by Shari Cross
“King Theoderic will understand. Besides, he’ll still be able to hold a celebration in our honor after the tournament. Nothing has to be cancelled, just modified.”
I jerk my arm out of his grip, and turn, preparing to run, but Charles’s guard, Henry, is standing in the entrance of the study, blocking my only exit. I turn back toward Charles, my heart frantic. “I promised I’d marry you and I will, but not tonight. Not without my family and their consent.” I look over my shoulder, at Prestur Medriack, silently pleading for his help. If he’s anything like the Presturs that run the temple in Faygrene, he’ll help me. He gazes at me apologetically, but then he turns his back to me. Charles’s fingers grip my chin, turning my head to face him.
“Your father already gave his consent when he said, ‘Yes’ to my offer of marriage. And you, you behave as though you have a choice in this. I’m not asking you to marry me tonight; I’m telling you that you will.” He wraps his hand around the top of my arm and squeezes while leaning his face down to mine. “Be careful how much you try to oppose me, Addalynne.” His warm breath blows across my face, reeking of stale wine as he speaks low and forcefully. “Although I’m entertained by your spirit, I’m still eager for it to be broken. Now be compliant and tell me how much you want to marry me tonight.” He straightens himself back up and stares down at me expectantly.
“No,” I snarl.
“Henry, gather the other guards and head straight to the Waltons’. I need you to pay a visit to Drake Walton.”
“NO! No, please! I’ll marry you tonight! Just leave him alone!” Tears are raining down my cheeks, and my fingers are grasped firmly around the collar of his black vest. “Please! I’m begging you! Don’t hurt him! I’ll do it! I’ll marry you!” The room tilts and sways around me. I try to breathe, but each breath sends a stab of pain through my chest. I didn’t think hearts could actually break, but I feel mine crushing with each passing second.
Charles continues to stare down at me silently, and Henry has already begun to walk away.
“Please! I’ll do anything you want! Just don’t hurt him!” The edge of my vision is darkening, but I can still see the gratified smile that slowly spreads onto Charles’s face.
“Henry!” Charles calls out to his guard who enters the study at once. “On second thought, leave the Walton boy alone . . . for now.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Henry replies, before bowing and exiting.
“You just bought him his life. Next time I won’t be so forgiving,” Charles says scornfully. Then he looks toward the Prestur. “We’re ready.”
With those words, I am undone. At least I saved Drake, knowing that is the only thing keeping me breathing.
As we drop to our knees and the Prestur begins the ceremony, I close my eyes and hold on to the thought of Drake, pretending it’s him I’m tying my life to. I envision the life we could have had together, if only we’d had more time.
* * *
I have to stop again, my stomach convulsing with pain, while I vomit into the bushes. I can still feel his touch on my body, as though it has seared a brand on my skin. The memory of it makes me wrench in disgust, my body heaving until there’s nothing left to expel. I sink down to the ground and try to dig my fingers into the earth, but it’s solid and impenetrable.
My fingers scratch rhythmically on the surface of the dirt while I watch the sun rise through the heavy clouds, creating a luminous ceiling of silver and gold. I try to find comfort in its beauty, but all I feel is misery and sickness. How could this happen? In all the time I spent preparing for this and telling myself it was what had to be done, I must have never really believed it was going to happen. Deep down I must have thought there would be a way out. And yesterday . . . yesterday I honestly believed Drake had found one. We had a plan. A plan that should have worked. Now everything is gone. My life, my future, my hope—everything. I belong to him now, and he has made me his in every way.
My stomach turns and I again dry heave into the bushes, the bile burning my throat. The pain of it all brings me to tears. I held myself together during the ceremony. I held myself together when he took me to his chambers. I held myself together when he finally let me leave this morning. I can’t hold myself together any longer. I lie on my side and bring my knees to my chest, letting my tears fall sideways down my face, watering the dirt with my sorrow.
