Chapter 42: Scarred: Chapter 40

By morning, he’s gone.

He has to be, of course. Nevertheless, my heart aches as though it’s been abandoned.

Holding on to my virginity was never something I did because it was expected. I don’t prescribe to the belief that it’s a gift to be given. I’ve just never found someone who I cared to experience it with. It’s vulnerable. Intimate. And while I’ve fooled around with boys in the past, there’s been no one I’ve considered my equal.

Until him.

A sharp knock raps on the door and I stretch beneath the covers, my insides twinging in pain. Before I can say a word, it swings open, all three of my ladies waltzing in as if privacy is something I don’t deserve.

Marisol heads straight to the large windows on the far side of my room and whips open the heavy curtains, allowing the dim light from the gloomy Saxum skies to pour into the space.

“Rise and shine,” Sheina singsongs as she moves past me, her eyes as bright as her blonde hair.

Frowning, I move to sit up on the bed, the sharp ache between my legs cutting through me like a sword, making me gasp from the feeling. Ophelia clears her throat and moves toward me until she’s pressed against the edge of the mattress.

“Milady,” she whispers, her eyes glancing to Marisol’s back and then to me again. “Are you alright?”

I tilt my head, assuming she means from everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. The truth is, I’m not alright—the sticky fingers of grief don’t let go easily—but I won’t show it to everyone. Showing emotion is weak, and I cannot afford to look weak, especially now.

“Of course I am, Ophelia.” I smile at her.

She leans closer, her brows drawing in. “There’s blood on your sheets.” Her voice is quiet, as though she’s trying to keep from letting the others hear. Embarrassment slams into me, and I glance down, realizing the blankets have slipped, specks of red dotting the fabric, surrounded by crumbled, hardened wax.

My cheeks flush, and my fingers grapple for the comforter, pulling it over the mess as I clear my throat. “Thank you, Ophelia.”

She grins and tips her head.

“What is it we’re doing today?” I ask, trying to remain calm even though my heart is beating out of my chest. Stupid to fall asleep like this.

Marisol spins around, her eyes narrowing on me. “Your uncle and His Majesty wish to dine with you.”

Her words are sharp and they sting as they whip across my face. I’m not sure if it’s from the tone of her voice or the thought of having to put on an act with the king when I’ve just been stripped of my innocence by his brother, but either way it smarts.

She slaps her hands together and walks my way. My insides tighten and I grip the comforter higher up, realizing that I’m naked beneath the sheets.

“Get out of bed, milady, so we can get you dressed and ready.”

Ophelia moves over to Marisol and links their arms together, pulling her to the washroom. “We’ll draw you a bath. I’m sure you could use the relaxation after yesterday.”

The reminder of yesterday twists my chest, but I smile, grateful that she seems to be in my corner. Once they disappear, I blow out a slow exhale, turning to find Sheina smirking at me from the other side of the room, a robe in one hand, the other on her hip.

“Don’t look at me that way, Sheina. Get over here and help me,” I hiss.

She lets out a small laugh before walking over and holding it out to me.

“Marisol must be blind as a bat,” she chides. “Your hair is an absolute rat’s nest, and you’re clearly not wearing any clothes.” Her eyes sparkle.

Scoffing, I grab the silk robe from her hands, shielding myself as best as possible when I toss off the comforter and stand to slip it on. My muscles groan in protest and again, a sharp stab careens through my center, making me jolt from the pain.

I like the way it feels.

Strangely, the ache is a comfort; a reminder that Tristan cares. That out of everyone in my life—Sheina and my uncle included—he’s the only one who showed up and held me through the night. Who distracted my mind and let me break in his arms, giving me his strength when he knew I had none.

“Quiet,” I snap, although I can’t keep the grin from curling in the corners of my mouth.

She giggles. “Well, at least wipe the freshly fucked look off your face.”

I gasp, shoving at her shoulder, allowing the smile to break free. “Watch your mouth, Sheina! Lord, what happened to my friend? I’ve never heard you speak so crude.”

Tying the sash of the robe together, I glance around, cringing when I see the bed is in such disarray.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ll take care of it.”

Sighing in relief, the tension eases from my shoulders and I reach out, grasping her forearm in my hand. “Can we spend some time this evening, just the two of us?”

Hope blossoms in my chest, wanting to feel some sense of normalcy, knowing I’ve had none since before coming to Saxum and embarking on this long, torturous journey.

Her eyes shutter and she glances away. “Of course.”

My chest twists, the smile dropping from my face at her lack of enthusiasm. “If you’re busy…”

“For you, milady? Never.” She grins, squeezing my arm. “Your bath is probably ready.”

