Tears tracked down my cheeks, and my hands fisted in King’s tee. There were no appropriate words. Nothing that could ease that kind of pain. But I had to try. “I’m so sorry,” I croaked. “It’s not enough, but it’s all I have.” King’s head lifted, and I saw pure agony in his eyes. “It’s not yours to be sorry for.” “Isn’t it?” I asked. “I should’ve plunged a knife into Bastian’s back years ago and taken the death sentence that would’ve come from it.”