Once the sun surpasses the tree line, I know it’s time to either pick myself up and make my way home or move elsewhere. People will be waking soon, and I can’t be seen this way. I push myself up and contemplate my destination. It’s a simple choice. I can’t go home, not yet.
I head for the tree line and find a tree to take perch in. Up here, in the tall branches, I can almost pretend that I’m separated from it all. I can almost pretend that nothing exists beyond myself and the trees.
I let an hour pass, waiting until it’s late enough in the morning that my family should have already left for the day.
Slowly, I make my way to our front door, listening for any sign of stirrings inside, but there’s nothing. Besides, the smoke from the fireplace is dark and dwindling. I let myself in, relieved that no one is here to question me about why I didn’t come home last night. Though Charles probably sent a note with some excuse so they wouldn’t come looking for me.
Lingering near the doorway, I close my eyes and inhale the scents of home—smoke and lavender. I will miss this. It’s familiar and comforting, unlike the smell of my own skin, which is still penetrated with Charles’s scent.
I heat some water and create a steaming bath. As I submerge myself, the shock of the hot water sends stinging shots of pain across my chilled body. Once the shock wears off, I scrub at my skin, trying desperately to erase his touch. I scrub my skin raw, but no matter how hard I scrub, I still feel him on me. I choke back a sob and drop my face into my hands, my tears uncontrollable. Stop crying! Stop crying! I repeat this mantra over and over, but it does no good. I can’t stop, and I hate it! It makes me feel weak! I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping that the physical pain will numb the emotional one and stop my tears.
Once my skin is sufficiently red and the water is noticeably cold, I pull my body out of the tub and try not to look at the water. If I look at it and think too much about why it’s now a light shade of pink, I’ll start crying again, and I finally made myself stop. I throw on my navy gown, not bothering to dry before changing, and drip my way down the hall, my footprints creating a lonely trail behind me.
Pushing open the door to my chambers, a sudden movement startles me. Drake is standing in front of my chair, his hair disheveled, a worried crease between his eyes. I go completely still, my heart pulsing unevenly.
“Where were you?” he asks hesitantly. I don’t respond. I can’t. Not yet. Instead, I take in his appearance, noticing the creases in his white tunic and the dark circles under his eyes. I don’t know how long he’s been here, but it’s evident that he hasn’t slept. “Addy,” he says wearily, taking several slow steps toward me, my sapphire hairpin gripped in his fist. “What happened?” There’s pure panic in his eyes, and I know he’s reading the pain on my face. “Talk to me,” he pleads, as he gently takes my face in his hands. Staring into his eyes, I break down completely, my body shaking with sobs.
He pulls me against his chest, holding me firmly against him. “Please, Addy. Tell me what happened.” The tremor is thick in his voice, and I can feel his heart beating erratically. I try to calm myself enough to get the words out, but just thinking them brings on another round of hysterics. It takes me several minutes to feel composed enough to speak.
“He forced me to marry him.”
Drake’s body stiffens and his breath completely stops. “You mean he’s forcing you to marry him.”
“No, Drake.” I pull my head away from his chest and stare up into his eyes. I hate the fear I see in them, and the fact that I’m about to confirm it. “I married him last night. I’m his wife now.” I speak the words quietly, wishing, as soon
as they leave my mouth, that I could take them back and make them untrue. His chest rises and falls with his labored breaths, and his eyes are blank, as though they’re seeing something that’s not really here. Suddenly, he pulls away from me and walks toward the fireplace, where he begins to pace frantically, his hands fisting through his hair.
“No. You couldn’t have married him. We were supposed to have time. We were supposed to stop it from happening!” His words are filled with desperation, as though he’s trying to convince me that I’m mistaken, that it didn’t really happen. All I can do is stare at him with tears falling down my face. “Why?” He stops pacing and turns to face me. “Why did you do it? You should have refused him!”
“I tried! Believe me, Drake. I tried everything! I begged, I pleaded! And lastly, I refused! But ultimately, I had no other choice!”
“Why?”
