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“But that’s the problem with loving deeply, isn’t it?” she asked her hands with a bitter little laugh. “It means you have to hurt deeply, too. And that hurt can twist you up in unexpected ways.”
“What about you? What do you need, Casia?” Her eyes fluttered open. And he realized how dangerous his question really was. Because in that same instant, he realized that he would have given it to her. It didn’t matter what it was. It might have eventually meant the ruin of himself, of her, of kingdoms and crowns and gods alike, but it didn’t fucking matter. If she had asked for it in that moment, he would have given it to her, and the thought was so overwhelming that it nearly made him lose his balance.
“I don’t hate you. I just … want to.” He sighed, a corner of his lips quirking in a wistful smile. “I want you to hate me too.”
pain is not a competition. Everyone has their own battles. Their different hells. Different demons. And you don’t have to apologize for the things that hurt you, as I said, or for what you have to do to survive these things—not to me or to anyone else.”
All he knew for certain was that he had fallen in love with her twice now. I answer to a higher power, he’d told her. But perhaps there was no higher power than this. Than her.
“I love you,” he said. She dropped the bag she’d started to rifle through. “What did you just say?” “I love you. And I always have—in this lifetime and in every other.”
“I don’t know what happens next, either. But I am certain of one thing: If you are going to war, then I am going with you.”
It doesn’t matter. Family is not always blood, and blood is not always family.
