Road To Fire (Broken Crown Trilogy #1) - Maria Luis Page 0,97

else but Saxon on the proverbial chopping block that day, I don’t know . . . I squeeze my eyes shut as the startling truth reverberates through me. I don’t know if I would have risked my own life for anyone but him.

Saxon and I have known each other for only a week. And yet . . . And yet, it feels like our lives were always meant to cross paths. An intersection. A juncture with the sort of hard-hitting collision guaranteed to alter life forever after.

He may not believe in fate, but I do.

Saxon Priest has always been my destiny.

Desperate, I shake my brother loose and try again. “You saved me.” At my sides, my fingers tremble. I curl them into fists, not out of anger, but to keep myself from reaching for the man who still won’t spare me a single glance. “And I returned the favor by lying—first by omission and then completely outright. You didn’t deserve that. You don’t deserve that. The world thinks you murdered the king but—”

“Stop.”

“—I did it,” I finish, raising my voice to speak over him. How many times did the confession sit on the tip of my tongue, waiting to be freed? And now that I’ve opened the gates, every grim, bitter detail is begging for escape. “All this time, it was me. Maybe you’re right—you and Peter both—because I’m exactly what you said. Ruthless. Broken.”

“I said stop!” Saxon whips around, his face a mask of anguish. Because I killed the king? Or because I lied and allowed the blame to fall on him? I don’t have the chance to voice either question. In three powerful strides, he demolishes the space between us. “I don’t want to hear another word, Isla. Not another fucking word.”

“Saxon, you—”

“No.” His big hand clamps down on my shoulder, driving his rough-hewn face centimeters from mine. So close that our noses touch. So close that I can feel his hot breath on my mouth. I shudder. “Never again,” comes his low hiss, his devil eyes locked on my face. “Do you understand?” He shakes me, fervent, demanding, torture written in every tense line of his body. “Promise me right now that you’ll never repeat any of this. Promise me.”

“The damage is already done.” I sweep my hand over his, squeezing once. “Father Bootham was found dead in my flat. Whoever stole those pictures obviously set me up, just as they did to you. There’s no stopping what’s coming, Saxon. I killed King John, and not even you can save me.”

Above the roar of paranoia, I hear Peter curse beneath his breath followed by a short, pained, “I-I don’t want you to die.”

Josie.

Oh, God.

Without missing a beat, Peter launches forward, his arms already outstretched to comfort our sister. He disappears behind the breadth of Saxon’s shoulders, out of my line of sight, but when I try to follow, Saxon blocks my path. There’s nothing but his broad chest and strong, stubbled jaw and his hand on my shoulder that shifts to cradle the base of my head as his gaze flicks between mine, searching.

“Promise me.”

At the roughly uttered command, I cave. “Yes, fine, I promise. Now please move so I can see my—”

“Isla Quinn, the king killer,” interjects a new voice, all-too-pleasantly. “It has quite the ring to it.”

The masculine timbre is instantly recognizable. Sharp hostility congealed with a mocking friendliness that instantly squares off my shoulders for battle.

Guy Priest.

I lift my gaze to Saxon’s, aware of our audience, and barely move my mouth around the words, “Let me go.”

His response is instant: “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

I move a second time.

Again, the stubborn man mirrors the side shuffle, firmly planting himself in my way, as though shielding me from prospective harm. A hopeless, frustrated laugh climbs my throat. There’s no danger here, not in this house. Nothing besides the very real possibility of crushed emotions if I don’t smooth the troubled waters before the waves drown us all in one go.

I lower my voice, intending my next words to be only for the two of us. “She’s young. This isn’t”—I draw in a sharp breath—“You need to step aside, Saxon. Please. Right now.”

He drags his thumb along the side of my neck to settle over the plump center of my bottom lip. I feel that one touch all the way down to my toes. But in his prolonged pause, I can’t help but wonder if he’s weighing his choices. Maybe debating whether or