impossible reasons

Loren’s response to Amalia’s pointed question was simple. ”Yes.” Maybe not of him, specifically, but of an unknown, potentially volatile Launceleyn. Of someone who came from a family of monsters, and hadn’t earned their trust. Maybe it wasn’t terror, but it was certainly suspicion, and both certainly stemmed from a place of fear. However, maybe because he’d been too angry for too long, or maybe because he’d run out of retorts—or maybe because the baker was more persuasive than she realized—but he paused, and regarded her with eyes that were suddenly more tired than icy. ”I have every excuse to be a monster. It’s being something else that I’ve always struggled with.” That hadn’t stopped him from trying, in the past, but he was so fucking tired of being good all the time. He still did good. He just didn’t sound, look, or feel good. As she repeated that she didn’t hate him, that Remi didn’t hate him (though neither of them knew that, not really), and that Wessex trusted him, the summoner moved past Amalia to sit on the bench. ”Alright. You don’t hate me.” He couldn’t deny how she felt. ”Maybe Remi doesn’t hate me. But whatever he feels for me just hurts. And Wessex doesn’t trust me. She just is using me.” Not that he minded, not really: he’d always been raised and trained to be of service, that much had not changed. But if the queen could have his powers without him, she’d probably do it in a heartbeat she didn’t have. ”But there’s more to the world than the three of you. The gods hate me and my kind. My family is mostly dead or gone, not that anyone really misses them. And all I hear about these days is how we’re all likely to perish in LongNight.” So the fates, if they existed, certainly didn’t look kindly upon him. Then, however, the baker complained about the fact that he hadn’t accepted her offer to feed him. It was wrapped in a complaint about his personality, and his eyes narrowed and hardened again. ”So it’s my fault, then, that I didn’t have time to take you up on your offer and didn’t want to impose? Never mind that I have two small children to take care of, and opened my home to every newcomer I came across, all of whom I’ve given food and lodging to. That's not even getting into the research you had me do or the preparations I've made for LongNight.” That was a ridiculous reason to be upset if he’d ever heard one. ”Fine. If the invitation still stands, would you like me to come over? I can’t promise to be warm.” Presumably she’d say no, but if it meant that much to her (for real, and not just something she was clinging to because she didn’t know how to deal with him), then he’d take her up on her offer. She was right about one thing: she had no idea what he’d been through. Maybe it was time to enlighten her. His eyes grew haunted as he once more dredged up the horrors of his past. ”I’m already a monster. Because what is the child of monsters if not a monster himself?” He’d said the same thing to Rexanna, who hadn’t believed him; Amalia would probably feel much the same. Maybe she'd get through where the blue-eyed woman had failed. Probably not. ”You want to know what I've been through? Fine. My family was bound by an oath to serve the crown. If we were disobedient, we died instantly. That included the children.” All the children, no matter how good or sweet they were or how hard they tried. ”So they tortured us into obedience. And they tortured us if we weren’t strong enough to be of use.” It sounded far away to his ears. ”I was one of the weak ones.” His voice came out pretty much empty of emotion, and his eyes were elsewhere. Still, he focused his gaze on the baker for his last comment. ”So I am sorry if I am not warm enough for you, or open enough with my affection or feelings for everyone else, but I’ve never known love that wasn’t wrapped up in pain. And whenever I’ve shown weakness, I’ve been punished for it.” And if she didn’t understand how twisted that made him inside, he didn’t know what else to say. Maybe he wasn't a monster, but he was certainly broken enough not to be a man anymore. LOREN Not quite an open book