Archer’s eyes locked with hers. “Nothing.”
But it didn’t feel like nothing when his fingers reached down and he took hold of the sash that kept her robe tied together. He held it as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to untie it or tug her closer to him.
“Why are you lying?” she asked.
“I thought we’d already established that I’m not very kind.” Archer tugged on the sash, enough to loosen the knot.
Evangeline quickly stole it out of his hands and pulled her robe tighter.
He laughed softly. “Am I making you nervous now?”
He said it as if he hoped he was. Or maybe he was just trying to keep her from asking questions. When he was this close, it was hard to think clearly, hard to remember why she’d chased him down the hall. There was something about Archer that made her just want to be there, with him.
She knew it was wrong. She was with Apollo. Not just with Apollo, she reminded herself, married. Apollo was her husband.
Archer couldn’t be anything to her. And he’d just told her that he was nothing to her. But he’d also said he was a liar.
“Just tell me one thing that’s true,” she said, and then she promised herself silently that she would walk away from him, and from these feelings. “I know we met before you rescued me at the well. Were you my guard?”
He worked his jaw.
For a second, she didn’t think he would answer.
Then he shook his head. “No. I’m generally better at doing damage than protecting.” He looked down toward the blood staining the front of her robe.
She hadn’t really looked at the cut that had caused all the blood since she’d first been injured. It was shallow enough that it had already closed. It would not need stitching. But the blood left behind looked something awful—she probably looked awful as well.
“You could never look awful,” he said faintly.
She looked up again. For a second, he looked almost shy and incredibly young, barely older than her. Blond locks of hair fell over his eyes as he slowly leaned in closer.
She didn’t know if he was trying not to frighten her away, or if he was maybe frightened. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous as he reached toward her cheek. He slowly took an errant pink strand of hair between his fingers and tucked it behind her ear. He was so careful, his fingers didn’t even brush her skin, but he looked as if he wanted to.
There was a different kind of pain tightening his jaw and making the muscles in his neck pulse as he stood there, holding her gaze as if he wished he could be holding her instead, crushing her to him like he had in her memory.
Married.
Married.
Married, she reminded herself.
She was married to Apollo. She was nothing to Archer.
“I should go,” she said. “My guards—they’re probably about to ring an alarm. I’m surprised we’re not hearing bells right now,” she babbled, hoping to find more words so that she’d have a reason to stay, even though she knew she needed to leave.
She imagined that there were still more memories of him that she’d forgotten. But now she was a little afraid of what she might remember, if remembering more meant feeling more than she already did.
It was hard enough to stand there across from him, not touching in a way that almost felt more intimate than touching. It looked as if it was taking all his strength not to reach out and graze her fingers with his. As if one brush of their skin might set off a riot of sparks or blow out every light in the hall.
She waited for him to walk away.
But Archer didn’t move.
For a second, neither did she. She couldn’t shake the feeling that if she left him now, if she turned her back, she might not ever see him again.
She’d felt butterflies when she’d kissed Apollo, but Evangeline had a feeling that kissing Archer would be earth-shattering.
Married, she reminded herself one more time.
And this time she finally turned to leave.
As soon as she moved, Evangeline felt as if she’d just made a mistake. Although she had no idea if the mistake had been getting too close to Archer or turning and walking away.
Evangeline tried not to think about Archer as she practically ran back to her suite. She looked over her shoulder only twice. He wasn’t there either time.
Upon returning to her suite, she found all evidence of the crime gone.
It was actually a little bit unnerving. It should perhaps have been more than a little unnerving, but after the events of the night, Evangeline wasn’t really capable of feeling more than she felt. Or asking too many questions about the oddness of it all.
There were guards waiting at her door, but at her arrival, they didn’t even ask her about where she’d gone or the man who’d been dead on her floor. A man that they’d clearly seen, for they’d already cleaned up the body.
When Evangeline stepped inside her suite, it was as if nothing foul had ever happened.
Her bed was once again covered in a fluffy quilt as pure as snow. There were no stains to be seen, not even on the floor, where a new white-and-gold carpet had been placed. Everything was crisp and pure and clean—except for Evangeline.
Archer had said, I’ll make sure the guards clean this up and keep it quiet. But this was all remarkably clean and quiet. Either the guards were exceptionally loyal to him, or . . .
Evangeline didn’t actually have any words to go after the or. Now that she was back in her room, she was feeling more of the shock that she should have experienced earlier.
Her pink hair was a riot; her eyes were overlarge, stuck in a state of fright; and there was blood on her nightgown and smeared across her cheek. She looked a mess.
Her hands shook as she cleaned the blood from her person and changed into a fresh pink gown. She tried to stop her thoughts from flickering back to Archer. He wasn’t hers to think about, and yet she kept picturing the way he’d looked in the hall, and how for a second, he’d seemed almost shy, almost scared, and almost hers.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
The tower clock chimed three o’clock in the morning.
Evangeline startled back to the present. She closed her eyes, shook away the memories of Archer, and then returned to her main room—only to be startled again at the sight of Apollo.
He looked as if he’d just stepped inside the door to her suite. His eyes were hooded, his shirt was wrinkled, and there was blood spattered on his boots. It was only on his boots, but there was so much of it, soaking through the tan leather until they were practically red all over.
Death. It seemed to be everywhere tonight.
“Are you all right?” Evangeline quickly crossed the room. “What happened?”
Apollo pulled a shaking hand through his hair and closed his eyes, as if the memory of whatever had occurred was simply too much for him. “I’d rather not talk about it.”