Chapter 15: Scarred: Chapter 13

“I’d like to speak with Uncle Raf,” I say to Xander, who sits across from me as Sheina pins my hair. She’s idly gossiping with Ophelia, who’s crocheting off to the side.

He pushes up his glasses, bringing a thick cigar to his mouth and puffing on the end. The smell of the tobacco is sweet and smoky as it hits my nostrils, and it reminds me of sitting in my father’s study for hours on end while he worked. A pang of homesickness hits the center of my gut, making me long for the sunshine-filled days in Silva.

“I’ll arrange it,” Xander says.

I force a smile. My uncle told me that Xander was my confidant. The one who I could depend on; the ace in the castle. But the longer I’m here, the more distrust replaces the confidence I arrived with.

“Sheina, Ophelia. Leave us,” I say.

Their chatter stops, both of them moving from the room without a word. Ophelia doesn’t look back, but Sheina does, her wide eyes glancing between Xander and me before she spins around and closes the door behind her.

She’s been quieter than usual the past couple of days, and when I watch her retreat, I worry that she’s unhappy here. That if, given the chance, she’d flee back home and leave me surrounded by people I don’t know. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but she’s a comfort to me. A small slice of familiarity in an unknown place.

I cross my hands in my lap as I stare at Xander, allowing the silence to linger long after they’re gone. I may be a woman, but I am not a fool, and I’ll no longer allow him to treat me like I am.

“Cousin,” he starts.

“Do not cousin me, Alexander.”

He stiffens in his chair.

“I’m tired of sitting here as if nothing is happening,” I continue. “Your father told me I could trust you. Can I truly?”

“Sara, please.” He drums his fingers on the wooden arm of the chair. “You’re here because of me. But these things take time, they’re fragile. Delicate.”

My chest tightens. “Time moves a lot slower when you’re used as a prop.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea what has gone into this? What it’s taken to get you here?” The chair creaks as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know it’s difficult to wait, but everything is falling into place. You just need patience.”

“Nothing is happening.” I flick a curl that’s fallen from my face. “How long am I supposed to sit here and pretend I’m happy gossiping with the ladies of court? I want to avenge my father, Xander. Maybe you don’t understand that because you’ve never felt the pain of losing the only one you loved.”

He rolls the cigar between his fingers. “In an hour’s time, you’ll head into the town square with His Majesty, where he’ll dine with you and propose in front of the people. We’ll have an engagement ball.” He pauses. “Everyone will be there.”

My breath whooshes out of me, relief replacing the tension that’s been knotting up my spine. “And then we’ll make a move?”

Xander nods. “Then we’ll make our move.” He cocks his head. “Is there something else going on?”

Now it’s my posture that straightens, flashes of yesterday afternoon flooding into my brain. “What else could be going on? I’m all alone in an enormous castle with nothing but my thoughts and my… trust.”

Xander’s lips purse. “Well, once your betrothal is announced, you’ll be much busier. Etiquette courses and wedding planning, of course.”

My nose scrunches.

“Don’t forget why you’re here, cousin. What this is all for,” he implores, lowering his voice and leaning in. “We must move with precision, not haste.”

“I know.” I let out a sigh. “But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

He runs his fingers beneath the frame of his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry you’ve felt so alone and in the dark. That was never my intention. I’ll do better from now on.”

The tangles in my stomach loosen. “Thank you.”

“The wedding will be within six months’ time.” He stands, buttoning the front of his black jacket, his hand slicking over the top of his hair.

“Six months?” My eyes widen.

He shrugs, his eyes growing serious as they peer into mine. “No one said you had to take six months. Use this time to play the part… so we can rip them out by the roots.”

“I know what to do,” I snap.

A small smirk tips his lips. “Good. No worries, then.”

“Absolutely none.” I raise my hands in the air, grinning.

The conversation should put me at ease. After all, he’s finally speaking to me as if I’m part of the plans. But there’s something about the way the air thins that sends alarm tickling my skin, making my hair stand on end, and it hits me that maybe my cousin Xander isn’t the person my uncle has led me to believe he is.

The nausea in my stomach strengthens, churning like a looming storm.

“Lady Beatreaux, you look stunning.”

Michael’s voice booms across the court as my ladies-in-waiting and I make our way to the automobiles lined up at the gate.

There’s a chill in the air, even though it’s just past September; and as the clouds loom over the sky, I have another moment of missing the sunshine of Silva. I wonder how two places within the same country can be so vastly different, yet coexist within the same borders.

I suppose it’s because borders are man-made, and mother nature doesn’t confine herself to the rules of man.

If only we all could be so lucky.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” I drop into a curtsy as I reach him, the stiff bones of my corset making my breathing shallow. I’m sure that Ophelia cinched it too tight, but I ignore the discomfort.

“Where are you taking me today?” I ask, glancing at Timothy, who stands by the back door with his hand outstretched.

Michael waves his arm as Timothy helps me into the automobile. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” he says once we’re in the back seats. “Just enjoy the day, and everything that comes along with being on my arm.”

I bite back the scoff that’s aching to roll off my tongue, my head tilting as I take him in. How do people find him charming? To me, he comes across as arrogant and self-absorbed.

“How could I not?” I peer at him from under the wide brim of my purple hat.

Timothy moves into the seat across from us, and my eyes fall to the coat of arms on his chest, my mind thrown back to yesterday afternoon—to the guard who left with Tristan. I was stupid, allowing the prince to corner me the way he did; simple acts like that can have disastrous consequences. And who is he to me?

Nobody.

Worse than that.

A Faasa.

But that doesn’t stop my stomach from somersaulting at the memory of him pushing against me in the darkened corner. Of his hands touching me in ways no one is allowed to touch.

And then I think of that guard—the one who did nothing except walk into the wrong place at the wrong time—and while I can’t say for sure what happened when they left, deep in my gut, I know the truth. When Tristan’s eyes met mine, there was more being said between us than what we spoke into the air.

I don’t wish death on innocent souls. But sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the greater good.

The automobile rolls toward the front gates, and my eyes glance out across the courtyard, snagging on the large weeping willow in the distance.

I hate myself for the way my heart drops the slightest bit when I don’t see jade-green eyes watching me from the shadows.