Changeling (Book 1) Rated R

Chapter 33

Christian looked like I'd punched him in the gut and in that moment, I sort of wished I had.

He shook his head, laughing without humor.

"You don't understand. There is no reasoning with this King, Aimee. Any defiance on my part would've been viewed as an act of rebellion and ended with my death."

"So you brought me here because you're afraid of him? Of what he'll do to you? Do you not have a backbone?"

"Not what he'd do to me, no. What he'd do to my family."

I opened my mouth and clamped it shut.

Because if there was something I understood it was going to great lengths to protect the people I loved.

But would I do it at the expense of someone else...I wasn't sure.

"He's your father."

"He is a monster, Aimee and I'm not one to back down. Going against him would have been to go to war with him and that would have teared my family apart—I couldn't—I wouldn't. I have a duty to protect my family. From him."

"What about what he'll do to me?" I whispered, not brave enough to say it louder than that.

After all, what did Christian owe me?

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

"Aimee..." He whispered back, sounding tortured.

"Why am I here, Christian? And please, for once in your life, tell the truth."

His blue eyes looked away into a corner of the room.

I could hear him breathing and a vein pulsed in his throat, jumping rapidly to the beat of his heart.

His shoulders slumped, as if he'd accepted some great defeat, and in a low, throaty voice, he whispered,

"To be killed."

The room spun for a moment.

I'd expected for him to tell me I'd be Henric's slave, that he'd hold me hostage in this castle to do his magical bidding for him for the rest of my life.

A twisted re-imaging of Rapunzel but with glowing gold fingertips instead of magic hair.

What I never in a million years expected him to say was that he'd brought me here to my death.

And I certainly hadn't expected it to hurt so much either.

Shaking my head, I looked away, tears springing up behind my eyes. For the first time that I could remember, they were not tears of anger but the tears of someone who'd been stabbed in the back by someone they had come to trust.

Someone they had, God, even stupidly come to care about.

I laughed, an awful sound even to my own ears, refusing to let the tears fall as my feet carried me back a few steps.

Christian stood in front of me, still as a statue, hands hanging loosely at his sides, eyes cast to the ground.

And he was shaking.

Digging my nails into my palms, I gulped down mouthfuls of air.

It all hit me at once, this flurry of panic, of denial and overwhelming fear.

The betrayal, though, I hated to admit, was the part that hurt the most, like a searing hot knife through my chest.

Then came the realization that I probably wouldn't live long enough to save mom and Taylor, would never see Damian again and that was crushing.