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feet from the desk on which she leaned.
“What of it, Aelin?” His question was low,
rough.
“Don’t you ...” She scrubbed at her face.
“You know what she did to you, to ...” She
couldn’t say her name. Lyria. “Because of it.”
“I do know.”
“And?”
“And what do you wish me to say?”
She pushed off the desk. “I wish you to tell
me how you feel about it. If ...”
“If what?”
“If you wish it wasn’t so.”
His brows narrowed. “Why would I ever
wish that?”
She shook her head, unable to answer, and
stared over her shoulder toward the sea.
It seemed like he would close the distance
between them, but he remained where he was.
“Aelin.” His voice turned hoarse. “Aelin.”