Broken Dove (Fantasyland #4)(50)

Apollo ceased remaining silent.

“Careful, brother,” he warned.

He leaned in toward Apollo and his voice went snide. “By the sounds she made when you could not be heard, it’s a definite you share the same talent. Tell me, brother, does she taste as sweet as she promises?”

Apollo’s entire body grew tight for the second time that day. But this time, he didn’t keep as close a grasp on the threads that held his temper.

Derrik was a man, Valentine a woman. If Derrik did something that deserved it, Apollo would not hesitate to give it.

“Careful,” he growled.

“She isn’t Ilsa,” Derrik bit out.

Apollo blinked.

Understanding hit him; he crossed his arms on his chest and said quietly, “Gods, brother, I know that.”

At that, Derrik blinked.

“You—” he began.

“Lost my wife years ago,” Apollo interrupted him to say. “And came to terms with that only four months ago. The woman in my bed is Madeleine.”

“Madeleine?”

“The name she’s chosen for this world. A name chosen from what you and the men gave her,” Apollo explained and when Derrik didn’t reply, he shared, “She’s rather fond of it.”

Derrik looked to the wall behind Apollo, the hardness moving out of his face. Then he looked back.

“I’m in love with her,” he admitted, his voice gruff, his admission dredged from somewhere deep.

“I’m sorry,” Apollo replied and said no more for there was no more to say.

His friend may love Madeleine and Apollo may love his friend.

But he could not have her.

Derrik’s face grew hard again and he demanded, “Convince me you care for her.”

“That’s not yours to have,” Apollo returned and Derrik’s jaw got tight before Apollo finished, “It’s hers.”

At that, Derrik’s jaw went slack.

Apollo cared deeply for his friend but even so, he had no time for this. “I’ll remind you, she’s alone over there.”

Derrik’s back went straight. “If you hurt her—”

Apollo didn’t let him finish. “It will be my hurt to salve.”

Derrik kept trying. “She’s not—”

At that, Apollo spoke quickly, reining in his temper. A temper that had to do with the fact that Derrik more than likely knew much of what Maddie was and was not, whereas Apollo knew very little of both, and he didn’t like that. He further didn’t like the fact that it was he who orchestrated it.

“She may have shared her mysteries with you, but they are her mysteries to share. They are also now mine to discover.”

They locked eyes and neither man spoke for some time.

Apollo grew impatient with it and he was about to break it before Derrik did.

And he did it to announce, “I’ll be leaving Karsvall and returning to the Lazarus seat.”

Apollo’s gut got tight at this loss, but he nodded and requested, “I understand your need to do that but I’ll ask that you continue to see to the safety of my children at Karsvall until Madeleine and my return.”

Derrik flipped out a hand even as he didn’t quite successfully stifle this flinch at the words “Madeleine and my” and he muttered, “Of course.”

Again, the men locked eyes. But needing to face whatever Maddie cared to make him endure, Apollo broke it and moved to the door.

He opened it, stood in it and looked back to his friend.

“I understand your need to break from Ulfr, Derrik, but when that happens, know you will be missed and welcomed back should that desire return to your heart.”

Derrik made no move or noise. He just held Apollo’s eyes.

So be it.

Apollo moved to leave him but Derrik finally spoke.

“Take care of her.”

Again, he looked directly into Derrik’s eyes and when he said the words, Derrik knew him well enough to know what they were.

And what they were was a vow.

“I will.”

He left it at that and moved out of the door, closing it behind him.

In the step it took him to reach his own, he pulled in a deep breath and braced.

Then he opened the door and entered the room, eyes glued to Madeleine sitting at the table, a bowl of untouched porridge in front of her.

She was wearing a very becoming dress the color of the inside of a blood orange. He had her side but he could still see the deep cowl that dropped down her chest, likely exposing skin behind it. The sleeves were knitted to fit tight at her arms and her long skirt was belled out on the floor around her chair. Her hair, as it had been yesterday, was pulled back at her nape in a satin ribbon the color of a mushroom.

Normally, she would have been a vision.

But she had one hand wrapped around a forgotten cup of coffee and her other elbow was on the table. Her head was turned to the window but her back was bowed so she could hold it in her hand.

He felt his throat begin to close at witnessing her pose of defeat.

He closed the door and when she heard it, she jumped. As he took two paces in the room, slowly, she lifted from the table and turned her gaze to him.

He halted when he saw her beautiful eyes swimming with tears.

Gods, gods, he’d damaged her worse than he thought.