by Laura Kenyon
“Your Majesty?” a man shouted, the light strobing each time it got caught behind a tree. Then it stopped. She covered her eyes.
“Who’s there?”
“Your Majesty?” The speaker was perched atop one of the castle motorcycles. He was dressed as a guard. “Thank goodness I found you. Are you all right?”
Dawn froze and scoured her brain for a response. Had Hunter woken up? Was he here to arrest her? Was it a crime to involuntarily give your husband hypnotics?
“You need to come with me.” He hopped off the bike and pulled a second helmet from the back.
“What? Why? What’s going on? Is my husband okay?” That’s right, she thought. Play dumb.
“There’s been an accident.”
Her heart plummeted. She’d read not to mix the pills with alcohol, but she’d only poured an ounce. What had she done? How could she be so reckless? How could she lose both Davin and Hunter on the same night?
“The Queen of Braddax has been attacked. She’s in the ER now.” He paused. “It doesn’t look good.”
The Marestam Mirror
Diamond Ropes and Velvet Cake
By Perrin Hildebrand, King of Gossip
BREAKING NEWS!!
Hang on to your pacemakers, folks! Your trusty gossip guru is getting garbled reports of brouhaha in the Braddax Hills—at the Phoenix B&B!
I’m weeding through the info as fast as I can, but right now I have the following details:
•The Marestam Guard received a frantic emergency call sometime between 8:52 and 9:15 p.m., and promptly dispatched four squad cars, five ambulances, and two fire engines to the area. At 9:34 p.m., Engine 1 requested an additional tanker at the scene.
•A guest staying at the inn confirmed that Belle was on the property, as was King Donner, Queen Letitia, and someone fitting the description of Kiarra Kane.
•Around 9:36 p.m., two of the ambulances dispatched to the inn went blaring back to Marestam General—with techs working wildly in the rear.
•Donner arrived at the hospital a few minutes later … in the back of a squad car. And yes, he was in handcuffs.
Cancel all your plans, grab some candles, and stay tuned. I’ll get each detail out soon as I have it.
Oh, and … say a few prayers, would you?
Chapter Twenty-Four
BELLE
Belle flailed beneath the blinding white ambulance lights. Every bump sent a shard of pain blasting down her spine. Her head swam against air so thick she couldn’t seem move it. And the sirens that should have been deafening sounded a world away—locked behind a wall of pressure crushing into her brain.
The shadows around her were shouting things she didn’t understand. Things like “push the epi,” “sixteen gauge IVs,” and “her stats are dropping.”
But all Belle wanted to know was whether her baby was okay. And whether Gray was okay. And if anyone else got hurt when Donner sprinted headlong toward the edge of reason and leapt off.
She was screaming now. And scratching. Her right arm jerked free and she reached for her stomach only to have one of the shadows yank it back—covered in red.
Instantly, everything went numb except for the violent thudding of her heart.
Then came another shout.
A circle of hands.
The flash of a needle.
And darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Five
GRAY
Gray huddled in the shadows outside Marestam General, sucking out the last drag from the first cigarette he’d had in ten years.
His hands shook so badly he had to steady one with the other, carefully raising the tiny white stick to his lips as if it was a bowl of steaming hot soup and the coils would somehow relieve him, the way they did for Belle just twelve days ago.
Now, he wondered if she’d ever find relief again. He wondered what the guilt would do to him this time. He wondered how the universe had let this happen—no, how he had let this happen—again.
“The best thing you can do for her is leave,” Ruby had told him what seemed like hours ago. She’d confronted him after Belle’s first emergency and told him she knew exactly who he was. She said she knew he was dangerous from the moment he scooped Belle up on that pathway. And it didn’t take a lot of digging for her to figure out why. The stories had been all over the news: Girl found stabbed in quiet suburb. Local gang blamed in student’s death. Bloody week has Pastora on edge.
