and grief abruptly rose in Lydia’s chest, and she blurted out, “Do you want to be with her?”
Killian went still, his eyes fixed and unblinking on the ground. “I’m sworn to her.”
“To protect her, not to marry her!”
“I…” He gave the slightest shake of his head as though to clear it. “I have to believe that Malahi will make a better ruler for Mudamora than any of the High Lords. Better than her father. If my marrying her is what it takes to get the crown on her head, and to keep it there, then I’ll do it.”
Lydia’s chest throbbed in the way it did when she’d healed too much and it was threatening to give out. Like it was too tired to keep beating. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I answered it well enough.” He turned away, his back to her. “For all that she’s done, Malahi is my queen and my future wife, and I’ll not speak against her.”
Of course he wouldn’t. Not even if Malahi deserved it. He was too honorable. Too gods-damned loyal. “Do you love her?”
“Lydia…” His voice was hoarse. “Don’t ask me that.”
“Do you love her?” she demanded, rising to her feet, her knees wobbly.
“Please don’t push this.”
Let it go, a voice whispered in her head. Nothing good will come of this. But she couldn’t. Not this time.
“Tell me that you love her, and I’ll let you be.” Hot tears were rolling down her cheeks. “Say it. Just say it. Say that she’s the one you want.”
The silence was interminable. The worst she’d ever endured. Lydia was on the verge of speaking again just to break it when Killian turned around, voice low as he said, “Don’t make me lie to you.”
Lydia took one step toward him. Then another. Her foot rose to close the distance between them when he reached up, catching her shoulders. She could feel the heat of his hands through her clothes, his arms trembling, fingers flexing.
“You can’t.” He said the words under his breath, barely loud enough for her to hear. Not speaking to her, but to himself. “You can’t do this.”
Why can’t you? Why does it have to be this way? The thoughts circled wildly in her head, demanding to be voiced, but Lydia shut them down. Because to ask him to betray his word to Malahi would be like asking him to betray who he was.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the flood of tears even as she felt the heat of his breath against her face, heard his soft inhale and exhale in her ears. This was what her heart wanted. He was what she wanted. But neither of them took that next step, only stood and breathed and thought of what might have been. Because it would never be more than that. Never more than a dream that taunted the mind in the darkest hour of the night.
“Lord Calorian?” a voice called from outside the tent, both of them jerking away from each other with a start.
“What?” Killian demanded. “I’m trying to get some sleep.”
The individual coughed uncomfortably. “You’ve been summoned by the King.”
“Malahi is queen.”
A hesitation, then, “I’m just conveying the message.”
Hissing between his teeth, Killian shook his head. “Keep the lamp down and your head covered. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
68
KILLIAN
He strode through the muck of the Royal Army camp, barely noticing the soldiers who inclined their heads to him as he passed.
There was only one thing that Serrick could possibly want: Lydia.
Without her, he had no proof that Malahi had tried to kill him, and without that proof, the crown was no longer his.
If Serrick got his hands on her and forced her to testify, Malahi would be executed for treason and then Lydia would be given over to the healing temple, and Killian refused to allow that to happen to either of them. Which meant he was going to have to lie. Lie, and then get Lydia free of this camp and, in doing so, save both her and Malahi.
Guards opened the flaps to Serrick’s tent and Killian stepped instead, making his way through the series of antechambers, following the sound of voices. The first face he saw as he stepped into the receiving chamber was Hacken’s, and Killian froze in his tracks.
His brother was splattered with mud and a long red scrape marred one cheek. The rest of the High Lords who’d been with him were also present, equally filthy and battered, but alive. Serrick