“You know why!”
He laughs without humor and closes his eyes, his fists pressing against his temples. “How many times did I tell you not to marry him to save me?”
“And how many times did I tell you that I would do anything to protect you! I won’t let him hurt you!”
His hands drop to his sides and his eyes open. They’re filled with fury. “You think this doesn’t hurt? This is killing me!” The fury leaves his eyes, replaced instead with emptiness. “What you’ve sentenced yourself to, and thus sentenced me to . . . It’s worse than death.”
His words deplete me. I’m so tired. I’m tired of the pain. I’m tired of hurting him. It seems to be all I ever do. If only he never loved me, then the only person I’d be destroying would be myself. That I could live with.
I move to sit on my bed, my legs no longer able to hold me, and drop my head into my hands.
Flashbacks of last night start to replay in my mind. I try to push them away, but all I can see is the golden canopy of Charles’s bed and his face looking down at me. All I can feel is his hands grabbing me, his body holding me down. Suddenly, I feel a hand gliding across my back and I instinctively flinch and recoil. It’s then that I remember where I am and that it’s Drake touching me, not Charles. I lift my head and see Drake standing above me, a look of absolute horror on his face.
“Addalynne did he . . .” he begins, his voice unsteady, and my body goes numb.
I drop my face back into my hands, but I can still sense his movement as he crouches in front of me.
Please don’t ask this question, Drake.
“Addalynne?” His voice breaks with a fear so deep that I can feel it radiating off of him and mixing with mine, until it becomes its own entity.
I try to open my mouth to say the word we both don’t want to hear, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t say it out loud. He needs to know the truth, though, so I nod my head.
Something shatters. I look up, startled by the sound. Drake has risen to his feet, his face is livid with anger, his body heaving. All that’s left of my sapphire hairpin is a pile of glass and silver shards lying in front of the wall.
We stare helplessly at each other for several seconds before he turns and makes his way toward the window.
“Drake!” I yell, but he ignores me and continues to push open the frame. “Where are you going?!”
“You know where.”
I run to the window and grab hold of the back of his tunic. It rips when I try to pull him to me, and I fall to the floor. “You can’t do this!” I cry as I push myself back up. He stops moving forward, but he doesn’t turn to face me. “Please don’t do this! It’s done, Drake. Nothing will undo it, and going over there will only get you killed.”
“That would be better than this.”
My breath catches in my throat. “Don’t say that.”
He slowly turns his head to look at me. The pain in his eyes is palpable and there are tears gathering at the bottom of them.
I drop to my knees and curl in on myself as the sobs take over. Within seconds, I’m in his arms. He lifts me off the ground and cradles me against his chest as he walks over to the bed. He sits down and holds me on his lap while I continue to cry.
“You don’t have to stay and comfort me,” I say between my sobs. “I don’t deserve it. Just please don’t go there.”
“Why would you say that?” His fingers slide under my chin and he turns my head to look at him.
“Because, this is my fault. You must hate me for letting this happen. But believe me, I hate myself more.”
“Addalynne, you have done nothing wrong. None of this is your fault. Do you understand me? None of it. He is the one who has hurt you. He is the one who has taken you. And I will kill him for it.” The look on his face is murderous, his voice broken.
My brain is foggy with exhaustion, making it impossible to form an argument. Instead, I close my eyes and lean my head against his chest. He presses his lips to the top of my head and we cling to each other for what might be the last time.
I feel myself slipping into unconsciousness. I try to fight against it, but I don’t have the strength. After several minutes, I give in, letting myself be comforted by the warmth and safety of his arms around me.
Chapter 27
HER
My eyelids are heavy with drowsiness. They flutter in and out of sleep for several seconds before finally committing to stay open.
The first thing I notice is that I’m in my chambers, on my bed, with blankets tangled around me. The fire is lit in the fireplace and my hair is a mess. Sunlight spills through the window. I sort through the images replaying in my mind, trying to determine which are real and which are dreams. Living by the ocean with Drake, somewhere that no one can find us—a dream. The pain of knowing that it’s not real and never will be leaves me heart sick. Marrying Charles—the memory sends stabs of agony through me. It’s horrifying and completely real.
