Broken Dove (Fantasyland 4)

“You can’t know that,” I said quietly.

“I most assuredly can,” he returned firmly.

And he didn’t stop there.

“We’re both agreed that the way I behaved after finding Christophe, and then finding you again in danger, was inexcusable. But Poppy,”—he leaned even closer—“you followed the wrong Cora into the forest. You put yourself in danger. Even if it was the right Cora, it would have been the wrong thing to do. Although I understand you were worried about Chris, it was reckless.”

“I already admitted that,” I pointed out.

“You did. And I let all that was happening get the better of me. I spoke careless words that harmed you. I forgot, with my son wishing so badly to be a man and thus acting with a maturity that is beyond his years, that he’s just a boy. I also forgot, with the strength of will and heartiness of character you consistently display, that you are broken and I must handle you with care.”

Strength of will?

Heartiness of character?

He thought that of me?

And even with that, he also thought I was broken?

“I’m not broken,” I whispered.

His voice went soft. “Dove, you’re shattered. I know this because you think you’re my whore. I know it because you think you don’t have anything to offer when just your kindness moved two women who have not known you for long to arm themselves and venture into a frozen forest on the chance that you might need aid.”

This, I had to admit, was true.

I just hadn’t thought about it like that.

Apollo still wasn’t done.

And he returned to an earlier theme I hadn’t processed the first time he broached it, it pretty much rocked my world then, so I sure wasn’t prepared to hear it a second time.

“It is my responsibility as the man who loves you and wants you to be his wife to mend what’s broken in you. With Chris, I’ll not forget again that I must care for my son. With you, I’ll not forget again that I must treat you with care.”

I stared into his eyes.

He stared into mine.

I waited for the room to melt. For the earth to shake. For someone wearing a trendy t-shirt and jeans to run into the room, point at me and shout that I’d been punked.

None of this happened.

So I asked, “You love me?”

“Yes, Maddie, I do,” he replied instantly and my stomach dropped.

But he still wasn’t done.

“This being precisely why two days have passed with me needing to worry about the not insignificant fact we’re at war but the only thing on my mind was the look on my son’s face when he showed me his pain and the look on yours when you gave me the same. Thus, for the first time in so long I don’t think there was a time before, I had no idea what to do. I had to see to my son, who, I’m sorry, my dove, needed time away from you. But even so, I did not need the same. And I felt acutely the longer I left you with the words I spoke to you, the harder it would be for me to mend what I myself had broken. And still I was unable to act, fearing just this type of response. I only did anything because I’d been told you were in this house attending Élan and I knew I could not have you under my roof and allow you to leave without at least you knowing the depth of my regret and the sincerity of my apology.”

“You didn’t know what to do?” I asked, my voice sounding as shocked as it was.

“No idea,” he answered firmly and it was not an admission.

It was a declaration.

Oh dear.

I had already started to feel something. A lot of somethings. A lot of big somethings.

But now I was feeling more.

And part of that was confusion.

“You didn’t spend the last two days preparing to send me to Estranvegue?”

Suddenly, he dropped his hand and leaned away.

“Where did you hear of Estranvegue?” he asked in an eerily calm voice that I had the distinct feeling was not calm at all.

Uh-oh.

“It doesn’t matter,” I answered quickly.

“Oh yes,” he returned. “It does.”

“Apollo—”

“Where did you hear of Estranvegue?” he pushed.

I stared him in the eyes and didn’t answer.

I had a more important question. I’d already asked it but I still couldn’t believe it.

So I asked it again.

“You’re in love with me?”

“Yes, Madeleine,” he bit out. “Now, where did you hear of Estranvegue?”

He was in love with me.

Apollo Ulfr (the good one) was in love with me.

Oh my God.

Oh yes.

I was feeling something.

Something big.

“You’re in love with me,” I breathed.

“Yes,” he clipped and his hand came back to curl around the side of my neck and he again bent close. “I’ll ask again, poppy, where—?”

I cut him off with, “Why?”

He clamped his mouth shut then opened it to ask, “Why?”

“Yes. Why?”

He shook his head in confusion. “Why what?”

“Why are you in love with me?”

He blinked before he lifted his other hand to the other side of my neck, his eyes locked with mine, and asked in return, “Why aren’t you answering my question?”

“Because it’s obviously more important to know why you’re in love with me and because I’ll get someone in trouble if I answer your question,” I finally answered.

“You ask a question that has no answer,” he returned. “Now answer mine which actually does.”

Really?

He thought my question had no answer?

Honestly, I could not believe that men in this world, just like in my own, thought they could get away with that “I love you because I love you so just believe it and let me get back to the ballgame” nonsense.

Well, this man couldn’t.

I mean, there was no ballgame to get back to. It was a war, and, well, a bunch of other stuff.

But still.

“It has an answer, Apollo,” I retorted.

“You are correct. It does,” he declared. “It has an answer that would take a decade to speak out loud. But, as you seem determined to have it, in an attempt to put it succinctly, I fell in love with you because I brought you to this world, a world all new to you, and turned my back on you. You didn’t grow morose and retreat into yourself. You didn’t become frightened, get overwhelmed by your fears and lock yourself away. You challenged a chef to a cooking duel over seafood.”