by Shari Cross
“You’re what? Why?” His anger takes me by surprise. After the way he reacted yesterday, I assumed he didn’t want me me to be with Drake. This news should make him happy. Regardless, I don’t have the strength to deal with his ire.
“Because I want to,” I reply blankly.
“If Charles was who you wanted, why did you accept Drake’s advances?”
Because I love him. I want so badly to tell Gregory the truth. To beg him to help me. But if I do, it will place him in danger, and I can’t take that chance. This is my life now, and I have no choice but to surrender to it.
“Because I was confused. I missed Drake so much when he was gone. And when he came back I guess I just . . . I just got wrapped up in being with him. But in my heart I knew it wasn’t right. I had spent a lot of time with Charles when you and Drake were gone and I actually started to fall for him. I just didn’t realize how much I had fallen for him until he proposed today.”
Gregory scoffs. “I don’t believe you. If this was what you wanted, then I wouldn’t have found you lying unconscious in the mud outside. I know what it looks like when you’ve given up, Addalynne, and that’s exactly what this is.”
So that’s why I have dried mud caked all over me. He’s wrong though, I haven’t given up. I’m fighting harder than I ever have before. I’m just not fighting for myself. “No, it’s not. I’m sad, Gregory. I’m sad because I hurt Drake. You know how much I care about him. I never meant to hurt him.” I swallow back the lump in my throat. “But it doesn’t change the way I feel about my decision. You may not agree with it and you may not understand it, but it’s my choice and you will accept it.”
Gregory stands and turns to face me. “You go ahead and make your choice, Addalynne, but I don’t have to accept it. That’s the beauty in choices, we all get to make our own.”
I push myself into a sitting position, my hands clenching around my blanket. “So what choice are you going to make Gregory? To keep me from marrying Charles? You have no say in the matter! Father gave his permission and I accepted! There’s nothing you can say or do to change it!”
“Maybe. But if I find out that you’re lying to me. If I find out that something else is going on here—“
“Oh, stop it Gregory!” I jump to my feet and stand directly in front of him, my gaze locking on his, my heart beating uncontrollably. “If you want to play hero, then go back to Synereal! There’s no one here who needs your saving!”
He stares down at me, his gaze piercing, contemplating. I try to focus on breathing, but my breaths feel shallow, blocked. Calm down. I have to calm down. I pull in another breath and try to think of the words I need to say, because everything hangs on this moment. If Gregory doesn’t believe me, he’ll go to Drake. He’ll convince him that I’m lying. I can’t let that happen.
“I want to be with Charles, Gregory. I do.” A shallow breath scrapes my throat and the backs of my knees brush against my bed. Stay on your feet, Addalynne. “I can’t marry Drake,” I continue, letting my desperation fuel my words. “If I did I would be stuck in Faygrene. You know I’ve never wanted that. For a while, I thought that my love for Drake would be enough to accept a life here, never traveling, never seeing what’s out there. But I know now that it’s not.”
Gregory shakes his head, and I pull in another tightened breath. “Fine, Addalynne. But just know that, if what you’re saying is true, you deserve the pain you’re feeling, because no matter how much pain you’re in, Drake is in much more. You used him. You used him until you found someone who could give you the escape you’re always looking for. And if that makes you happy, then go be happy, but leave me out of it.”
I turn away from Gregory and pull my lip into my mouth, biting until the pain is sharp enough to distract me from the pain in my chest. The sound of Gregory’s heavy footsteps retreating from my chambers takes what’s left of my strength, and when the door shuts, I drop back down on the bed, alone with my grief.
* * *
It’s too early in the morning when Mother wakes me and ushers me into the bath. Father must have filled her in on the engagement, because she doesn’t ask about it. She just says she, “only wants me to be happy,” and fills the tub. She then explains that Lord Berrenger sent a message to our home stating that I was to be in the market square at noon for the announcement of my engagement to Charles. It all seems to be happening so quickly, and too soon, I’m being rushed into a carriage that’s waiting out front to take me to the market.
