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The walls are covered with rough drawings of the stars and a moon, as if she needed to see them to remind herself they exist even down here.
She's curled up near the table, her arms wrapped around her knees, her tangled hair hiding her beautiful face. Her yellow dress is torn and dirty, the shoulder ripped almost completely away. There's an ugly scratch across her upper arm—the source of the blood on the fabric we found. Samson didn't lie about that, at least.
Her body shakes as she cries quietly. She looks so fucking small and miserable.
My heart bleeds. For the first time in days, she's in front of me. She's alive. And I've never seen her look so fucking sad.
"Thalia," I whisper, walking toward her. "Sweet Thalia."
"Not again," she cries quietly. "Stop haunting me! Just leave me alone already."
I'm haunting her?
"You're haunting me too, angel. Every fucking minute of the day, you haunt me," I groan, dropping to my knees in front of her.
Her head flies up, her sapphire eyes connecting with mine. "Troy," she gasps.
"Thalia." I reach for her, desperate to touch her, to prove to myself that she's real, that she's here, and that she safe.
She flinches away from me, tears pouring down her cheeks. "You aren't supposed to be here."
"Where else am I supposed to be if not where you are?"
She sobs, shaking her head as if to deny what I've said.
"I didn't send him, Thalia," I say, holding my hands out, palms up. "I swear to you, I didn't send him."
"You didn't send him?" The fragile hope in her voice breaks me. She wants to believe it so badly—I think deep down she already does—but she's so fucking afraid to trust that little voice telling her that I wouldn't do this to her. I can't blame her for that, not when her own father already broke her heart.
"I would never hurt you, angel. I could never hurt you. You're safe with me. You're always safe with me. So long as I live, no one will ever threaten you again."
Her shoulders slump, more tears spilling down her cheeks. "It doesn't matter what happens to me, Troy."
"Why not?"
She shrugs, her gaze fixed on the dirt floor.
"Tell me, Thalia."
"It doesn't matter."
"It does. Tell me."
She hesitates for a long moment and then sighs, lifting her gaze to mine. "It doesn't matter because the one thing I want will never be mine. You don't love me the same way I love you," she whispers, pure misery welling in her eyes.
I can't stand it anymore. I reach out, touching her cheek. Even though she doesn't want to do it, she nuzzles into my hand, shuddering.
"If you believe that, you haven't been paying attention, Thalia. My heart beats for you," I whisper. "I love you so fucking desperately I can't breathe through it."
Her eyes widen, hope and doubt warring in them. "You don't. You can't. Y-you don't know what you're saying, Troy. You don't know who I am."
"No?" I arch a brow. "Are you telling me that you aren't Princess Thalia Rosewood, my betrothed?"
Her gasp almost makes me smile. "You know?"
"I know."
"But—"
