Chapter 514

I looked at my friend and wondered what future stood before her. "Isla, if you want to fight for Annalise—If you want to run—I'll help you." Isla ran her hands over her face. Her palms pressed deep into her eyes as she whispered, "I can't." She inhaled a deep, steadying breath and repeated, "I can't." I nodded. "But if you decide you can—I'll do whatever I can to help you." She didn't meet my eyes as she said, "I should be pleased. Prince Justinian is kind. I have never heard a bad word spoken against him. He—He would make a fine husband. He—He will make a good king. But..." Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. "He isn't what I want. He isn't who I want. I am broken, she'd said. "Isla, you don't have to be pleased. You don't have to love him. He's a stranger. Even if he's the nicest man in the world, you aren't obligated to want him just because a piece of paper dictates that you should." She wrapped her arms around her knees and curled into my shoulder once more. Her voice was soft, her thick accent making the words almost indiscernible as she said, "But I have to try, don't I? I have to try to love him. To see myself with him." Isla swallowed. "There's no escaping it. Darragh has done his part for Pellarmus and now—now I have to do mine. It's what my parents would want. Even if it means leaving—leaving everything and everyone I love." There was a quiet strength to the words, but I could still hear her heart shattering, could still see it in the tears that ran in rivulets across her dark cheeks. "I'm sorry." She sniffled. "Gods, I need a smoke." I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me. "And a drink," Isla continued. "Where can we find those things?" She sat up and turned to face me. Her dark hair was a mess. It fanned around her face and stood up at odd angles, but she was still somehow lovely—Kai would draw this moment. He would sketch the lines of her face, the way the moon seemed to kiss her skin and bounce off of her shining eyes. I could almost see it—see the way his lips would tug into a satisfied smile as each darting pencil line turned the image clearer and clearer. A pang of homesickness struck me so deeply, it took my breath away. Isla's frown deepened at she caught my expression. "What—What is it?" "Nothing." I shook my head and slid to the edge of the bed, careful of my stitches and the agony in my side as I pushed myself to a stand. I was already heading toward the bathing room, an abandoned sweater in hand as I said, "Give me a moment and then we can see about getting you that drink." *** It was the early morning hours as Isla and I made our way through the silent palace and into the kitchen. The world outside was still dark and there seemed to be no life here, even the sentries standing watch in the hallways were dull-eyed and silent. It was strange to walk so confidently in that silence, to break that sacred quiet with the rustle of cloth, the clink of glasses, the pop of a cork. I still wore my nightgown, the hem of it hitting mid-thigh as I settled into a chair. I'd pulled on a thick cashmere sweater as we'd walked, but with the chill coming in from the cracked kitchen window, I regretted not taking the time to put on pants. The air smelled of soot, grease, pepper, and stewed meat. Remnants of a dinner I'd only picked at. Isla was quiet as she poured us both a glass of white wine. When I'd protested, certain my own serving would go to waste, she'd only handed me the stemmed glass and said, "Indulge me, Benson." I frowned down at the glass and looked over at where Isla now stood, her hip pressed to the basin of the sink, a cigarette perched in one hand, her glass of wine in the other. This time, when I'd lit the cigarette, she hadn't been nearly as surprised. The wind from the open window caught in her hair, making the wayward curls dance around her high cheekbones. A halo of smoke formed around her head as she blew out a breath and said, "I feel as if I am preparing for my..." she paused, her brow furrowing as she searched for a word. "'Death' isn't the word I want..." After a second she said, "Ah. Preparing for my execution." I pressed a hand to my side, rubbing absentmindedly at the bandage as I said, "How will you tell Annalise?" Isla snorted and shook her head. "Maybe I will not tell her. Maybe—Maybe I will just leave." I narrowed my eyes at that. "How—How serious were the two of you?" "I love her." "And Annalise...?" Isla took a good long draw of her cigarette before she said, "She loves me. But, like I said yesterday, things are complicated with us. Darragh is ambitious and...and I have always known I would one day be a bargaining chip for my country. Annalise knew it too. This," she gestured to the room with her glass, "this may come with heartbreak, but it will not come as a surprise." "If you love her, you can't just leave without telling her. She—Trust me when I say, she shouldn't find out from someone else and she certainly shouldn't find out in front of a ton of people. She has a right to...react privately."