Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
And all this time I really was just a pawn for their syndikat, a toy to be used and tossed away while he marries into royalty. How could I have thought anything else? As he told me last night, his life has been one of privilege and mine has been of pain. He’s part of one of the most powerful and prestigious families in Norland, if not the world, and I am a poor Eslander who’s been scraping by for most of her life.
“Brynla,” he says again, his hands cupping my face now, his palms warm. He stares deeply into my eyes, forcing me to look into their amber depths, to take in his sincerity. “I care about you. A great deal. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. And that might not seem like much coming from someone like me, but believe me…I didn’t think I had it in me. I didn’t think I could…”
He trails off, licking his lips. “Please, just know that this whole marriage isn’t happening. I don’t want it, and I’m pretty sure the princess doesn’t want it either. It’s just a thing our families do here, but today I made it clear that I won’t be a part of it. No matter what. Didn’t you hear that part of the conversation?”
I shake my head, though his hands still grip me in place. “I left.”
He nods, taking that in. Then he kisses me, hard and quick, enough to put my emotions back into a spin.
He breaks away and rests his forehead against mine. “They know where I stand,” he says. “But I don’t think you do.”
I stare at his lips, feeling too many things bubbling up inside me. Grief, fear, desire, comfort, need—and hope. It always comes down to hope with him.
“So tell me,” I whisper, knowing I’m putting my heart on the line by asking for it. “Tell me where you stand.”
He takes in a deep breath and runs his thumb over my lips. “I stand where you stand. And you stand at the forefront of my life. Everything else falls to the wayside. Every thought, every feeling, it revolves around you, like you’ve embedded yourself under my skin, deep enough that I couldn’t get you out even if I tried. And it has been killing me this last week that I can’t reach you, can’t push away your pain, can’t make it all go away, make it better. I know it’s selfish of me to think like that, but it’s true.”
“I know,” I say softly. “I’m sorry that—”
“No. You have nothing to be sorry for. Never with me. You are grieving and I will continue to do what I can to make you feel that you’re not alone. I just wish…I just want…”
“What?”
“What I really want more than anything is to matter to you. To be something to you, to be everything to you.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I want to be your better tomorrow.”
My eyes fall closed, my heart tumbling in my chest at his words.
“I want that too,” I whisper.
Which is why this whole thing has caught me off guard. Hope can be such a dangerous thing when it’s all you have left.
“Then let me,” he says, running his hands through my hair. “Let me be your better tomorrow. Let me be whatever it is that you need me to be. Please.”
I find myself nodding. I should be making him grovel for keeping secrets, but I’m so emotionally wiped that I can’t seem to find the strength to keep being angry.
“There are no other secrets you’re hiding from me?” I ask. “No secret children you have somewhere?”
He laughs. “Goddesses, no.” Then he pauses and looks me over. “We need to get you something warm to wear.”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Not where I’m taking you,” he says. “Stay here.”
He lets go of me and walks to the door, shutting it behind him. I have no idea what he’s talking about or where he’s taking me, but when he returns he’s got my pants, boots, socks, and a large heavy coat in his arms.
“Put these on,” he says.
“Why? I’m not that cold.” I take the pants and pull them on, then kick off my slippers and put on the socks, which are made of thick wool and a little too big. I have to hike them up to my knees.
“Those are mine,” Andor says. “Don’t worry, freshly laundered.”
I slip on my boots next while he puts the coat on me, and then he grabs my hand and leads me out the back door of Steiner’s lab, into the garden.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, but he doesn’t say anything. The morning air is warm, though the breeze carries a hint of crispness, as if hinting at a change in seasons, but the coat is already too warm.