“We’ll meet you there, and after the announcement, you’ll ride home with us,” Mother says, before kissing me on the cheek and helping me in.
On the ride over, I look down at the ivory-colored dress I’m wearing while fidgeting with the long sleeves. Charles sent it with a note stating that I was to wear it today. It fits tightly across my bust and is rather low cut, exposing more of me than I’m used to. The rest of the material, starting directly under my bust line, drapes loosely down to my feet. My hair is delicately braided to one side—a detail Charles requested as well. I wonder how many more decisions he’s going to be making for me; not that it really matters. He already took the most important one away—the rest are irrelevant.
The carriage pulls up behind the center square of the market and I see Charles. Overwhelming resentment rises in me as I take in the sight of him and the matching color of our outfits. He glances at me and the bells in the market begin to toll. They ring three times, telling the villagers that there’s going to be an important announcement. Yes, everyone come watch and cheer for my undoing.
Charles strides over to the carriage and assesses me before wrapping his hands around my waist, pulling me down from the seat and setting me on my feet in front of him.
“I knew that dress would be a wonderful fit on you.” His gaze travels to my chest—leaving me thoroughly disgusted—before rising back up to my face. “Do try to wipe the scowl off your face, Addalynne. It’s not very becoming on you.” He leans down and places his lips against my ear. I can’t stop myself from recoiling, but his hands wrap around the tops of my arms, holding me near him. “I hope I don’t need to remind you that it is of vital importance for you to appear happy about our engagement. And you are happy, aren’t you?” It’s not a question, it’s a warning.
He straightens back up and smiles, releasing his grip on my arms. They pulse slightly as the blood recirculates through them. “Oh, and one more thing.” He reaches into his vest and pulls out a long, pearl and gold necklace. He places it around my neck, and though it’s delicate it feels like iron. He takes a step back; perusing his purchase. “There. Now you’re perfect.”
I imagine taking Drake’s dagger from my boot and dragging it across Charles’s throat, watching as the blood drips down his ivory vest and cloak, turning them crimson. The thought gives me the smile I need to wear on my face when Charles takes hold of my elbow and escorts me into the market square.
Edmund, the Squire, announces us, as we step out onto the stage. I squint against the blinding sun and try to block out the dull hum of Edmund’s words, but the word engagement breaks through and I have to remind myself to breathe.
All around me the familiar faces of everyone in Faygrene are cheering loudly, ecstatic smiles spread across their sunburned faces. I wish I could tell them not to cheer, that I’m just another prisoner brought on this stage to receive her sentence.
Sweat trickles down my brow, and my head swims. All I can do to keep from collapsing is focus on the trees that lie far ahead, beyond the outskirts of the village. I stare at the green leaves that sway in the gentle breeze, thinking about the comfort they give me, and try not to faint.
Once I feel slightly composed, I let my gaze drift back to the crowd and I see him. He’s standing at the back, leaning against the grey stone wall. He’s staring straight at me, his face filled with contempt. I want to look away, but I can’t. His face has become my lifeline and, though it tortures me, it gets me through.
As the announcement
comes to a close, I reluctantly tear my gaze away from Drake and turn to leave the stage. Charles’s hand is still wrapped around my elbow, and when we round the corner, his grip tightens and becomes increasingly aggressive.
“Give me a moment with my betrothed,” he tells his guards, while leading me onto a deserted street near the carriage.
“You call that happy. I’m not convinced,” he says as he pulls us to a stop.
“What else do you want from me Charles? I stood there with you, smiling, playing along in your little game.”
He pulls me closer. “I want you to convince me.”
Panic seeps into my blood, but before I can move he leans down and crushes his lips to mine. Complete revulsion shutters through my body at the feel of his mouth on me. I turn my head and use all my strength to pull away.
Pure rage ignites his face. He raises his arm and brings it down, slamming the back of his hand across my face. The pain is blinding and instantaneous. I stagger sideways and nearly fall, but he roughly grabs hold of my upper arm, keeping me on my feet.