Unease sifts through the air and settles on me like a blanket as I watch her move to my bed and strip the sheets, and the feeling stays through the rest of the morning; as my corset is cinched tight, my hair scrunched and pinned, and fresh rouge put on my cheeks.

The only thing that distracts me is when we’re actually on our way to the dining hall, and we run into Paul.

My heart stutters at the sight of him.

“Paul.” I stumble to a stop in the middle of the dimly lit hall, Marisol—who decided it was her responsibility to escort me here—jerks to a halt behind me.

“Milady,” she says. “We don’t have—”

I spin on her, my eyes narrowing and jaw clenching. “Marisol, the dining room is right there.” I point to the doors at the end of the hall. “You’ve been an excellent guard dog, and I appreciate you leading me here. But you’re dismissed.”

A slight grin tips the corner of Paul’s face, although it’s easy to see the sorrow that fills his eyes.

“Now,” I hiss, when she doesn’t move.

She huffs. “You can’t be alone with a man in the hallway, milady. It’s untoward.”

“Let me worry about that.”

I step into her, and she stiffens her shoulders. “I’m tired of you always putting up a fight. I can tell that being in charge is important to you, and while I respect that, I’m kindly reminding you that you will never be in charge of me.”

Her lips thin, but she bends into a curtsy before traipsing down the hall, most likely to tattle on me like I’m a child. I spin back around to give Paul my attention, my chest pulling tight when I take in the deep frown lines marring his face.

“Paul, there’s—”

He shakes his head, nose scrunching as he glances down. “They’re not even going to have a proper burial for him.” He grits his teeth, his eyes flashing. “Can you believe that?”

“What?” My hand flies to my chest. “They have to, they… he’s a royal guard.”

Water lines his lower lids, and my chest cracks as I step closer, grabbing his hands in mine and squeezing. “Paul,” Emotion clogs my throat. “I’m so sorry, it was my fault, and I—”

“No worries, milady.” He breaks one of his hands away and tips my chin. “He died doing what he wanted to do.”

I huff out a disbelieving breath, rolling my eyes to stem the tears. “What, being a martyr?”

He smiles. “Protecting you.”

My stomach cramps and I inhale, my face scrunching from how heavy those words hit.

“You know,” he whispers, his grip tightening on my fingers. “I’m not sure who’s worse, the people who killed him, or the ones who won’t honor his memory.”

He hesitates, dropping my other hand to wipe away a stray tear that drips down his cheek. “At least the rebels take care of their own.”

My nerve endings stand to attention, and I tilt my head. “How do you know that?”

Paul jerks back, running a hand through his auburn hair, avoiding my eyes.

“Sara.” The deep voice cuts through the tension and I glance over to see Uncle Raf standing in the hallway, one hand in his pocket as he leans on his cane.

I smile. “Uncle, I was just on my way to see you.”

“Milady,” Paul mutters, rushing down the hall. He doesn’t turn and give proper notice to my uncle and the slight doesn’t go missed, Raf glaring at Paul’s back as he retreats down the hall.

“Were you planning on keeping the king waiting all night?” he asks.

My insides roll with disgust, but I push on, knowing that now more than ever, it’s important I tread carefully. If he knew what I was doing last night, I’m not sure how he would react.

At best, he’d call me a traitor and disown me from the family.

At worst? I’m not even sure.

Anxiety swirls in my gut as I make my way over to him, afraid that when I get too close, he’ll smell Tristan on my skin. Notice the difference in my walk, or the new cadence of my heart, screaming that a Faasa prince owns me, body and soul.

I ache to find him, even now, and the guilt from that notches its way up my throat until it swells.

When I reach him, I wait… although for what, I’m not sure. Maybe realization that someone tried to end my life just the day before. Maybe acknowledgment that I’m not okay.

It never comes.

And when we walk into the dining hall, and he escorts me all the way down the long table with no less than twenty seats, ornate crystal chandeliers sparkling from above us, I just feel hollow.

Michael sits at the head of the table, dressed in expensive evening wear and a smile on his face, and disgust rolls through my center; the strongest it’s ever been.

“Lady Beatreaux, you’re looking lovely,” Michael says as a servant pulls out my chair, allowing me to sit.

I glance back and smile, thanking them, and Michael grimaces at the action.

“Your Majesty, it’s good to see you looking so well.”

Uncle Raf starts in on him almost immediately about calling a meeting with the Privy Council, and as I sit and listen, taking small sips of water from my glass, I realize that he’s stepped into the role his son had, advising the king. Which means he doesn’t plan on going back home soon. I wonder how my mother fares all alone; although I doubt she’s spared me a second thought since I left.

