Chapter 37-3

Isla's lips twitched at my words, just the smallest shadow of a smile. "Are you speaking from experience?" I lifted the glass to my lips and sipped it in answer. The sweet, fruity taste of it reminded me of Cohen—of the Culling and kissing him. Of another late night trip to a kitchen. An uneasy heat swirled in my gut and I set the glass down. "I'll never know what I might have said, what I might have done, if Kai had been honest with me about who he was—if he'd told me in private. I...I found out in front of everyone. I found out when everyone else in Erydia did and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that everyone got to see my heart break." Isla's voice was steady, but not unkind as she said, "Then why love him still?" I huffed out a bitter laugh and ran my fingers through my hair. "I have no idea." She downed the rest of her glass and set it put on the counter next to her. For a moment, the only sound was the clink of her glass on the wooden work surface and the soft rushing of the waves outside the window. Then Isla said, "I don't believe that. You must have some idea why you love him, otherwise you would want him dead—and for some reason, you do not." "I shouldn't love him. Everyone keeps telling me I shouldn't still love him. But I do. Even—Isla, even when things are wrong, being with him is right. I just know it is. When we were in the palace, I would spend hours telling myself that I didn't want to see him, that I didn't need him to look at me—but each time he glanced my way and we caught eyes, I...I felt strong. Angry. Pissed off. But I was whole. It was right. I would search for him in every room. I still do. I catch myself thinking of what he would say, how he would react. I see the pictures he would draw if he were only here to see the things I see. Being with him—We fit together. And that's probably stupid or naïve, it's romantic and it doesn't make any damn sense, but it's how I feel." Isla considered me for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, holding more gentleness than I'd ever heard from her. "Monroe, I am in love with a woman—something that is not openly accepted or encouraged in my country. My brother suspects. He knows I am close with Annalise. He knows I fought to get her out of Erydia and that we have been friends ever since. But if he knew the truth, what she is to me, he would disapprove. In fact, I know he has turned down marriage offers that would put me closer to home, closer to Annalise, because he does not want our relationship to continue." "I'm sorry." "No. I am not saying this to you because I want your pity or your apologies. You know I do not want those things. I am telling you this because you should know that you do not need to apologize or defend who you love to me. If you love him, if he makes you a better person, if he makes you happy—then that is all that matters to me." She fiddled with the cigarette in her hand. "You do not need anyone's permission to love him. Who you love is your choice—and only your choice." I swallowed and looked down at my hands, at the ring there. "Thank you." When I looked to her again, her face was stony. "If your king had told you the truth, it may have changed things. But if I tell Annalise that I am leaving, that I am to be married to some stranger...Monroe, it will change nothing. If she cries, I will still have to go." It was strange to think that she'd only told me about this yesterday. Hours ago, I'd witness the smallest gesture of affection and Isla had been more than ready to admit her feelings about Annalise to me. I was honored to have been gifted her truth—but now I better understood why she'd chosen me. It wasn't just that we were both powerful women, or that I'd been at the right place at the right time to see the two of them together. No. Isla believed I would understand her. She thought our situations were similar. I'm not asking for your pity. She just wanted someone to hear her. Someone to see her. Someone to understand. And I did. Isla put out her cigarette, crushing the heat of it against the damp inside of the sink. She ran some water over it and then walked to the work table. She pulled out the chair across from me and fell into it. For a moment, she didn't look like a princess at all. With her shoulders slumped and her hair a mess, Isla only looked young. I slid my glass of wine towards her and she smiled slightly before she reached out and took it. We were quiet for a long time, both of us lost in our own thoughts. My tongue was heavy with words, but my mind was tired. My body ached and it felt so strange to be here, miles and miles away from my home and my family. I wondered about my mother and my brothers. I wondered about the people I'd left back in Third Corps. I wondered about Kai. Isla's chair scrapped against the stone floor as she stood up and walked to one of the kitchen cabinets. I watched her riffle around, opening and shutting doors until she came away with two small tin containers, each no bigger than my palm. She set them down on the table before me and then went in search of something else. Two forks and a glass of milk for me. I watched her, my brows knit together, as she popped open the tin lids and revealed the contents. A chocolate cake in one and a pile of lemon and raspberry tarts in the other. Isla didn't hesitate to stick her fork directly into the cake. When I only laughed out loud at her, she said, "Cook always makes things for me and hides them. She's been doing it since I was a girl. She knows I fall into foul moods." "And cake helps?" She spoke through a mouthful of chocolate. "Well, it certainly doesn't hurt, Benson." I picked up my own fork and took a bite of one of the tarts. My soul nearly left my body at the taste. "Goddess, your cook knows what the hell she's doing." Isla laughed and took a sip of wine. "Good, yes?" "Fantastic." We ate in silence until finally I work up enough courage to say, "Isla, you've got to tell Annalise what's going on. It isn't fair for her to find out any other way." She frowned and for a moment, I thought she might start crying again, but she only shook her head, not a dismissal of my words, just a dismissal of her tears. "I know." "Even if it hurts her to hear—even if you think it will change nothing—she deserves to hear it from you." Isla nodded. "Thank you for being a friend to me. And for letting me cry on you earlier." I smiled and lifted my glass of milk. "To powerful women." Isla's glass of wine kissed the rim of my cup as she said, "To powerful women and good friends."