That was the worst part.
Not that he hated her. Hatred she could endure as it was familiar.
But indifference?
The possibility that every smile she had dissected, every glance she had treasured like stolen fire, every flicker of provocation she had kept alive in the secret rot of her desire had been nothing more than a predator cataloguing a threat?
That was unbearable.
Consort had mistaken surveillance for intimacy.
...Teasing for affection.
...Danger for attraction.
'What a magnificent fool I was.'
The solitary, pitiable, cosmically embarrassing fool who had mistaken surveillance for intimacy, teasing for affection, and the gaze of a predator cataloguing a threat for the gaze of a man who found her worthy of desire.
