Honeythorn (Honeythorn, #1)

by Marina Vivancos

Perhaps, Milan conceded in his mind, the fury is easier to feel than fear, loneliness, and sadness. Anger blinds, but it does not cure.

“You will never speak to me the way that you did last night,” Milan said, his voice hard. Lord Raphael’s eyes widened. Milan forged on. “I understand anger and expressing it. But speaking to me like I am beneath you, looming over me, banging the table—I will not tolerate that. I would like to remind you that you agreed to this marriage. I did not trick you into it. You do not want me. Fine. But it was your decision to have me here, so do not suggest I have invaded, or that I have the power to infect.”

Even then he had known the horror of being diminished. Of being made to die from the inside out. There could be much more to dying than death.

“Well, then. If you mean nothing, might I suggest you don’t say anything at all? It would save us all the trouble of having to listen to you. Now, we really must depart. I find myself faint with the need for stimulating conversation.”

It was haunting, to live with the man that was killing you slowly. At times, Milan thought that he must be bonded to two different people—the one ruthless enough to torture Milan, and the one everyone else saw. The ‘good man’.

“How can goodness prevail if we don’t expect it of people?” Lord Raphael demanded. “How can goodness prevail when we expect it of people regardless of the cruelty of their situation?”

I don’t like what he’s done. But I like who he is.”