Chained To Him [Editing]

Chapter Forty-Four

In some ways, it was beneficial to be so battered now. The pain in her legs and chest made her move slowly as a soldier helped her into the coach, and Aragon's recent abuse gave her an excuse to avoid his gaze. But in truth, she burned with an energy she had forgotten, a hatred that she had been careful to keep hidden. She was going home.

Aragon kept the coach empty except for them, and though she felt cornered by him as he looked at her and searched for words, she didn't mind it like she normally would.

"How are you feeling?"

Jayde glanced up quickly before looking out the little window of the coach. The road leading out of the capitol grew wider as the buildings along it shrank and became dirtier, more run down. There was no grand exit from the capitol city, but merely a tour of the slums that had risen as workers had flocked there on false promises of work.

"Sore," she said quietly, ignoring the way the scabbing wounds across her chest tightened painfully each time she shifted.

"Jayde," he began, but fell silent when she looked at him. How many times had he said her name like that this morning? She knew what he was trying to do, and some part of her was curious to know if he would actually manage to apologize. He reached to rest a hand on her thigh and then paused, seeming to remember what he'd done. Instead, he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

"I want to ask you about Greywood. About Luc." He let their hands settle on the seat between them and narrowed his eyes slightly.

"I'd think you would be the expert on him."

"No," she murmured. "I want to know about before. What did you do to him?"

Aragon grimaced and sighed. "I didn't torment him particularly, if that's what you're wondering."

"Then how did he end up...like that?"

The way he looked at her, looked into her, nearly made her shudder. Finally, he gave her a soft smile. "You know, Jayde, I don't know that I should give you any more reason to hate me."

"Is what you have to say worse than what you did last night?"

His expression didn't waver. "Don't forget yourself, Jayde," he said softly. "I would think you'd speak more carefully after last night."

That was more like the Aragon she knew. How like him to search for an apology or explanation for his cruelty in one moment, then use his cruelty as leverage in the next. He could read her thoughts clearly on her face, and she made no effort to hide how she felt now.

"That wasn't what I meant," he sighed, leaning back against the wall of the carriage.

"Then what did you mean?"

He didn't look at her or respond, but she saw the way he clenched his jaw. Let him be infuriated, at her or at himself. She let the silence rise between them, her mind wandering constantly back to what torment Luc must have experienced, all alone without a friendly face in sight. He would always be tormented, she realized. Even if he made it out of this alive, even if Aésael somehow managed to accept him again – if she could accept him again – he would never be happy in the way he used to be. But then, she wasn't sure she or Luther could either, or anyone in Aésadel who had lived through the past ten years. They could build a future for others though; that would have to be enough.

"Jayde." That soft voice again, so strangely hesitant for him. She'd never known him to act this regretful after he'd hurt her. Perhaps he'd gone too far in his own mind as well. "I had decided to try, you know. With you."

"I don't...I don't know if I believe that," she breathed.

"I thought that if you left Aésadel for awhile, things could change."