The King's War

7. Bitterness

AVERY

I took a deep breath and knocked on the door in front of me before I could talk myself out of it. As I waited for it to open, I prayed that Tristan had given me directions to the wrong room by mistake. That someone other than Sabine Ambrose would open the door (or better yet, no one at all,) and I could apologize and flee and not have to face her in any capacity.

After I'd spent the first hours of the evening thinking Tristan's argument over, it seemed annoyingly sound. Reconciling with Sabine would take an enormous weight off of my shoulders. It would make the idea of sharing the palace with her significantly less awful. If it didn't work, I could at least shrug and say I tried. But god, did I not want to do it.

The door opened and sure enough, I had the right room. Sabine stood there, her darkly lined hazel eyes narrowed into slits. She was dressed all in black, even as far as her lips, looking like she'd just left some fashion-forward funeral. She scanned me up and down, the skeptical expression never leaving her face.

"Hi," I said, attempting to sound as neutral as possible.

"Did you come here to gloat some more?" Sabine asked, crossing her arms defiantly.

We were off to a wonderful start already.

"Not everyone's out to get you. I just want to talk," I said.

Her skepticism didn't waver. "I'm not in the mood."

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Sabine was impossible. This was a terrible idea. I shouldn't have listened to Tristan. He was clearly not in his right mind if he allowed himself to be bewitched by her.

"Look, we can't keep doing this," I tried. "The competition's over. There's no need to be enemies."

Sabine looked at me as if I'd grown horns. Then she groaned. "Tristan put you up to this, didn't he?"

I didn't want to get him into trouble, so I merely shrugged. But I could tell Sabine didn't believe me. Anyone who knew me could tell there was no way I'd have come up with the idea myself.

Sabine swung the door open and gestured me inside with a dramatic flourish of her hand. Then, arms crossed, she sauntered over to fall onto the bed in just as dramatic a fashion.

Not knowing what else to do, I went to lean against the dresser. "So," I began awkwardly. I'd practiced a speech but those words had flown out of my head as soon as I laid eyes on Sabine. "You don't live with your parents anymore?" I wanted to smack myself as soon as I said that. I was using gossip to stall, and Sabine Ambrose did not appreciate stalling. But the question had bugged me ever since I overheard that tidbit of info. Miss I-Come-From-A-Very-Important-Family-And-I'll-Remind-You-Of-It-At-Every-Turn ditching her folks was a pretty big deal.

"No, I don't. And I don't want to talk about why," Sabine replied predictably.

Tristan said she'd been through a lot. I wondered exactly what happened to her since the last time we saw each other. She'd all but had a mental breakdown in my room over the fact that I was leaving the competition.

I figured I'd ask about a topic she might find more appealing. "Tristan's a Sinclair. He's related to the Southern king, isn't he?"

"What's it to you?" Sabine asked, bristling.

"He left the South because the king died, didn't he?" I asked.

Sabine nodded. "Among other things." She sat up then, shaking her head. "Look, you're wasting your time here. Tristan's an idealist. He thinks that if he just nudged you in my direction, we can overcome our differences and become the best of friends, or whatever. Well, yeah, I'm sorry for making the competition difficult for you. I don't resent you for the way things ended anymore. But the two of us will never be friends."