CHAPTER TWO

INARA’S POV

The silence in the bedchamber was a living thing, heavy and suffocating. The fire in the hearth snapped, a shower of sparks flying up the chimney, but the sound felt miles away. I stood anchored to the doorway, my fingers still resting against the frame of the open door, unable to tear my eyes away from the scene before me.

"Inara..."

Maksim’s voice was barely a rasp. He scrambled off the edge of the tall canopy bed, carelessly dragging a pair of dark trousers over his bare legs. His chest was flushed, crisscrossed with tiny scratch marks, and his dark hair was wildly disheveled. He took a single, panicked step toward me, his hands raised in a useless gesture of surrender. "Inara, wait. Please, just let me—"

"Don't," I whispered. My voice didn't shake. It lacked any heat, sounding like dry leaves scraping across cobblestones.

Behind him, Elizaveta let out a sharp, ragged sob. She pulled the silk sheet tightly around her chest, her bare shoulders exposed, her silver-blonde hair tangled wildly around her face. She looked tiny in his massive bed, like a frightened child caught where she shouldn't be.

"Inara, please!" Elizaveta wailed, tears spilling instantly down her flushed cheeks, pooling at her chin. "I'm sorry! I’m so, so sorry! I never wanted to hurt you! It—it just happened, I swear it just happened!"

I didn't look at her. I kept my eyes locked on Maksim, watching the flush of shame climb up his neck to stain his ears. I looked at the dark red bite mark near his collarbone—a mark left by teeth I had known my entire life. A mark left by my sister.

"How long?" I asked.

Maksim stopped two paces away from me. He reached out a hand, his fingers trembling slightly, as if he meant to touch my shoulder, but my cold, empty stare made him freeze. His hand dropped uselessly to his side.

"Inara, it isn't what you think" he started, his voice desperate.

"How long, Maksim?" I repeated, my tone rising just enough to cut through his flimsy defense.

Neither of them answered immediately.

Elizaveta buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving as she wept loudly into the sheets. Maksim stared at the dark rug between us, his jaw clenching and unclenching. The heavy, drawn-out silence gave me the answer before his lips ever formed the words. It hadn't been a single night of foolishness. It hadn't been a sudden, tragic mistake born of wine.

"A few weeks," Maksim finally muttered, unable to meet my eyes. "It’s been... a few weeks."

A cold, hollow laugh bubbled up in my chest, though my face remained completely still. Weeks. For weeks, he had come to my father's house, sat at our dinner table, held my hand beneath the linen tablecloth, and asked me about the lace for my veil. For weeks, he had kissed my cheek goodbye before slipping into the shadowed corridors to find my sister.

And everyone had been so quiet lately. The servants had looked at me with strange, pitying eyes when I walked past. My stepmother had kept Elizaveta close, humming happily while planning new dresses for her. They knew. Or, at the very least, they suspected. I was the only fool sitting in the middle of the web, happily embroidering my own tragedy.

"I see," I said softly.

"Inara, please listen to me," Maksim stepped closer again, his voice dropping into that quiet, smooth cadence he always used when he wanted to soothe my temper. "I never meant to disrespect you. You are a wonderful woman. You would have made a brilliant wife. But Elizaveta... she needed me in a way you never did. You’ve always been so strong, so self-sufficient

"Do not insult my intelligence by blaming my strength for your lack of character," I interrupted, stepping back so his reaching hand met only empty air.

He flinched as if I had struck him.

I lifted my right hand. The gold engagement ring the ring he had placed on my finger three years ago in front of both our families caught the ambient firelight. It felt suddenly agonizingly heavy, a cold iron weight suffocating my skin.

I reached over with my left hand, gripped the band, and slowly pulled it off my finger.

"Inara, no," Maksim breathed, his eyes widening with genuine panic as he realized what I was doing. "Don't do this here. Let us talk in the morning when you aren't so angry. We can fix this. We can figure something out—

"I am not angry, Maksim," I said quietly. And it was the terrifying truth. The anger hadn't come yet. There was only a vast, freezing void expanding behind my ribs, consuming every scrap of warmth I had ever possessed.

I took two step forward, stepping right into his personal space. He stood frozen, staring at me as I raised my hand and carefully placed the heavy gold ring into his open, trembling palm. I folded his fingers over it, forcing him to clutch the metal.

"You should have given me the dignity of leaving you," I whispered, leaning in so only he could hear the bitter edge of my voice, "before you made me look stupid."

I turned on my heel and walked out of the room.

"Inara! Inara, wait!" Maksim called out, his bare feet slapping against the wooden floorboards as he made to follow me into the hallway.

"Don't touch me!" I snapped without looking back, my voice echoing violently off the vaulted ceiling of the corridor.

He stopped at the threshold of his room, panting, clutching the ring in his fist, unable to chase me out into the street half-naked.

I hurried down the grand spiral staircase, my bare feet slipping slightly on the polished steps, but I didn't care. I grabbed my leather boots from the entrance hall, thrust my feet into them without tying the laces, and slammed the heavy oak door shut behind me.

The cold night air hit my face like a physical blow, tearing the breath from my lungs. I stumbled down the cobblestone path toward the waiting carriage, my vision finally blurring as hot, scalding tears broke through my defenses and spilled down my icy cheeks.