Court of Midnight - Lucinda Dark Page 0,68

don’t let me compliment you,” she repeated. “Do you let anyone?”

It took me a moment to gather an answer to such an absurd question. “Compliments are unnecessary,” I told her, leading her back towards the inner corridor and away from the garden.

“No they’re not,” she replied. “They’re very necessary.”

“No, they’re not,” I corrected her.

She shot me a dark look. “Just because you don’t see a point in them doesn’t mean they’re unnecessary.”

“Then what, pray tell,” I challenged her as we walked, “is the point in complimenting a person other than to gain their favor?”

Her pretty blue eyes rolled. No, not pretty, damn it. “True compliments are given without the expectation of anything—not even favors or good standing,” she said. “Complimenting someone with sincerity makes the other person feel good. It expresses a person’s kind opinions. Like just now.” She gestured between us. “I told you that I thought your music was beautiful, but you called it nothing. I’d think it was just because you didn’t like me if I didn’t know any better.”

“Oh?” What a curious and obstinate little thing she was. “Then do you?”

“Do I what?” Her head tipped back once more as she looked up into my face. I was captured by her and for the first time, I realized that she and I were well and truly alone. Earlier, we had been alone in the courtyard for her training—but this was something entirely different.

We were in the dark—no Roan, no Orion. Just her and me. It was a unique thing, something I’d never expected to happen, and that was an error of my own design. I should’ve realized that there would come a time like this. She was here to stay. Cressida—Cress—was intertwined with Roan and Orion and … for the first time, I thought to myself how I might not quite hate the idea of her being the same way with me.

“Sorrell?” she called my name, recapturing my attention and pulling me from my thoughts as we moved through the darkened hallways.

“Hmmm?” I hummed back.

“Do I what?” she repeated.

Ah, yes, her question, I thought. “Do you know better?” I finished.

Her full lips split into a wide grin. "Normally, I'd say absolutely not, but with you, I'm starting to understand."

"And what is it that you think you understand?" I questioned.

"You," she replied. "You're so cold and bossy, and you alienate yourself from nearly everything and everyone—save for two others. Roan and Orion." Her gaze fell away from my face as she turned back towards the corridor, walking forward. "You don't deny my compliment because you hate me—though..." She trailed off for a moment before looking back at me. "There was a time that I thought you truly did hate me."

"There was a time in which you were correct," I said. The words were out of my mouth before I could recall that they would be offensive, but to my utter shock, she didn't act insulted or even surprised. She simply nodded at me as if she had expected that answer.

"But you care about them," she continued as if I hadn't said a word. "I think if anyone else were to compliment you but those two, you would still say the same thing you said to me—that it was nothing."

I sighed. She was looking far too closely at something that didn't matter. "Roan and Orion are my brothers," I told her. "They do not compliment me. They give me their opinions."

"And if they gave you the opinion that your music was beautiful, what would you say?" she asked.

I gritted my teeth. "It's just music," I told her.

That brought forth a laugh, and Cressida laughed like she lived—fully and with no reserve. Her hair shook at the sides of her head as she tipped her chin up and released her laughter. It brightened her face and I was transfixed. My feet slowed to a stop.

She stopped, too, pulled to a halt by my inability to keep going. “What’s wrong?” she asked, tilting her head curiously.

What was wrong? I repeated the question to myself. All of it was wrong—I had been wrong. About her. About myself. As I stood there in a corridor filled with shadows, she glowed like the only source of light. Brighter than any flame. More brilliant even than the Goddesses of old.

"Sorrell?" she frowned at me, stepping closer as her hands drifted up to my arms—as if touching me could ease the turmoil I didn't think she even realized was causing to riot inside of me.