Had Asya implied that he was to blame for her faults? Such implications had never been her intentions. Perhaps it was a thing she did without even thinking. She tried, repeatedly she tried but no change she made was accepted. Perhaps it never would be. Perhaps all changes were failed attempts and Asya was too ignorant to see.
Or perhaps it was simply a case of too little too late.
Her reign over him would not be dismissed, not by him, and yet… it was that hold he so hated. Or perhaps it was something more. Anastasiya could feel it, his disdain, his hatred for all that she’d been, all that she ever would be. Never before had Asya held any shame for who she was or what she had done. Only he could cause such feelings… with only a look, or a lack of a look.
She wanted to please him. Where once she had commanded devotion, she now ached for something less and yet so much more. She wanted, no, she needed his esteem. But Diarmad held no respect for murderers. He had no regard for the cruel. There could be nothing more, and so Asya would cut their ties completely as now his presence alone was a reminder of her weakness, a reminder of her failure, a reminder that though she had finally learned to love… it could never be returned.
But those ties could never be cut. Asya had seen to that.
She looked at him, disbelieving almost, and shook her head as she looked down and away. Had she not been taking steps forward? Had she not clearly been trying? Those steps however, by his account, had been in the wrong direction.
Anastasiya, who had thought she’d been moving in the right direction was now left floundering. Not for the first time. But it was not a vulnerability she wished any to see.
She moved to stand before the hearth, gazing deep into the flames as she began once more to speak, finally. “When I was a child, I had a nursemaid, a strong woman with grey hair, a stern face, and kind eyes. Her name…” Asya hung her head shamefully realizing she no longer knew the name, if she ever had known it. “I called her simply Baba, or Babushka when I could pronounce it.
“I loved her.” Tears filled her eyes but were quickly blinked away. “And she loved me, I think, as well as any mother might love their own child. It was she that nursed me as my own mother had died at my birth. One day as I began the age of rebellion, separating myself as babies do, I bit her and was rewarded for my bad behavior with a swat against my baby bottom.
“The next day when I awoke it was to a different nursemaid. I cried for Babushka but learned quickly that her punishment had been severe and she would never again step foot in the inner sanctum of the palace or near the King’s child.” She looked back at Diarmad. “From that day none ever stood up to me. No matter how I pushed or what I commanded. Everything was given to me, every desire met… no matter how ludicrous. Nothing was denied. Never. No one told me no. No one ever dared to speak the truth.