Chapter 34- Madeline

^^O.O Alastair is not happy...^^

Important: There's going to be a switch in point of views in this chapter, so be careful. Alastair's going to appear mid-chapter, so there's going to be a big bold: Alastair's P.O.V Hopefully I don't end up confusing everyone :,)

'When I'm with you, hours feel like seconds. When we're apart, days feel like years.'

Chapter 34

River's POV

My eyes fluttered open, eyes peering up at beige rock, dangling above me. A sharp breath caught in my throat as the realism of the situation hit me.

Not a dream.

It was dim, only a small ray of sunlight streaming in from a half-mooned crevice on the upper right wall. My mind raced, unsure what to do. I took a deep breath, attempting to sit up only to fall back down by a heavy weight on my lower stomach. Brows scrunching, I peered down, met by a small form snoozing away on my stomach.

A low tsk resounded from my right as I was met with an upright Emile, sitting cross-armed on the opposite side of the bed, watching me through narrowed eyes.

I cleared my throat, slight color draining from my face, "G-good morning," it was meant as a simple pleasantry but it came out as more of a question as my voice caught in my throat.

Emile nodded, eyes trained on mine.

I swallowed nervously, peering down at the napping child on my stomach. Emile's stare was practically tangible as it pressed against the side of my head.

Wake up, Parish.

My eyes squeezed together.

Please. Your...whatever he is to you...is scaring the living daylights out of me.

A light yawn pulled me from my misery as a small pair of arms almost knocked me backward as he stretched, punching the air centimeters from my face.

"For God's fucking sake, it feels like a troop of monkeys did benches on my back," Parish moaned, raising himself on his arms before falling straight back down with a groan.

I coughed in slight pain as his weight settled on my chest, cutting off my air supply.

Parish's head lifted, brow raised as if to asking: 'can I help you?'.

"Parish," I groaned, "you're hurting me."

He peered down at my chest then back at my eyes with an amused smirk playing on his lips.

"Are you truly so feeble to be unable to handle the weight of a ten-year-old. I mean," he motioned to himself, "let us be honest. I can't possibly weigh more than fifty pounds."

"I thought you said you weren't-"

Parish lifted a finger to my lips, "I don't recall ever claiming to be the same age as my body."

"How-"

"Not important," Parish turned towards Emile's hunched form on the far end of the large bed, "are you not going to give me a morning kiss?" He sounded genuinely upset by the thought.

A soft smile graced Emile's lips as he looked up, body slouching no longer. He crawled forward, fingers brushed lightly across Parish's cheeks as he took the small boy's face in his hands and placed a tender kiss on his forehead.

"Good morning, kitten." His voice was so gentle, like a calming breeze on a warm spring morning.

Wow, so he can display emotion. An emotion that isn't utterly frightening.

"Morning, darling," Parish spoke with such antiquity. Almost like how the elders in town would speak.

Maybe he really is as old as he claims.

A growling-like sound rumbled from my stomach, causing a deep blush to rise to my cheeks.

"I'm starved!" Parish moaned, sending a hopeful glance at Emile. Emile dropped his hold on the small boy's face, nodding as he lifted himself from the bed.

"T-thanks," I muttered as the door closed behind Emile.

"Anytime!" Parish chirped as he leaped from on top of me and off the bed in one fell sweep.

My eyes gazed with wonder as he landed on his feet beside me.

I would have landed straight on my butt.

He lifted a hand to me, "need help?" He laughed.

I pouted.

Is it that obvious that I'm a hopeless klutz?

I placed my hand in his, gasping slightly as he pulled me from the bed with such force that I stumbled into him. A light cackle filled the room as he shook against me.

"Such fluidity," he laughed.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

Parish sucked in a breath, eyes gazing to the ceiling, "You're quite a humorous fellow, little wolf." He looked down from the ceiling with a soft smile.

"...anks," I mumbled beneath my breath, fingers entwining with one another in an awkward dance.

A set of small fingers wrapped around mine as Parish pulled my attention back to him, "I want to show you something!" He chirped, pulling me towards the door.

"W-wait, what about Emile-"

"Oh relax, we'll be back before he returns with the food," he waved his hand nonchalantly before turning the knob and dragging me out the door.

Yeah. Right.

We brushed past hurried men, all screaming orders and running forward.

What's all this commotion...?

Parish seemed to be completely oblivious to it all as he continued pulling me to a side room, dodging three men as they rushed past us. I watched their scurrying figures till I was yanked into a small room, my eyes roamed, taking in the small, brown room. Paintings hung leisurely across all four walls, all of people, places, things, having no common theme. Almost as if whoever had painted them had done them solely from memory. As if afraid of forgetting. Though, though they all seemed completely unrelated to one another, they all had the same optimistic glow about them.

"Come," Parish ushered me to a painting on the far end. He moved out of the way, allowing me room to stand in front of it.

It was beautiful. The brush strokes were so articulate, the colors soft and warm. The woman in the painting practically radiated contempt and felicity. The blond woman seemed to be standing in a vineyard, a basket of freshly picked grapes in hand. A small hint of a smirk played on her lips as she peered downwards as if amused by whatever she was gazing at. A lock of blond hair laid lazily on her shoulder, easily displaying a picture of calm.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Parish broke my awe-stricken silence.

I turned towards him. He stood beside me, eyes gazing up at the painting with a look of complete reverence. But his awe seemed to be less for the painting and more for the woman in it.

"She is."

"You remind me very much of her," he turned towards me, an emotion playing in his eyes that I couldn't quite decipher.

I almost laughed. The beautiful blond in the painting was nothing like me. Perhaps the hair but nothing else was similar in any manner. She was angelic, saint-like, glowing in a both innocence and beauty.

Her face was oddly familiar. Though the image I was thinking of wasn't as light and blissful as this one; the woman in that picture was anything but joyous.

