Page 191 of Feralheart

I stared at the untouched food and tried to remember what normal breathing felt like.

His hands rested on his bent knees, close enough that if I shifted, our fingers would touch.

I kept my hands exactly where they were.

The wound in his shoulder had to hurt, but he held himself still.

“I don’t understand,” he said softly. “If he made it past trial two, why tell everyone he died there? What’s the point?”

“Control the narrative, maybe. Your father may not have died in the Scorching at all. Something else might’ve happened, something someone needed to cover up.”

“She raised me to believe he was weak.” The words came out broken. “That his weakness killed him. That I had to be stronger, or I’d end up the same way. She embedded that thought into every lesson and punishment. She pushed me past breaking, telling me she had to do it to protect me from his fate.”

“Fen—”

“What if it was all a lie?” His voice broke. “What if I spent twenty-three years becoming someone I’m not because she needed me to believe a story that never happened?”

Every certainty he’d ever had about himself was dissolving.

This was what could break him. Not the trials or an attempt on his life. Just the knowledge that his entire foundation had been built on lies.

The fires outside the tent burned lower, and the quality of the light changed, everything going amber-dim and too close.

He wasn’t looking at anything. His hands rested open on his knees.

These hands had packed my bag in a kitchen at midnight. They’d soothed Aristus. They’d shaken when he couldn’t make them stop.

I reminded myself what we were to each other and what we weren’t allowed to be. And I stayed exactly where I was, close enough to feel the uneven rise of his chest.

I’d already chosen him. Somewhere between the kitchen and the fire maze and his hands on my burned foot, I’d chosen him, and the only thing left was to see how badly it cost me.

“Look at me,” I said.

His eyes found mine.

“You’re not weak,” I said. “Whatever happened to your father, whatever your mother lied about, it doesn’t change what you are. Who you’ve become.”

“I don’t even know who that is anymore.”

“Yes, you do.” I leaned forward. “You’re the man who took off his dragon’s harness in front of everyone because it was the right thing to do. You’re the one who sent supplies to commons when no one forced you. You apologized to Aristus even though admitting fault made you vulnerable.”

His throat worked.

“You’re figuring out who you are,” I said. “That’s not weakness. That’s the hardest thing a person can do.”

“Everyone wants something from me.” His voice had gone low, scraped hollow. “My mother wants a perfect heir. The council wants a symbol. My team wants a leader who fits the mold they already decided I should fill.” He paused. “Even Aristus wants something, though at least what he wants is honest.”

This close, I could see the shadows under his eyes, the fine line of his jaw, the tension he still carried even when he thought he’d let it go.

“But you.” His face cratered. “You don’t want anything from me.”

My pulse tried to roar through my skin.

That isn’t true.

It was so far from true I almost laughed.

“I do want something from you.” The words escaped.