The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(89)

She was in the Vale. The sunlight alone told her this truth. She was safe and warm. No creatures of the night would barrel from the shadows, intent on causing her harm.

Celine fell back against her mound of pillows and sighed. With a start, she recalled the way the golden bauble had burned to the touch. She sat up to examine herself. Her hands and forearms should be horribly burned. Yet she failed to find a single mark anywhere. The smell of crushed herbs lingered on her fingertips, as if some kind of tincture had been applied to her wounds. She stretched her limbs, expecting to feel a twinge of pain.

Nothing at all disturbed her. It was as if she’d woken from a healing sleep.

A knock resounded at the door.

“Come in,” Celine said after tugging the coverlet higher once again.

Bastien walked in. Alone.

Celine’s grasp on the coverlet tightened. He was the last person she wished to see. The only person she wished to see. Conflict warred within her. It had been the same in the Wyld, whenever Bastien drew near. She wanted to push him away or pull him close so she might breathe in the scent of bergamot on his skin.

It was infuriating.

Bastien stood at the foot of the immense bed, dressed in loose trousers and a long, collarless tunic of raw silk. He looked . . . strange. The clothing of the Vale did not suit him. He wasn’t willowy enough. Too broad in the shoulders. But it would take far more than ill-fitting garments to make a young man like Bastien look less than beautiful. Perhaps it was the hue. Perhaps the soft gold clashed with the icy grey of his eyes.

Color rose in Celine’s cheeks. She’d spent the last minute staring at him like a lovesick fool. She cleared her throat and pursed her lips.

“Are you feeling well?” Bastien asked.

Celine nodded. “It’s a bit shocking how . . . well I feel.”

He crooked a brow. “That’s the second time you risked your life to save mine.”

“I couldn’t very well let you die.” Celine crossed her arms, letting the irritation flow through her veins. It was better to be irritated with him. Better to kindle this aggravation than be consumed by her desire. “Not again, at least. It was horrible the first time. I still hear the echo of my screams ringing in my ears. Truly I saved you for me.”

Bastien stilled. He did not appear to be breathing. “You . . . remember the night I died?”

“I can’t set foot in Saint Louis Cathedral anymore, thanks to you,” she snapped. “It was one of the top three worst moments of my life, and I . . .” Celine’s voice trailed off when she realized what she’d just said. What she’d remembered. Her hands flew to her mouth, the color draining from her face. “Oh,” she breathed. “Ohhhhh.”

Everything came to her in a sudden rush. All the answers she’d sought for so long. All the hopes and feelings and dreams she’d yearned to know again. Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she looked at Bastien. As he watched her take back her lost memories. The weight of it fell on her shoulders, causing her to double over, her arms wrapped around her stomach. The remembrances of what she’d seen—what she’d done, what she’d felt—flooded her mind.

And she knew. She knew. Not because her memories had been returned to her. But because Celine understood that it was never about seeking the truth from others. It was about finding it within herself.

“Bastien,” she whispered.

He was beside her before she could blink. “I’m here.”

Celine buried her face in his chest and let the tears fall. Bastien held her. He did not offer words of affection or promises to make the sun shine on her always. It was as if he knew what she needed. A place to feel safe. A place to call home. A place to be herself.

That’s what Bastien had always offered her. It didn’t matter if Celine dwelled in darkness or basked in the light, so long as she could be who she was, for better or for worse.

“This shirt,” she said against his chest, her words muffled, “doesn’t suit you.”

His low laughter rumbled against her ear. “A shame, because it’s quite comfortable.”

“It would look much better on Arjun.”

“Should I feel insulted?”

“Yes. You should always feel insulted. I like you best when you’re slighted.”

Bastien tilted her chin upward. “And you’re sure you don’t need me to send for that goblin with skin like the bark of a tree? He fed me a ghastly drink that helped me heal quite nicely.”

Celine shook her head. “No. I don’t need anyone or anything else.” And in that moment, it was the truest thing she could think to say.

He pressed his lips forward. And began to pull away.

Celine held him there, her fingers twined in his silk shirt. “Stay.”

“I can’t. You should rest.”

“How long have I been asleep?” she asked.

Bastien tucked an ebony curl behind her ear. “Two days.”

“Then there’s no reason for you to go.” She drew him closer, her fingers tracing along his jaw.

“Are you not hungry?”

She bit her lower lip. “I am. Quite hungry,” she murmured, her eyes bright.

“Celine, I don’t think—”

“You love me. And I love you. Enough of this nonsense.”

“It isn’t nonsense,” Bastien argued. “For the second time this year, I watched you endanger yourself to save me. We come from opposing worlds, Celine. My kind and your kind . . . we kill each other. After our time in the Wyld, I thought you understood. What part of us being together makes sense?” He paused, his fingers clenched around hers. “We are blood foes, Celine. My uncle and your mother . . . they’ve conspired to destroy each other for generations. That won’t end anytime soon. Especially when your mother wants you to—”