"Was she a friend of yours?"

A sad hint of a smile graced his lips, "Not a friend. Such a horrid word could not grace such an angelic being. She was my greatest companion."

Was.

"Did she..."

"Die?" he filled in.

I nodded.

"If only I knew."

He doesn't know...?

I peered back at the painting. She seemed to be the epitome of radiance. In a loose, white dress, almost like an angel in human form. My eyes caught hers. Eyes so full of emotion.

I wonder what she was peering at.

Then, as if fate was playing a trick on me, my eyes caught a small, scripted handwriting on the lower right corner.

Madeline by Parish Knightly.

My heart stopped.

Madeline.

******

Alastair's POV

A burning sensation ran across my chest, my breath thickening as I peered at the down-casted men before me.

"What do you haven't found him!" I growled, my fist landed hard against the mahogany stand beside me.

The men jumped, some beginning to break out in a nervous sweat as they looked up at me with fright-filled eyes.

"We're immensely sorry about-" the captain spoke.

"I don't want to hear your apologies, captain," I growled, "I want you to find my mate."

He bowed his head, "Yes, Your Majesty."

A droplet of sweat ran down his forehead as he wiped anxiously at it.

"You may leave."

He bowed once more, followed by his men as they scurried out the door like the hounds of hell were nipping at their heels.

I fell with an exasperated sigh, hands shaking on the armrests as I collected my thoughts. I had never been so utterly filled with anguish as I was now. Morbid thoughts plagued my mind daily, taking with them bits and pieces of my sanity. Images of vile men surrounding my mate's delicate frame. Tears dripping down his beautiful face. Blood coating his porcelain skin. Pale eyes filled with fear.

My teeth ground together as my fist slammed against the small, mahogany table, smashing it into dozens of pieces. Blood dripped down my wound-up fist, splinters of wood stabbing into my bone as I fought to control myself.

"Your Majesty!" A series of gasps filled the room as wide-eyed maids flurried around me but a resounding growl kept them from touching me.

"Your Maje-"

"Out!" I hissed.

"You're wounded!" One reached for my hand.

Not as much as my sanity.

I pulled from her searching hand, "Now!" I bellowed.

Whimpered sounds filled the room as they all seemed to jump with the rise of my voice. They all turned to one another. Confusion playing in each's searching eyes.

"Now!" I pulled at my hair in utter vexation, my teeth grinding so harshly I could taste blood on my tongue.

They all ran from the room, a series of sniffles following them out. I was finally left in silence. Alone.

I paced the room, hands clutching, pulling at my hair. My head spun, nausea building in my throat. I was losing my sanity; heat long forgotten as the pain in my heart dominated all.

My love.

'I love you, too.' His voice filled my mind. His angelic face painted brightly through my vision like a ray of gold in the bleak abyss that was my life. His eyes so soft, lips stretched in a heart-warming smile.

My beautiful River.

The doors flew open and just like that the darkness returned.

"What the hell have you done?!" Beatrice shouted as the door slammed open, a white-gloved hand pointing accusingly in my direction, "all my maids are crying in the hallway like rebuked five-year-olds! I left the estate for five minutes and look what happened!" She raised her hands in exasperation, voice rising as she eyed me in utter annoyance.

I didn't answer, merely eyed her.

"Well?" She raised her hand exasperatedly.

"I apologize."

"You don't sound very apologetic to me."

My eyes narrowed.

"Watch your tone, Beatrice."

"No, you watch your manners!" Her eyes widening as her voice rose, "For a royal you sure as hell don't know how to treat your people!"

My fists clenched.

"Do you think you're the only one suffering," her eyes watered, lip trembling, "do you think you're the only one who's without your mate?" my hands loosened, "well?" She choked.

What the hell is wrong with me...? When did I become this person?

"No," I breathed, "you're right," her eyes softened, "I'm sorry for my behavior. That was not a conduct fit for a royal," I ran my fingers through my hair before flinching.

"What's wrong?" Beatrice questioned before a sharp gasp escaped her throat as she caught sight of my bloodied hand, "what the hell is that?!"

I clicked my tongue, "it's nothing."

"That," she pointed at my hand, "is not nothing!"

She ran across the room, opening a drawer and pulling out a small box.

"Come here," she patted a seat beside her.

Her eyes narrowed when I didn't move.

God, she's not going to leave me alone.

I nodded and placed myself by her. She shook her head as she opened the box, muttering under her breath about my mental capability. To which I chose to ignore. She pulled a tweezer and reached for my hand, which I allowed her to take. I watched her as she bit her lip, brows scrunched in concentration as she got to work pulling each splinter from my skin. Most women, I would imagine, would be shaking in her position, by the amount of blood trickling down my wrist but she barely blinked as her steady fingers fixed up my hand, plucking and cleaning with full engrossment.

"Good," she patted my knee as she stood up from the floor, "better than new."

"Thank you," I observed her work, "you're amazing with your hands. I barely felt anything. Better than most doctors I know."

If only this were a time where women could be doctors as well.

"Thank you, but I must say you're a pretty amazing patient. Didn't even flinch. You sure you aren't immune to pain?" she teased.

"If that were possible I wouldn't feel as I do now," I laughed humorlessly, "No pain in the world could possibly compare to pounding in my chest. Not knowing if he's in pain. That he may be in trouble and I'm not there to protect him..." my hands tightened in tight balls of anger.

She nodded, wiping at the wetness beneath her eyes.

God, I really know how to put a damper on things.

We sat in silence as Beatrice wept and I peered out the open window.

Everything seemed to remind me of River. From the flowers around the estate to the sun beating outside.

Please.

I felt a single tear roll down my cheek, hands falling limply by my side.

River.

Please, my love, come back to me. Come back...