Page 115 of The Villains of Winter

However, James Wilde was not the divine. He was flesh, sinew, muscle, and blood. She never understood that.

For as boundless as her fury was, her sycophancy for horrid brilliance consumed her.

“My love, a sexual tryst with you does not invite fear, it inspires apathy. It would be sacrilege to stain the sanctity of our andragogy. Beyond that matter, I’ve done nothing to earn your forgiveness. I’ve offered no true contrition.”

Her eyes were wet, desperate with repentance and the fervent desire for reconciliation.

She had never been sexually interested in him, but she had always ardently been inspired by him. Séverine was utterly fine with tarring the threads of their andragogy in a show of power and force, but she would’ve collapsed at the severing of their precious thread altogether.

James extended a hand to her. “That’s where we’ve always differed. There is nothing you could commit that I wouldn’t forgive you for. You never need to beg me for forgiveness, you’ve already been forgiven.” His eyes were honeyed as he stole the words out of Elliott’s mouth. “You’re my favorite person in the world.”

“As you are mine.”

The water streamed gently into the oils of the bath. “Which is why I came to offer my condolences properly.”

“Condolences?” She bit her lip in thought. “Whyever would I need condolences? No one of importance has died.”

A muscle spasmed in James’s jaw. He surprised himself with how even-toned he sounded to his own ears.

“Of course, there hasn’t been a death that matters.” He chuckled for good measure. “I am truly very sorry that this is the last time we will speak together.”

“Sorry?”

“I’ve selected my successor for your new protégé. Lucy Swann.”

“Lucy Swann?” She repeated, her attempt to recall anything about her palpable. “The wife of Wulfram’s protégé, the man ever dressed in Yves Saint Laurent with a penchant for Michelin filet mignon?” Over the years, it’d taken her several attempts to scribble Perseus’s name in ink on her wrist to remember him whenever he was with Wulfram, otherwise she couldn’t bear to remember his name. It fluttered out of her mind completely.

“Yes. You will love her.”

Her hollow cheekbones were gaunt, her ribs spare beneath her lustration robes. She’d made nightly deity oblations and observed several weeks of fasting in prayer for their reconciliation. She assumed James had left because of her, revulsed and revolted by her. She sensed his enmity. His displeasure in her.

If she permitted Lucy as his successor, would he be willing to stay?

Perseus had a politician bloodline.

Lucy was no more than a future politician’s wife.

Their existence was rather incongruent and foreign with her own.

“Will I truly love her?” She asked, doubtful of the prospect.

“Without reservation,” he promised. “Let there be no secrets between us, yes? She is as motherless as I am. I envy her, for I will miss you greatly.”

She melted beneath his words. “All I have wanted for us is for you to understand we are two rare creatures, you and I. We know each other so thoroughly, yes, it renders secrets useless, my exquisite Apollōn.”

“I prefer Alexikakos. I was foolish to not have seen you as my Pallas Athena.”

His words ensorcelled her and fraught tears speckled against her eyes.

“I beg of you to tell me if I am dreaming. Your words. I’ve waited lifetimes, it feels like, to hear these very words from you, Alexikakos.”

“I have been stubborn, if you can forgive me for everything.” With that said, James drew a knife to sever the ends of his hair, before she stopped him.

She grasped his hands tightly.

“You have forgiven me without need for solatium, therefore I have forgiven you. Yes, I will welcome her as my protégé. She will be to me as if she were of my own flesh.” She embraced the moment with enthusiasm as he rose out of the bath. “Let us welcome the Swanns, yes?”

​​ CHAPTER SIXTY