“You okay?” Beneath his smart-ass tone, I catch a hint of worry.
“No, I . . . it’s just been a long day and I’m tired.” The thought of him seeing me cry fills me with horror. Hiding my face, I flee from the room, making up some excuse neither of us believe.
Only once my door is firmly shut, the covers tucked around me in bed, do I let the tears release. I force my face into my pillow, the tears quickly soaking the soft cotton. I cry so hard I don’t make a sound.
The creak of a door jolts me from my pity party. The prince stands just outside the threshold of my room, and he has the audacity to look concerned. His arms are lifted, his hands clenched into the top of the doorframe so hard I think the wood will break.
He doesn’t enter. He won’t let himself. As if he’s afraid of what will happen when he does.
Anger floods my cheeks in a fiery wave.
“Summer—”
“No,” I say, swiping at my cheeks. “You do not get to come in here and act concerned. It’s too confusing. You hate me. You like me. You want nothing to do with me. Then you come in here without a shirt looking concerned and—just enough. Enough. I can’t take it anymore.”
His nostrils flare, his jaw flexing as he just stares at me. Then he nods, reaches for the door handle, and leaves.
As soon as my door quietly shuts, I cry and cry until the flood of emotions washes me into my dreams.
“I killed her.” The words I wake up screaming echo off my bedroom walls. I thrash in my bed. Sheets tangled around my legs. Hair pasted with sweat to my forehead.
“I killed her I killed her I killed her.” I can’t stop saying that as the nightmare I just wrenched from invades my mind. Oh, God.
For some reason, I’m not surprised to see the prince in my room. His eyes glow faintly silver, their depths impossible to read. “It’s a nightmare, Summer. Just a nightmare.”
I pull my knees to my chest as tears pour freely down my face. “I was back at the farmhouse and the children were there. It was Christmas Eve. We were all gathered around the tree when . . . I looked outside.” My voice catches. “My mom was out there. My real mom. But she was different. I knew immediately she had changed. Become one of . . . them.”
“A darkling?” he asks softly. His voice is still heavy with sleep, but there’s a gentleness to it I can’t ignore.
“Yes. She—she tried to get inside. Clawing at the doors with her fingernails. Then she called my name and . . .” I wipe at my face. “I took a knife from the kitchen, the one we use to carve meat, and I killed her. She didn't even try to stop me.”
He watches as I try to pull myself together. As I slowly force my brain to accept that it isn’t real. I didn’t kill my mother. I would never kill my mother. I may not have memories of her and I, but I know we loved each other deeply.
“I would never kill her,” I say. “Never.”
Through my wet, clumpy lashes, I search his face for disdain. For cruelty. For all the emotions I imagined he would feel if he saw weakness on my part.
But the only thing I catch inside his eyes is sorrow. A sorrow so deep it could fill an ocean.
“What time is it?” I whisper, if for no other reason than to take his intense focus off of me and my red, crumpled face.
“Nearly dawn.” He reaches for me, hesitates, then brushes his knuckles over my wet cheek. “Go back to sleep. I’ll stay here and if you have another nightmare, I’ll wake you.”
I blink through bloodshot eyes at him, unsure leaving him in my room while I sleep is a good idea. He must think I’m scared of him because he retreats a few steps. “Trust that I won’t hurt you, Summer.”
“Won’t you?” I whisper.
He gets my meaning immediately. I can see that by the way his mouth tightens at the corners. He shoves a hand through his hair and takes a final step back to rest against the side of the wall.
Then he fixes me with a long, piercing stare. “Go to sleep, Summer. You’re safe with me.”