The first course is brought to the table, and my gut grumbles, unable to stomach eating when my insides feel so torn and tossed. I fidget in my chair, so the ache between my legs will spear through me and remind me that Tristan was there. That he cares, even when it feels as though no one else does. It’s odd how just the memory of him is enough to bring me comfort, but I welcome it, wanting something to keep me from breaking down and ruining everything I came to Saxum to accomplish.

I clear my throat. “Is it true you aren’t having a proper service for Timothy?”

The words fly from my mouth before I can bite them back, and my uncle shoots me a sharp glare, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth.

Michael, who was taking a drink from his glass, places it back on the table and looks at my uncle and then back to me. “That’s correct. We don’t think it would be best.”

Anger sludges through my veins like mud. “He deserves to be honored for his service.”

“The rebels would see it as a victory,” my uncle cuts in. “We cannot give them that satisfaction.”

I huff out a breath, my spine straightening. “They already have a victory. They’ve murdered someone who was doing his job in protecting me.”

“Sara, that’s enough,” my uncle says.

I lean forward until my ribs bump against the edge of the table. “When he was lying on the dirty ground, grasping my wrists and struggling for air, it was me who had their hands elbow deep in his chest, trying to keep his heart beating. It was me who prayed to God that he would spare him, begging him to take it back—” My voice cracks, and my fist slams on the table. “To take me instead.”

“He was not even supposed to speak with you,” Michael says.

I turn toward him, my jaw clenching. “No worries, Your Majesty. Now he never will again.”

Michael’s eyes are wide at my outburst, his jaw muscle tensing.

I cover my mouth with a trembling hand, nausea surging through my throat. “I’m sorry, if you’ll excuse me. I’m feeling rather ill. I think I need to go lie down.”

“Sara,” Uncle Raf starts again.

I put a hand out to stop him. “I’m fine, Uncle. Nothing a midday rest can’t fix.”

Shoving from my chair, the wood legs scraping against the floor, I toss my napkin on the ground and flee from the room, worried that if I stay even a moment longer, I’ll say things I can’t take back. And that’s the last thing I want.

But I needn’t worry, because no one follows.

The fire has long since been put out and I’m sitting in front of it, yet another layer of sadness drops in my chest.

Sheina never came.

I’m angry. And honestly, a little afraid that the girl I thought I knew is actually a woman I know nothing of. Serves me right, I suppose, considering she doesn’t know much of me.

Glancing at the brown floor clock as it ticks against the far wall, I sigh, deciding to focus on something I can control—learning more of the tunnels.

The couch cushions groan as I stand, walking from the sitting area over to my freshly made bed. Dropping to my knees, I peek beneath the mattress’s frame, my arm stretching until I grasp the corner of a small chest. I pull it toward me and open the top, breathing a deep sigh as I pull out the black ensemble I used to wear when sneaking out at night in Silva to take the stolen money from my uncle’s safe and put it in Dalia’s hands.

I strip out of my nightgown, slipping on the black pantaloons and the long-sleeved black tunic, before sitting down on the edge of the bed and lacing up the boots. When I move to the mirror to place my curls back into a bun at the nape of my neck, a sense of calm cascades over my shoulders, feeling like myself for the first time since I arrived in Saxum.

Not all women are meant for frilly dresses and fancy crowns that sparkle in the light.

Some of us prefer the anonymity that comes along with shadows.

Slipping my arms in the black cloak, I put the hood over my head, gripping the edges with my fingers and pulling until it hides my face from view. And then I’m out of the door, already knowing there won’t be a new guard there to keep watch. With Xander gone, I’m nothing but an afterthought.

My stomach tightens as I make my way to the nearest secret door, and my stomach jolts when voices filter around the corner, sounding as though they’re heading in the same direction. I spin around and run as quietly as I can to the end of the hall, hiding behind the far wall so they don’t see me.

Sheina. My heart falters. And Paul.

My brows draw down, and my insides curdle with confusion, wondering what it is they’re doing together and why they’re lurking through the hallways late at night.

When they open the secret passageway and step into the castle’s tunnels, my stomach drops to the floor. I follow behind them, trailing far enough away where they won’t notice I’m there. It takes ten minutes to reach the end of the tunnels, a small stone staircase leading to a small door that opens to the outside, and they exit, whispering words too low for me to hear.

Again, I follow, stepping into the chill of the cloudy night, and realizing we’re in the middle of the forest. And I have no idea where they’re about to go.