"Who was it who bested you?" the words were cool, deceptively curious.
He stared her down, jaw stiff as the rain slid off the hard edge. He was rarely the one who lost, rarely the one who admitted defeat. But his mind jumped to defiant blue eyes as he offered an open hand. She stared him down an equal, something he was not used to. Something that was so unique it—of all the damned things intrigued him.
But he did not lose. She could have this round. But it was a grave mistake when she crossed him, and she would lose more in the long run.
He averted his gaze and stared hard at the ground, taking a breath, "…The Swan girl—Emma."
The compulsory need to correct himself caught him by surprise. He continued quickly, "Rest assured it will not happen again."
But his slip hadn't slipped past her. Cora's eyes lit up with wicked smugness, "No it won't."
Her voice suddenly dropped to a deadly seriousness, slight anger coloring the words, "You chose her."
He didn't process her threat as his mind began to race.
He chose her? He chose to hunt her down. He chose to make her pay for every complication and every minute he had to spend in internal hell, sitting in wait for a way to finally have his revenge. He chose to hate her.
But every time she had looked at him with that careful defiance. In those eyes he saw a person who was broken again and again by demons that haunted her. In those eyes he saw self-hatred and insecurity. In those eyes he saw himself.
It only made sense that she had bested him, because the only person who could was someone who knew how he ticked.
He chose to inexplicably trust her. And he chose to seek her out again, whatever his reasons were.
I chose her.
His gaze snapped up and he stared Cora down, "Oh? Are you going to kill me now?"
Her eyes sparked with anger.
He raised his voice in a dare, "Go ahead. Try."
He chose Emma.