Page 35 of Fallacies

“The queen,” I answer for her, sitting against the edge of the table before gently guiding her to stand between my legs. She gives in to the pull, crossed arms falling to her sides. “She’s the most powerful thing on the board, but she’s one of the last pieces you reach for,” I explain. “Do you know why that is?”

Resting my hands on the curve of her hips, I wait for her reply.

Lucina inhales a deep breath, then shakes her head, some of that fire in her eyes turning to smoke.

I reach up and brush a loose curl out of her face, more of her resolve slipping at the touch. “You don’t risk moving her unless you can end the game or change it,” I tell her, “but it has nothing to do with what she’s capable of.”

Lucina searches my stare. For what, I don’t know. Then she says quietly, “I’m not the queen.”

I breathe out a laugh, but she remains serious. “In this scenario, you are. To me, you are. I’m not going to risk the most important piece on a scouting mission. Hate me for it if you want to, but I’m not changing my mind.”

“I don’t hate you,” she admits defeatedly. “I just don’t want to be trapped here…” Lucina scans the room, examining the walls around us, and when she looks back at me, her expression is grim. “I…I want to help, Callan. For my mother, for Gemma’s parents, for your father. I want…” She wets her bottom lip, searching for the words. “I want to do something good.”

Gods, she has no idea just how good she is.

“You’ll never be trapped here,” I assure her, ignoring the alarm bells that ring in the wake of the promise. What Delia plans to do in a few short months nags at me as soon as the words leave my lips. But I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen. Everything.

Lucina clears her throat, wiping her face with her hands, then she straightens in my arms. “I want to go on the next mission to Streatham,” she asserts, and she isn’t asking permission.

I swallow my stubbornness and nod. With Fenton gone, I have no excuse to be her shadow anymore. Even though every instinct I have roars against that statement. “Okay.”

The corner of her mouth kicks up. “And I want to go with you to the Greenhouse tomorrow."

I nearly choke. “You… want to meet Aster?”

“Sure.” Lucina shrugs. “Why not? She’s clearly important considering you, Phoenix, and Pax, grown men,” she adds, “acted the way you did at mere mention of her name.”

“Which had nothing to do with her and everything to do with you being in the room when Phoenix brought her up.” I stand, looking down at her.

“Hear me when I say this,” I cup her face in my hands, tilting her head back until my view of her eyes is unhindered, “Aster is ranked highest in her coven, and for me, that’s the extent of her importance. She’s not even in the same realm as you, Lucina.”

“You think I’m jealous?” she asks, phrasing it like I couldn’t be farther off. “I’m not jealous.”

“Of course not.” But I can see it on her face—in the color on her cheeks. And though I’d love for her to admit it, I’ve pushed Lucina far enough today, and I quite like how it feels to touch her. “That would be a stupid thing to assume.”

There’s a bold spark in her eyes now. “As would assuming my exes don’t already wish they were dead.”

“I’m sure they do.” I rub a thumb across her bottom lip. “They should.”

Color creeps up her cheeks, and I can see her fighting a smile.

My shoulders sink. “You’re still mad.”

“Of course I am.” She pulls back, shrugging my arms off of her. “You treated me like a child in front of men who are supposed to take me seriously. I understand your reasoning now, but you went about it poorly.”

Exhaling, I lean back against the table. “That’s…fair.” My fingers curl over the top of the wood, and when the itch to touch her rises, I tighten my grip.

The smile she’d been fighting appears, but it isn’t joyful. It’s sympathetic. Lucina leans forward, planting a soft kiss on my cheek.

I grip the table harder.

Then she pats my shoulder and turns to leave. “I’m going to get dinner with Gemma.”

As soon as she’s gone, I rub a hand across my face and push off the table with a sigh.

It’s not until I’ve sunk back into my chair and the screen door to the cabin creaks shut down the hall that it happens again. A strain on my chest. It tightens around my lungs, pressing against my heart, and it feels so familiar, it hurts.

A few seconds pass, and the sensation settles, but it doesn’t go away. I think my body just becomes used to it.