The Mirror King (The Orphan Queen, #2)(135)

Friends are lost: some to death, and some to differences we were never able to overcome. Some because they sacrificed everything for what they believed.

I don’t know if I’m ready to be queen. I don’t feel ready. But maybe queens never do.

All I know is this: I’ll give it my best.

Tobiah stood at my elbow, watching with those dark eyes. He’d washed up while I’d been out, and now he wore a clean black suit. He tapped the corner of my notebook. “You use this handwriting a lot. Whose is it?”

The hand was a mix of my favorites, the best parts of each. “It’s mine.”

“I like it.” His smile was faint, but it still existed. There was hope after all. “And these”—he touched the small stack of papers near my work—“are our letters from Skyvale? You kept them?”

I blew on my writing to dry the ink, and then closed my diary. “There aren’t many things I’ve ever really thought of as mine. This notebook. The signet ring my father gave me. My weapons. These letters are important to me.”

“Right up there with your favorite daggers?”

I shrugged. “Almost up there.”

He shifted his weight and touched the pale blue notebook I’d enchanted. “After you left the Indigo Kingdom, I looked for your letters every day, even when I didn’t have time to respond. Or want to. But as the days passed, and suddenly I was thrust out of my city, your letters became what kept me whole. I reread them all the time. They made me feel close to you. I celebrated your triumphs, cursed your struggles, and spent whole nights wondering about this handwriting you kept using. I relied on those letters. I needed them.”

My heart turned as I touched the leather cover, ran my fingers over the braided designs on the edge. “I looked for your response every day. I didn’t stop hoping. Not until—not until the news came.”

He nodded, head low. Hair breezed over his eyebrows. “I know. When I saw your final letter, I thought it would kill me. I wanted to reassure you, but it was impossible if I wanted to ensure your queenship.”

We’d both sacrificed so much.

And so much had been ripped away.

It was a wonder there was anything left at all.

“What are you going to do with your diary now that it’s finished?” He kept his gaze on me, steady and warm and seeing everything. “Will you start a new one?”

“Once I find a notebook I like as much. In the meantime, I’ll put this one away.” I walked to the bookcase filled with the diaries of queens before me. “I’ll leave it so those who come after will know what I did to reclaim Aecor—the good and the bad. Maybe my descendants will make better choices where I failed.”

“Your descendants?” He took my chair and pen, not bothering to ask permission as he found a sheet of paper and began writing. “Are you planning on having a lot of descendants?”

“One day I’d like a whole army of tiny vigilantes.”

“A worthy goal.”

We stayed in the quiet for a few more minutes, him writing, and me reluctant to interrupt him. It was good that he was here. Reaching out. Not alone.

Finally, he blew on the ink and handed the paper to me.

It was a list, and almost looked as though it were written in my handwriting. A fair approximation anyway.

Reasons we should get married:

Because I love you.

We both look good in black boots.

I spent some time without you, and I didn’t like it.

You make me happy.

I make you laugh.

I like the way you fight.

You see through my masks.

I really love you.

You love me, too. (Though you’ve mostly said this while yelling, so perhaps I should have double-checked.)

Army of tiny vigilantes. (I have name ideas.)

Various political reasons that make sense but don’t fit with the theme of this list.

I’m holding your handwriting hostage. You can have it back when you say yes.

When I looked up, his expression was earnest. Hopeful. “It doesn’t have to be right now. We can wait. I just want to know you’ll be ready one day.”

My heart knotted as I reread the list. For all I wanted him, there were still barriers. One, especially. “What about Meredith?” I let his list hang limp in my fingers as I strode toward the fireplace. “Chrysalis was my responsibility, and I didn’t stop him when I should have.”

On the mantel behind me, the clock ticked away seconds.

“During the ball,” he said, “you avoided this conversation.” He pursued me across the room, taking my waist in his hands. His body was only a breath away from mine. “But it must happen. Surely you know that.”

I dropped my eyes to the hollow of his throat. “I’m listening.”

“Finally.” His hands relaxed, but he didn’t move away. That was good. “After I announced the wedding date, I would lie awake every night and think about that time in the breezeway, and the mistake I’d made.”

The mistake of kissing me.

“I would think about how for ten years, our lives kept touching, tapping, but we never seemed to stay on the same course. The One-Night War. The streets of Skyvale. Your time in the palace. And when we kissed in the breezeway, I knew, I knew I wanted to be with you, and that I’d never be satisfied any other way. But I still chose her because I’d promised my father—who wasn’t even alive to care. That was my mistake.”