Once upon a time, the evil Amarissa Delclair was assassinated and killed on her twentieth birthday. Many came for the funeral, but nobody shed a tear, knowing that the cause of her death was her terrible personality.
The Princess of the Grand Duchy...
"Why do you keep saying that?" he asked. There was desperation in his tone. "You cannot just throw away everything you have."
"Since when were you my everything, Bastien Whitaker?"
~
Bastien finally understood why people called this woman a witch. She was completely intoxicating. He groaned against her mouth, his breath ragged and gasping. Every time she touched her lips against his, he became spellbound.
"We shouldn't do this," he muttered against her lips. "And in any case, friends shouldn't kiss."
"Bastien," Amarissa murmured, slowly ending the kiss. Glancing up, she caught his eyes watching her intently. "I told you, we aren't friends anymore."
My God, she was beautiful. Bastien watched the way her chest rose and fell erratically, like she could barely catch her breath. He watched the way she looked up at him with a sly smile from under her eyelashes. All he could see was her.
"Remove your hands at once," Lucian said. Amarissa's eyes flicked to Lucian's face to gauge his reaction. There was pure anger in his expression. Pure, untainted anger.
"Don't tell me you're jealous?" As soon as the words fell from her mouth, she could see from the look in his eyes that she was right. He was jealous. "How disgusting."
"If I kill him, what are you going to do?" Something dark and possessive crossed Lucian's face. "Never touch another man in front of me—unless you want him dead."
He could see her mind working behind her dark eyes, weighing his words. She had to understand the gravity of his threat. I won't let you love another man, he thought, I'll just kill them all.
Amarissa smiled and said softly, "I do not love you, Your Grace."
And her words tore him apart. She had always loved Lucian fiercely, and when he had turned his back on her, Amarissa had clung to him, begging him to love her just the same. But now, as she clung to another man, there was none. No love was left between them.
"I did love you, but you never loved me." Her chest felt tight as she spoke the words she must, knowing they were true to Amarissa. The real Amarissa had loved him like no other ever had. "And I did terrible things to you. Unspeakable things, but . . ."
Lucian flinched at her words. She was an evil woman. Amarissa destroyed him—she destroyed his whole life. He should take the opportunity to run away, to get as far away from her as possible. Why was he hesitating?
"Leave me, Lucian," she whispered. "While you still can."
This is not good and nothing good will become of us, she thought. Run away. Run away before it's too late.
"Okay," he finally said, though his tone did not sound pleased. "I shall send them."
For a brief instant a very slight smile flashed across her face. It was a lovely smile that made his chest hurt.
"I wish you well, Your Grace, and trust that this will be our final goodbye," she said. She walked to the door, pausing with her hand on the doorknob for only a moment. "And... I'm sorry. Truly."
Amarissa had done unspeakable things to him. She had refused to listen to Lucian's feelings and protests—forcing him into a loveless, bitter engagement he did not want.
But as a woman, she couldn't help but feel pity for the real Amarissa. Nobody had ever taught the poor girl about the ways of love. Every girl wants to be loved deeply. And Amarissa was no exception.
"I'm truly sorry about the pain I've caused you," she whispered. Her grip upon the doorknob tightened. "It's long overdue, and I'm sorry."
"Let's go, Rissa," Bastien said, planting his fingers lightly at the curve of her back. "There's no reason to stay here anymore."
Lucian heard the door click shut behind him. This was what he wanted. He was finally free. Free from the woman who was once the root of all his troubles. So why did he feel like he had just been abandoned?
~
"Must you walk so fast?" Bastien called out from behind her. "Wait a minute, can't you? Rissa please, I'm begging you, let's talk about this."
She hated that awful nickname. Bastien's voice always lingered so sweetly on its syllables. She hated the way he said Rissa. She hated it because she didn't hate it at all.
"Don't," she said. She stopped suddenly and looked sharply at him. "We're not friends anymore, so don't call me that."
"Why do you keep saying that?" he asked. There was desperation in his tone. "You cannot just throw away everything you have."
"Since when were you my everything, Bastien Whitaker?"
He flinched. Barely, but enough that she noticed, and she knew the words had hit their mark. There was silence for a few minutes as if neither one of them knew what to say.
"What's my favourite colour, Bastien?" she finally asked. It was one simple question. "If you wish to stay beside me, then you must answer my question correctly."
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. It was a question, but not really. They both knew he didn't know the answer. She wanted him to admit it out loud, and Bastien knew it.
"My favourite colour is green," she said, "like the colour of your eyes when they catch the sun."
"Please don't do this," he begged. He'd lose her, and he didn't want to lose her. "I'll be a better friend to you from here on out. I'll take care of you the way you took care of me."
"Bastien," she said and placed a hand on his forearm. Her hand curled around his arm, the touch sending ripples of desire outward through his body. "If you care about me at all, you'll let me go."
Because I'll die in less than a year, she thought. And when that time comes, you'll be too busy loving someone else to care.
Then she turned her back on him and went towards the carriage. He would have to find another way home.
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