Page 33 of Songs of Sacrament
He opened the door and left. The thud of it closing echoed through the empty chamber.
I stuttered over another sob and swiped at my eyes. The Maharani—Shaan’s mother—would arrive soon. I couldn’t look like an emotional wreck. More tears came, and I licked one off my lip. I wasn’t even sure what I’d say to her.
Shaan didn’t forgive me. He no longer loved me. I was a fool to believe it would turn out any other way. But hope—the miserable fucking disaster of an emotion it was—laced through every daydream and imagination about seeing him again. I’d known Shaan would be angry, but hoped he’d soften after he heard the truth, that he’d say he wanted time to consider things. That he still felt the love that once rushed between us.
He didn’t, of course.
He shouldn’t.
I was every bit the monster he imagined me to be. I stole from him and fucked him over as he said.
However, the only optimism I had left for myself seemed to flitter up to the tile ceilings of that massive room and fly out the windows.
Perhaps it’s time to start living your truth.
Oh, Aila. If you only knew how unattainable of an idea that was.
CHAPTERTWELVE
SHAAN
I stormed into the hallway.Staff startled and bowed to me. I struggled to manage a nod. Father would not approve of how I treated them, but I could barely breathe. I briefed Mother as quickly as I could—her sharp eyes assessing me all the while—then my shoes clacked against tiles as I twisted down the halls and finally made it to my room.
Lennox was here.
Lennox with his eyes that said every thought in his damn mind. Lennox with his thick lips and obnoxiously good looks. Lennox who wore his feelings as plainly as one of his perfect, wrinkle-free jackets.
I’d spent months imagining him as an actor who had faked everything in our time together and used me as the fool I was. But that man in the throne room—that was Lennox exactly as I remembered him. Perhaps a bit more miserable, but every bit the tender-hearted, careful man I’d fallen in love with like fate shoved me off a damn cliff towards him. How couldthatbe an act? If he’d shown up as the asshole I’d expected, it would have been one thing. For him to stand here looking like he’d drown in his misery made me want to scream.
I slammed the door behind me and rested against it, my body trembling before I removed the turban and set it on a table where I’d stacked pottery, small bowls and cups.
Half-formed, heartless, fucking pottery.
The only thing I’d been able to craft in six months.
Garbage.
I lifted a bowl and flung it across the room.
It shattered, broken pieces flying until they scattered over the colorful rug like seashells decorating a beach.
That was fucking satisfying.
I lifted another and slammed it as hard as I could against the wall. I began chucking the pots without thought, reveling in the disaster, finding some twisted joy in their destruction. One smashed against the canvas I’d started at the beach house and never finished because Lennox had showed up and ruined every-fucking-thing. The pottery left a dent and paint chips fell to the floor.
I’d found a new target. I snatched another pot and aimed for the canvas.
A knock stalled me, and I wiped the back of my hand on my forehead before pulling the door open to find Veena peering up at me. “You okay, Shaan?”
My entire body trembled, and a bead of sweat dripped off my brow so that I had to blink it away. “I’m fine.”
She frowned. “I heard crashing.”
“Sorry.”
“Do you wanna talk?”
“Not right now, Vee.”