I try to focus my blurred vision on his face, my left cheek pulsing with pain.
“Don’t ever turn away from me again,” he sneers, his voice quiet, but enraged. “You are to be my wife and I will have you when I want you. You will be compliant, Addalynne, or I swear to you I will kill the orphan.”
His words throw me back to my reality, and this time, when he leans down and presses his lips against mine, I let him. The taste of his mouth and the feel of his hands grazing hungrily across my back makes my stomach turn and tears sting my eyes. He’s pulling my body against his, claiming it as if it were his own, and I’m powerless to stop him. I almost cry with relief when he finally pulls away.
He smiles down at me with blood on his mouth. It takes me a moment to realize that it came from me. My lip is bleeding from when he hit me and, as he stares proudly at the cut on my lip, he licks the blood off his own with his tongue.
The sound of footsteps thankfully frees me from his grip, and I watch my family turn the corner, along with Vernold.
“There you two are. We were wondering where you had run off to,” Vernold calls playfully, his eyes cautiously falling to my lip.
“My future bride and I desired a few moments alone,” Charles says with a bashful smile, putting the full force of his charm into effect. “Unfortunately, we spent most of our time caring to Addalynne’s face.” He looks at me sympathetically and gently runs his fingers across my jaw. “She tripped on an uneven stone and fell. I tried to catch her, but wasn’t fast enough, and she hit her face on the wall.” His eyes are fixed on mine the entire time he says this, daring me to contradict him. Fury buries itself inside me, but I hold myself in check, knowing that this is a test I cannot fail.
“I wasn’t looking where I was going. I was . . . distracted,” I say with a shy smile.
He raises one eyebrow at me in satisfaction and then turns toward my mother. “She keeps insisting that she’s fine, but I’m still worried. Will you take care of her for me, Genoveve? It devastates me to know that she’s in pain.” His voice and face are masked with false concern and frighteningly convincing.
“Of course, my Lord,” my mother replies. She rushes to my side and quickly checks my face, her fingers gently tracing over what I’m sure is a harsh red mark. I look over to Gregory. His eyes are on Charles, his posture stiff. He doesn’t believe him.
“I really am fine. I just lost my footing,” I lie, hoping to fix whatever doubt may be unfolding in Gregory’s mind. Gregory glances at me, his gaze scrutinizing.
“That is strange, because normally your reflexes are so fast. I can’t imagine that you wouldn’t catch yourself before hitting your face,” Gregory replies skeptically. Elizabeth moves to stand next to him now, her eyes equally questioning.
“That’s because she was fidgeting with her necklace. You know how distracted ladies become with pretty things,” Charles replies swiftly. Gregory nods once, but his eyes never leave my face.
“We should be getting home now,” I say as I look down the street, searching for my escape.
“Yes, we need to be returning as well.” Charles thankfully agrees. I turn and walk toward the carriage with Charles’s arm looped through mine. As much as I detest the thought, I know I have to say a proper goodbye in order to not add to Gregory’s suspicion. When we reach the carriage, I rise on my toes and place a kiss on Charles’s cheek. When I pull away, he reaches out and wipes the blood from my lip. He dredges it across his fingertips as he smiles down at me and then turns and walks toward his own waiting carriage. I climb into ours with the rest of my family, hoping that I convinced Gregory and Elizabeth, but their stares accost me the entire way home, showing me that they’re both filled with doubt.
Chapter 22
HER
Several weeks pass with no mention of suspicion or doubt from Gregory or Elizabeth. They watch me cautiously, their eyes haunting my every move, but never vocalize their thoughts. I’m thankful for this, but I’m also feeling more alone than ever. I have no one to confide in. No one to find comfort with. My days are spent mostly in my chambers, lying in silence as the time passes. I only leave for a few hours a day, when I have to walk the market with Charles, or have a meal with him at his manor. He calls it courting; I call it imprisonment.
