Pretender to the Throne. Maisey Yates

he said it like that, she believed he might be right. “But I came back, because if I didn’t it would stay broken. And now that I’m here, it might all remain that way, but at least it’s my broken mess and not theirs.”

      “You love them, don’t you?”

      “I don’t love easily,” he said, his voice rough. “But I would die for them.”

      “That’s something.”

      “A sliver of humanity?”

      “Yes,” she said, taking a deep breath. “What am I doing here, Xander? You’ve given me a reason. The press. But I have to tell you, I’m not sure I believe it.”

      “It’s part of it,” he said.

      “I need all of it.”

      “Do you want an honest answer?”

      “If you know how to give one.”

      “I don’t lie, Layna, it’s the one sin I don’t indulge in. Do you know why?”

      She put her fork down. “I’m on the edge of my seat.”

      “Because people lie to protect themselves. To make people like them. To hide what they’ve done because they’re ashamed. I have no shame, and I don’t care if people like me. My sins are public property.”

      “Then give me an honest answer.”

      “I thought I might marry you,” he said, his tone conversational, light. As though he’d mentioned that it was a clear night and the food was lovely, and not that he’d been considering asking her to be his wife.

      “You did?” she asked, her lips numb, her entire body numb suddenly, from fingertips on down.

      A wife. Xander’s wife.

      It was impossible. And she didn’t want it anyway. Her life was in the convent, it was serving people and living simply. It was shunning the frivolous things in the world. Denying passions and finding contentment in the small things. In the things that were worthy.

      It was this palace. This man. They washed those old memories in brilliant colors, where for years they’d always been faded.

      And now she could see again, so clearly, how lovely it had all been. She could taste the excitement of it. That secret ache bloomed, flourished, let her dream. Let her see the glitter, the sparkle and what might be for one beautiful moment.

      But it only lasted for a moment. Until a root of bitter anger rose up and choked out the bloom.

      “Obviously,” he continued, “that can’t happen now.”

      She felt the sting of his words like a slap. “Obviously not. What would people think if you took me as a wife?”

      “I only meant because you’ve chosen to forego marriage by joining a convent. Had I found you anywhere else I would have stuck to my original plan and proposed on the spot.”

      She bit down hard and tried not to say what she was thinking. Tried. And failed. “I would have told you to go to hell. On the spot,” she said.

      “You haven’t changed as much as I initially thought.”

      She stood up. “That’s where you’re wrong. Everything’s changed. I’ve changed, my whole life has changed.”

      He stood and started to walk toward her, dark eyes pinned to hers. “No, Layna, see I don’t think you’ve changed as much as you think you have. When I look at you, I can so easily see the girl you were. You were blond then.”

      “Because I used to dye it.”

      “I suspected. But it did suit you.”

      “It’s pointless vanity,” she said, waving her hand.

      “How is it pointless if you enjoy it? It can still be vanity, but it doesn’t mean it’s pointless.”

      “Yes it does. But make your point and be done.”

      He took another step toward her and her heart climbed up into her throat and lodged itself there. “You had fire. Beneath that airhead, mean-girl surface, you had more to you than anyone guessed. You were a little flame ready to become a wild fire.”

      She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve changed now and...”

      “No. You’re still doing it. You’re still hiding who you are beneath something else. Beneath a shield. The flame is still there, you just want to hide it. Up in the mountains.”

      “It’s not my fire I’m hiding. It’s my face. And if you want to pretend it doesn’t matter then I’m going to tell you right now, Xander, no matter what you said before, you are a liar.” Rage rattled through her, fueled her, spurred her on.

      It hit her, as the force of it threatened to consume her, that of all the emotions she’d felt since her attack, she’d never been angry. Sad. Depressed. Lonely. She’d hit rock-bottom with those. Then she’d found a sort of steady tranquility in her existence at the convent.

      But she’d never been angry.

      Just now she was so furious she thought she might break apart with it. “Look at me,” she said, “really look. Can you imagine me on newspapers and magazines? The face for our country? Can you imagine me trying to go to parties as if nothing had happened? Trying to continue on as if I was the same Layna as before? That’s why I went to the convent. Because there it didn’t matter if my face was different. There it’s practically a virtue and here...here it’s just not. I’m ugly, Xander, and whether or not I accept myself there will always be people who want to point it out. I’ve never seen a reason for putting myself through it.”

      He shoved his hands into his pockets, his eyes hard. “It will be commented on. I won’t lie about that. But do you think people will resent your scars or my abandonment more?”

      “Don’t tell me you’re honestly still considering me as queen material.”

      “I was very interested by the fact that you haven’t yet taken your vows.”

      “My intent remains the same, whether or not I’ve taken final vows.”

      He reached out, took a piece of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. She froze. She hadn’t been touched by a man in longer than she could remember. Male doctors were the last ones, she was certain. And then she hadn’t registered the touch in any significant way.

      But Xander had never been easy to ignore. Now, with his hand on her hair, just her hair, a flood of memories assaulted her. The catalog of moments when Xander had touched her in the past opened, forcing her to remember.

      His hand over hers, or low on her back. An arm around her waist. His warm palm on her cheek as his lips nearly brushed hers.

      If they had married then, they would have kissed thousands of times by now. But as it was, they had never kissed once.

      “But nothing is final,” he said.

      He lowered his hand, releasing her hair, and sanity flooded in a wave. She stepped back, blinking, that fresh and newfound anger coming to her rescue.

      “Yes, Xander, everything is final. I have made my decision, like you made yours. I’ll help you in any way I can, but don’t insult me by pretending, even for a second, that you would consider making me your wife. Don’t consider that I might allow it.”

      She turned and walked out of the room and when she hit the halls she suddenly realized that she was gasping for breath. She put a hand on her chest and blinked hard, fighting tears, fighting panic.

      Xander was reaching into places inside of her no one had touched in so long, she’d forgotten they were there. Longings and regrets she’d buried beneath a mountain of all that lovely contentment she’d learned to cultivate from the sisters at the convent.

      Xander made her restless. This