I force my mind away from him and instead try to focus on the last thing I remember before waking: Drake. He was here. Wasn’t he? Yes, I know he was. But if he was here, then where is he now? I must have dreamt it, but it feels like a real memory. I fell asleep in his arms right after he said . . . Terror settles like ice in my blood—he went to kill Charles.
I jump out of bed and run toward the window. Before I can open it, I notice a folded piece of parchment trapped in the shutters. I grab it with trembling hands and unfold it.
Addy,
I have to do it. I refuse to sit back and let him get away with what he’s done to you. If anything happens to me, do NOT blame yourself. This is my choice and it’s one I should have made weeks ago. I love you, Addalynne. I’ll do anything to make you safe.
Drake
My fear is overwhelming and immediate, causing the blood to drain down my body, numbing me and making it impossible to breathe.
Pull yourself together, Addalynne. Think. You have to think. You have to do something. Before I have more time to think about what that “something” is, I throw on my boots, push myself out the window and land on the ground. I run to the barn and pull myself onto Freyja, not bothering to use a saddle. Giving a swift kick into her side, I push her to run faster than she ever has.
The wind whips my face as we ride, I squint against it, making the last turn that will lead to the manor. All of a sudden, the bell in the market begins to toll. I pull Freyja to a stop while I count the rings. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . six—please keep going. Please don’t stop at six. I wait with bated breath for another toll, but nothing comes. A prisoner . . . it’s him. I know it’s him. I turn Freyja around and head to the market, praying I’m not too late.
Dozens of people are lining the streets when I arrive at the outskirts of the market. I jump off Freyja and run, pushing my way through the crowd, not stopping until I’m directly in front of the stage. I’m terrified that it’s going to be him, but at the same time I feel a small sense of relief at the thought. If it’s him, it means he’s not dead, but that could change very quickly.
Commotion on the left side of th
e market draws my attention. There are at least half a dozen guards dragging a prisoner toward the center. His hands are tied behind his back with a brown rope and there’s a potato sack over his head, but I know it’s him. I recognize his black riding boots and the bottom half of his white tunic, which is now splattered with blood. The sight makes me sick, but at least he’s alive. I have to keep him that way.
The guards escort him up the stairs of the stage and move him to the center. They pause for a moment, allowing the shouts of the people to envelop the air around them. Their heads rise with contentment, and then they force Drake to his knees and pull off the sack.
Seeing his face takes the breath from me. A bruise is forming around one eye, and blood is trickling from cuts along his brow and his bottom lip. He’s looking down, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Charles approaches the stage and moves unhurriedly to stand behind Drake. Charles has been cleaned up, but he didn’t get away unscathed. His left cheekbone is red and slightly swollen and his lip has been split down the middle. But most importantly, there’s a bandage on the side of his throat with a faint line of blood seeping through.
My attention goes back to Drake just as his gaze lands on my face. His eyes widen with shock, but soon turn to defeat and sorrow. “I’m sorry.” He mouths the words to me. But I know he’s not apologizing for trying; he’s apologizing for failing.
“People of Faygrene!” Charles’s voice resounds, silencing the crowd. “This prisoner has been brought forth to be sentenced! His charges are trespassing and attempted murder! The sentence shall be either imprisonment or death!” All around me there are murmurs and gasps. Blood rushes through my ears, and I have to fight to listen to the rest of his words. “He tried to murder me in a jealous rage! If I weren’t so forgiving, I would have had him killed immediately! However, I somewhat pity the boy, and though his fate still rests in my hands, I have decided to let you, the people, speak for him! If anyone would like to tell me why this prisoner should be allowed to live, the time to do so is now.” He looks down at me as he finishes his speech. Whether it’s in warning or in expectation, I don’t know.