This morning I’ll be going into the market on my own for the first time since before the Ball. Charles left two days ago. He’s pretending to investigate the disappearance of the Hunt family. They haven’t disappeared. Their unmarked graves haunt the forest behind the manor: four mounds of fresh dirt. But I can’t tell anyone, so instead I listen to the rumors, to the fears of the villagers. “Taken by a hellion,” they say. So Charles and his father are off to play hero, to pretend to try and rid the town of their monster. At least his fake quest frees me from my mine.
As I remove my chemise from my body, I play out the different scenarios of what could happen, but the truth is I don’t know what to expect from my trip to the market. When I’ve been in the market with Charles, I’ve seen Drake, but he always turns and leaves before I can even get a decent glimpse of his face. I’m scared of how he’ll react to seeing me without Charles on my arm. What if he turns and leaves again, or ignores me completely? Or worse, what if he tries to speak with me? I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’m pushing aside all my fear, all my caution, in hopes of getting one look at him. If I can just see his face, I can get through whatever comes next.
I look down at my bare body and study the dark bruises that now decorate my arms, ribs, and waist. Ever since the day of our announced engagement, Charles has found ways to punish me in places that aren’t visible to others. The largest and most recent bruise stares back at me. It’s a grapefruit-sized collage of black, blue, purple, and green that rests on top of the left side of my ribs. Every time I breathe I feel a sharp stab of pain. I’m certain at least one rib is cracked. It happened three nights ago, after supper at his manor. He moved in to kiss me and I impulsively turned my cheek. He didn’t appreciate my defiance and threw me against the table. I’m still glad I refused him. In a way, I wear the bruise as a small victory.
My entire body aches in protest as I carefully pull on a clean chemise and then my green dress. But I’m actually growing accustomed to the physical pain and even find myself grateful for it. It provides a distraction from the incessant heartache and emotional pain, which is worse.
Apprehensively, I move to the mirror. The dress fits more loosely than the last time I wore it, but it still evokes the memories of that day. I let my mind drift there now—to the woods with Drake. I close my eyes and remember the feel of his hands running along my arms as I held the bow. I can almost feel the weight of his body pressed against mine, and the tingle of his lips on my mouth and neck. I stay in the memory for a while, letting my mind conjure up the lost moments.
The feeling of emptiness is crushing when I reopen my eyes and stare at my face in the mirror. My eyes are
vacant, like glass, providing only a reflection and nothing more. Dark circles shadow the skin beneath my eyes, strikingly obvious against the paleness of my face. I pinch my cheeks in an attempt to give my face some color, but it only makes me look worse. I give up. It doesn’t matter anyway.
I grab my cloak, which I eventually retrieved from the Berrengers’, and make my way out the front door. In my head I go over the list of items I told Mother I would purchase—ribbon for Elizabeth, carrots for tonight, and mint leaves.
Though it’s still early in the morning, the market is bustling with people. At first I’m surprised by the amount of villagers present, but then I remember why—they’re preparing for my wedding. I almost forgot that it had been promoted from a small village affair to a full out extravaganza in Synereal. Apparently Charles asked King Theoderic if we could get married in the capital, since that’s where Charles lived for the past fifteen years. King Theoderic agreed, saying the capital could use something joyful after all the fear that has been brought on from the hellion’s attack, the disappearances, and the prisoner from Incarnadine. King Theoderic invited our entire village to attend, and he’s even going to host this year’s Tournament of Knights in the days leading up to the ceremony. I’ve been told it’s all “very exciting” though that would not be the word I’d choose. Nightmare? . . . No, it’s worse than that. Even though I’m going to finally see the capital, I feel nothing but dread. I have one week left with my family in Faygrene and one week of travel with them before I will completely belong to him.
Stares come at me from all directions as I make my way through the crowd, making me feel uncomfortable and exposed. I miss the days when others took little notice of me, when I was just Addalynne Troyer, a girl who was a little odd, but definitely not significant. Now I can’t help but cringe when people automatically clear a path for me.
I pull the hood of my cloak up, partially to conceal myself from the wind, but mostly in hopes of no longer being recognized.
