies of consent or continuing to argue about only the gods knew what. He wanted me. My body. I wanted him. His body.
Why couldn’t I have that?
There was no reason, except a . . . a keen sense of nervousness, because staying inexplicably felt like more.
Because it wasn’t just pleasure I sought if I stayed with him. It was the companionship. His seeming unexplainable trust in me. The complexity of who and what he was. It was also the quiet I found with him.
Closing the door, I turned to see him standing where I’d left him. Our gazes locked, and I thought I saw a hint of surprise in his features.
Slowly, he extended his hand. My chest felt too tight and too loose at the same time. I didn’t feel the cool floor beneath my feet as I walked forward. His eyes never left mine as I lifted my trembling hand and placed it into his. The contact of my palm against his was a shock to the senses, and as his fingers threaded through mine, my intuition was silent, but somehow I knew that nothing would ever be the same after this moment, after tonight.
CHAPTER 27
There was a good chance that it was just my overactive imagination guiding my thoughts, filling in the gaps my intuition was silent on, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that this one choice was the start of everything changing as Prince Thorne turned.
Without saying a word, he led me into the bedchamber. My heart was still pounding as I glanced from the doorway to the bathing chamber and then the bed. The nervous energy ramped up in me, a mixture of anticipation and the . . . the unknown. It had been so long since I’d been with anyone.
And I’d never been with anyone like him.
Prince Thorne stopped at the side of the bed and turned to me. He was still silent as he cupped my cheek, the colors of his irises swirling. Could he tell why my pulse hammered now? I dragged my lower lip between my teeth.
Holding my gaze, he drew the tips of his fingers down my throat, to my shoulder. He turned me so my back was to him. “What was it like for you? Growing up?”
“I . . . I don’t know.” The barely there touch had left a wake of shivers.
“Yes, you do.” He brushed aside the heavy length of hair over my shoulder. “Tell me.”
I stared ahead. “Why do you want to know?”
“I just do.”
“It’s not that interesting.”
“I doubt that,” he said. “Tell me what it was like, na’laa.”
“It was . . .” My breath caught as his fingers found the row of tiny hooks along the back of my dress. A bedside lamp clicked on, startling me. His ability to do such things wasn’t something I thought I could ever get used to. “It was hard.”
He was quiet for a moment. “When did you become an orphan?”
“When I was born?” I laughed. “Or shortly thereafter, I suppose. I don’t know what happened to my parents— if they had become sick or simply couldn’t care for me— and I . . . I used to think about that a lot. Like why did they give me up? Did they have a choice?”