He didn’t need the old fairy to tell him that he was dark inside, that the people who loved him wound up hurt, or that the best thing he could do for them was never get too close. But she did anyway. She told him until the memories of that horrible night ripped through seven years of blockage, and he broke down in tears.
They were friends at first. At least that’s what Gray had thought. They were the unholy trinity—the psycho, the rock, and the monster—in an innocent, lost boys sort of way. They did things others were too afraid to do, like dive fifty feet into Pastora Gorge, camp out in graveyards, race across thin ice, and have bottle rocket wars. For the boy who had no fear, it was just nice to have friends who didn’t judge him. For Gray, the Lupin brothers were the family that didn’t hide him in the background and make excuses for his “oddities.” They lived on the edge together. They had fun together. How could he have possibly have imagined that one day they’d come to kill together?
In retrospect, the signs were clear as king’s crystal. Gray should have known the very first time Connor aimed his rocket at a dog. He should have known when Randall began fixating on Tina Ward, a sweet girl who had the gall to refuse his advances. He should have known when the two of them decided to name their trio the Jackals and slash each other’s forearms as a sign of allegiance. He should have known when they started testing “recruits” as young as twelve years old.
Connor chose the first boy and gave the instructions: Break into a house, steal a trinket, and escape without anyone knowing you were there.
Randall chose the target: Tina Ward.
Gray lingered in the background wondering why his friends thought this was fun. And why they kept tormenting Tina. And whether they knew he was seeing her behind their backs.
The answer came on a Tuesday night, when Tina’s parents were at dinner and Gray was “helping her study.” Since it was Pastora, the boy didn’t even have to jimmy the lock to get in. He simply slipped in the back door and crept up to her bedroom. He was probably looking for underwear—something to really impress the Jackals—when she walked in.
Gray heard the scream, and the tousle. But by the time he got there, it was too late. The boy was kneeling over Tina’s body, Connor’s switchblade in his hand, bawling his eyes out and struggling to bring her back to life. Something had gone wrong. She’d fought, and he’d panicked. And even though his fingerprints were all over the knife, Gray knew this child wasn’t the true culprit here.
So Gray got him out. Then he sped across town to confront his friends. He wanted to know why Connor gave the boy a knife. He wanted to know if they’d seen him with Tina. He wanted them all to turn themselves in. But the brothers, who simply looked at each other and grinned, were of the mindset that eternal guilt was better than loose ends.
Gray barely escaped with his life. The boy didn’t. Thus began the terrifying reign of the Jackals, now an infamous gang with hundreds of members and a body count to match. And even though Gray fled after that very first night, he still felt responsible for every death that came after. After all, he’d been part of the original three. He was a founding member of evil.
That’s why he’d turned his humanity off. He had to stop thinking about it. He had to be the carefree, jovial, bounce-in-his-step stranger that let everything unsettling roll off his back and never got in touch with his emotions. With his dulled sense of fear, that wasn’t even much of a stretch. It was relatively easy, actually, until Belle.
Now, standing outside the hospital where his latest victim lay dying, everything he’d locked up for year
s was streaming back with a vengeance. He hated himself for putting her in danger, for not knowing better. He should never have let Rapunzel’s words in. He should never have considered what she’d said about forgiveness. He should have just kept driving.
“Light?” he heard a voice say. A shadow. Bald with green scrubs. Gray hadn’t even heard him approach, but he was inches away.
“What?”
The man smiled. It was the kind of smile meant to conceal complete emotional exhaustion. A smile not backed up by the eyes.
“Mind if I snag a light?”
Gray stared a moment longer, then held up his lighter. He’d bought it ten minutes earlier from the pharmacy across the street—fifteen minutes after punching a hole in the hospital waiting room, sixteen minutes after speaking with Dr. Frolick, and an eternity after watching his world erupt in blood and fire.
“Wife or mother?” the man asked, blowing a plume of smoke to the side. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
Gray opened the pack of cigarettes, and then closed it. He did this three more times before the man continued speaking.
