Hatred Complicated
I lay on my cot, perfectly still, my muscles aching from the effort of holding my breath, but the physical tension was nothing compared to the war raging in my mind. The silver object and the journal were still hidden deep inside my tunic. The terrible truth they held was burning me alive.
Demetrius was not a cold-blooded monster enjoying my rejection. He was a dying man trying to finish a war before his own body betrayed him.
The weight of my previous judgment crushed me. Every harsh word I had thought, every accusation I had flung at him about his arrogance and cruelty, now felt baseless and small. They felt like childish tantrums against a man fighting to keep the sky from falling.
The binding. I remember the pain of the ritual, the way he looked like he was fight
