"I am doing this for us!" Roxy cried, trying to pull her wrist free from his grip. "Caspian, please, you're twisting my words. I just want the lineage to be secure! I just want—"
"Stop."
Caspian exhaled the word, and the weight of it crushed the air out of the room.
He released her wrist, not with a shove, but with a slow, deliberate letting go that felt far worse. He drifted back a few inches, putting a terrifying amount of distance between them.
"Do not lie to me, Roxy," he said, his voice flat. "Not anymore. I have spent months telling myself lies. I told myself your sadness was just the adjustment. I told myself the way you stare at the surface was just curiosity."
He looked at her, his golden eyes dull, stripped of their usual shine.
"But I know," he whispered. "I know you are not happy here. I know you hate the pressure. I know you hate the dark. I know that every time I touch you, you have to force yourself not to flinch."
…
He gestured to the room.