“I don’t mean to pry. It’s just … you have that look in your eyes.”
Gray stared at him for a second. Then shook his head. What look was that? Apathy? Devastation? Joy? The possibilities were endless. He was a mess of a human being. A jumble of wires neatly wrapped in plastic but all heading in the wrong directions.
“It’s been a rough night,” he finally said. Then he plucked out a second cigarette and lit up. The flame reflected off the lamppost, which at this angle appeared to be propping up Carpale Castle forty blocks away. The monarchies’ symbol of power on a popsicle stick, with the lights on the turrets glowing red.
“So,” the hairless stranger piped up. “You think that Angus doesn’t know we’ve got the Queen of Braddax fighting for her life in there? Or is he just being a dick?”
Gray’s throat closed for a moment. He choked and blamed it on the smoke.
The man nodded and pointed at the castle with his cigarette. “If the Charmés were here, those turrets would be black by now.”
Gray really didn’t feel like talking, but the word slipped out anyway. “Why?”
The man gave him a quick once-over. “Not from around here are you?”
Gray shrugged. It was an unusual sensation—this feeling that speaking was impossible even though he had a million things to say. Ordinarily, he loved chatting with strangers. He never encountered an awkward pause, and they always seemed to love his laid-back energy. But now, even though his insides were swirling with so many thoughts and questions and memories that he could have exploded any second, all he managed to get out was a curt, “I’m new.”
Belle had broken him. By fixing him, she’d actually split him in two.
“Well, if the Charmés were here there wouldn’t be a single light on in the place out of respect. And there’d be a candlelight vigil stretching all the way from the castle gates to the ER. Some governments pay their respects by lowering their flags a few feet.” The man grunted at the thought. “Big whoop. Marestam puts in a little more effort. Or at least it used to.” He pulled another drag and then smashed the cigarette beneath his sneaker. “Tell you one thing though. All those protestors calling for the end of the monarchies … they got no idea what they’re doing. Unification? Hah. The only thing Angus Kane wants to unify is his bony, arthritic ass with a throne. Then he’ll divvy out portions of the realm to all his cronies, regardless of what the people say. I’ll bet everything I have that he’s behind this whole thing. ’Course everything I have is a shitty little apartment and—”
“Behind what whole thing?”
The man threw his head back. “He speaks.” Now his eyes were backing up his smile. Funny how bitterness could do that as much as joy. “That damned Monarch Morality movement. Mark my words. It’ll be disaster. A turret full of sociopaths greasing their pockets and lighting the sky red while the people’s heroes perish.” He pointed at the castle again before heading back inside. “Looks like it’s happening already.”
“Hey, wait.” Gray balled his hand into a fist in his pocket. The man stopped with one hand on the door. “The Queen. She gonna make it?”
The man’s lips curved up, but that dead look had returned to his eyes. “Thanks for the light,” he said.
Then he disappeared, and the red turrets above Carpale Castle seemed even brighter.
Chapter Twenty-Six
BELLE
She could have been under for centuries. Perhaps this was how Dawn had felt, lost to the world for all those years. Or perhaps she had died. Perhaps this was her punishment for trying to pull one over on fate, for waiting so long to check back into her so-called fairy tale.
Her mind was a fog, but no, she wasn’t dead. Her labored breathing told her otherwise, as did the sharp, pinging sound that hovered in some intangible space above her brain.
Through the muck, isolated memories floated by like ghosts without a home. She reached out for them one at a time, too many slipping through her fingers before she could grab hold.
She remembered Gray … and suitcases … and feeling unbearably sad.
She remembered a glittery blonde with sharp eyebrows—Angus Kane’s niece. She’d been touring the inn with … Letitia?
She remembered Donner … forcing the answer she didn’t want to give … leaving … and then sweeping back in as if he owned the place. He’d shoved his clothes into her top drawer and darkened the walls with a chrome collage in a heavy, bronze frame.
