The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom #1)(84)

“Yes.” His gaze was intense. “But she’s not you.”

Her body swayed, the room spinning. Aren closed the distance between them in two strides, hands catching her sides. Steadying her. Lara closed her eyes to try to stop the spinning, but the rotating room was replaced with the memory of his hard, muscled body, his tanned skin beneath her fingers. Heat blossomed low in her belly.

You can’t, she told herself. You’re a liar and a traitor. You aren’t the woman he believes you to be, and you never can be. You can never be yourself. Not without risking him discovering the truth. If she couldn’t find the courage to tell him the truth, then she needed to get back to Ithicana to destroy all evidence of her betrayal, and then disappear. Fake her death. Return to Maridrina for vengeance.

And never see Aren again.

Her eyes burned, her breath threatening to catch in a sob and betray her.

“Are you all right?”

She clenched her teeth. “I don’t feel well.”

“Not surprising given the amount you drank. You have a royal’s taste, by the way. That’s not a cheap bottle.”

“Paid for it myself.” She said the words slowly in attempt to make them clearer.

“You mean with the coins you stole from my ship.”

“If you’re stupid enough to leave them lying around, you deserve to lose them.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that through all the slurring.”

“Asshole.”

He laughed. “Can you walk?”

“Yes.” Untangling herself from his grip, she staggered toward the stairs, when all of a sudden, the bottom step was flying up to meet her. But before Lara’s face could slam against the wood, Aren caught hold of her, swinging her up into his arms. “Let’s not tempt fate.”

“Just need water.”

“You need a pillow. Maybe you’ll get lucky and the storm will linger long enough for you to sleep this off. But I doubt it.”

Lara made an angry sound against his chest, but it was more for herself. At the ease with which she curled against him. At how appealing a few more nights with him would be, despite knowing that it was only delaying the inevitable.

“Did the whiskey help?”

“No.”

“It’s never helped me much, either.”

A tear leaked onto her cheek, and she turned her face into his chest to hide it. “I’m sorry I’ve been so terrible. You deserve someone better than me.”

Aren exhaled, but said nothing. The methodical movement of him climbing the stairs lulled her, consciousness slowly fading away. She didn’t fight it, because against all the odds, she trusted him implicitly. Still, she was aware enough to hear him, his voice hoarse as he said, “Since the moment I set eyes on you in Southwatch, there’s been no one but you. Even if I’m a goddamned fool for it, there will never be anyone but you.”

You are a fool, she thought as darkness took her.

And that made two of them.





29





Aren





He’d never been able to sleep past dawn on a clear day.

How his sleeping body knew the winds had died and the rain ceased was a mystery. A sixth sense from a lifetime in Ithicana that warned him when the Tempest Seas lowered their guard, and that it was time to raise his. So when his eyes snapped open with the faintest glow on the horizon, Aren rose from where he’d slept on the floor, dressed silently so as not to disturb Lara, who was still faintly snoring into her pillow, then ventured downstairs for something to eat.

It was as though a burden had lifted from his shoulders. Coming to Vencia was always a risk, but it had been a thousandfold more so with Lara in tow. Yet it had been worth it. Worth having her discover the truth of the circumstances in Maridrina with her own eyes and ears. Having her understand that it was her father, not Ithicana, who was the oppressor of her homeland. Having Lara finally see with eyes unclouded by whatever bullshit her mind had been filled with over the years.

Those things had been worth the risk that she’d turn on him and spill every cursed secret she’d learned. Worth those torturous moments when Aren had believed he’d have to stop her.

Worth the moment when Aren became certain that her allegiance had, if not entirely turned to Ithicana, at least abandoned his enemy.

That she’d made that choice had been clear from the time he’d watched her sitting at the bar, drinking whiskey like her life depended on it. Aren knew his wife well enough to tell when she was pissed off. That silent simmering burn that caused any sane individual to give her a wide berth, whether they realized it or not. Last night, she’d been furious. But for the first time, it wasn’t at him. No, when she’d turned around and saw him, her anger had been vanquished by another emotion entirely. One that he’d been desperate to see in her eyes for longer than he cared to admit.

Down in the common room, Jor was seated with Gorrick, but Aren only gave them a nod and took a seat in the corner by himself, content to watch the comings and goings while sipping the coffee that Marisol brought him, his friend and former lover too busy with the rush to do more than squeeze his shoulder in passing.

The room was half filled with traveling merchants. Some wore the clear gaze of those keen to make a profit once the markets opened. Others wore the blurry eyes and green faces of those who’d enjoyed a night out in Vencia and were awake only because they feared their masters’ wrath.