It was for the nursery, he’d said.
It was hideous, she’d replied. Plus, it didn’t fit her color scheme. And if things were really going to be different this time, she needed to have a say. And he needed to be okay with that.
She remembered feeling triumphant as he took it down, and then hopeful as they talked at the edge of her bed. He listened to her boring recitation of the daily schedule at the inn. He offered to handle the dishes, and strip the beds, and chop a year’s supply of firewood so the rack would be full when they moved back to Braddax Castle—once she found her part-time replacement. They changed the subject after that.
But there was something about his calm that made her think maybe—just maybe—she could be happy with this arrangement. Maybe she’d rediscover some of what she’d felt for him to begin with. After all, Donner had been raised by a man who took whatever he wanted, and a woman who drank off every selfish thing her husband did. He’d inherited his father’s crown at far too young an age. Changing his ways was going to take time. But she had all the time in the world now. All prisoners did.
But before she knew it, tires were screeching in the driveway, someone was pounding down the hall, and Gray was standing in her bedroom: His face a mixture of love, awe, and complete and utter shock.
“Oh,” he’d choked out, his hand still on the doorknob as he glanced from her to Donner. “So sorry to bother you.” Another glance at Donner. “Umm, Nathan needs you in reception. Something about a wedding?”
He’d played it off well enough, but she was a pile of mush inside and out. And Donner wasn’t an idiot.
They’d all filed downstairs in silence. Nathan, Kiarra, and Letitia were in the den. That wedding planner too. Donner was admiring the lounge—exposed brick with dark wood; bold, ornate patterns; Angus Kane’s painting keeping watch over the fireplace—when Gray placed his hand on her arm.
Donner’s eyes locked on him like a missile.
It was a regular fight at first—accusatory words, dented walls, a shattered vase or two. Gray’s lean frame paled in comparison to Donner’s bulk, so it could have been over quickly. But then Belle had rushed to Gray’s side. Donner must have felt he had nothing left to lose.
Suddenly, there were objects flying across the room; bottles tearing from the walls; Kiarra running in and getting struck by an airborne armchair. When burning logs sent the curtains up in flames, Gray tried to push Belle out of the room but she refused t
o leave him.
She remembered chaos. And screaming. And sirens.
All of that had brought her here—here, with the muffled pinging sound and distant, vaguely familiar voices.
“Belle?” Something wound around her arm. “Belle. Can you hear me?” It was Rapunzel. “You! Get the doctor! Get Gray! She’s waking up!”
* * *
Belle was in and out of consciousness for seven hours, Rapunzel told her when she finally shook the darkness off for good.
“The whole world is rallying behind you, Belle,” she said, clutching her hand, which was loaded up with tubes and tape. She leaned into the bed. “Stularia, Ellada, Pastora. It’s barely five a.m. here but everyone’s been awake for hours. There are candlelight vigils all over the place. And Snow—” She laughed. “Well, you’ll see. Griffin was worried about the protesters, but she insisted on coming.” She dropped her voice to a whisper, though it was still grating. “And wait till you see her! It’s the transformation of the century. It’s amazing what some makeup and a nice outfit can do. I think she should go in disguise more often.”
Belle nodded at all the words, but they were meaningless at the moment. Even though she’d just woken up, the fluorescent tubes in the ceiling kept forcing her eyes closed. The room was blindingly white and the smell of sanitizer burned her nostrils. She poked at a tube connecting her arm to a machine.
“When can I leave?”
Rapunzel scrunched her mouth and glanced at the door. “You know, I’m not actually sure. Let me just grab one of those nurses and —”
“Well, what does the chart say?”
Rapunzel furrowed her brow. “Chart?”
“At the base of the bed.” Belle pointed. “Can you just grab it? Maybe I can read it.”
Rapunzel shifted in her plastic seat. Her hair had been the same color for days and all the waves had fallen flat. “I don’t think we’re supposed to touch that.”
