House of York

by Charlotte Byrd

  It was her secret because it was the truth.

  It was the truth about the family she’d created and raised.

  It was the truth about York.

  * * *

  I knock loudly on the front door when Everly stops writing and puts the pen down.

  I wait until she scrambles to hide her paper and pretend that she was watching TV this whole time.

  I know that she’s not afraid of me for the same reasons that my mother was afraid of my father, but I hate that she is afraid of me at all.

  Easton

  When I tell her a secret….

  I can smell the chlorine as soon as I get into the house and I ask her how she enjoyed the pool. She seems a little embarrassed by the fact that she went swimming, but she shouldn’t be. Not at all.

  “Please, do as you like. I hardly use that thing at all.”

  “What? Really?” Everly looks shocked. “Oh my God, if I lived here, I’d be in there day and night. You’d never be able to get me out.”

  We talk about the water for a little bit. I like the pool, but I prefer the ocean.

  Its endlessness draws me in and makes me feel like everything is going to be okay.

  I look at the horizon, far into the distance, where the water meets the sky, and I imagine myself out there bobbing along on my sailboat.

  Sailing away from everything.

  “I’ve never been sailing,” she says after a moment. “I think I’d like it.”

  “There’s nothing like it. When the wind is just so calm but strong, you set your course and let the world just push you away from…everything. I mean, from all of your problems.”

  “Most of my problems are from here,” she whispers quietly under her breath.

  I’m sorry, I mouth the words while covering my mouth with my hand. She looks away from me with a tear gathering at the bottom of her eye.

  I want to reach out to her.

  Touch her.

  Bring her closer to me.

  A strand of her hair breaks free from the rest and falls into her face. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and move it out of the way.

  Just one touch sends a current of electricity through my whole body.

  I haven’t felt this way since…well, let’s just say it was a long, long time ago.

  “So, do you go sailing often?” she asks.

  “No, not really.”

  “Why not?”

  “I haven’t been in…a couple of years.”

  “Oh, because of your job?”

  I shake my head. I don’t know if I should tell her, but the words come out before I can stop myself.

  “The last time I went, someone very close to me…passed away.”

  The word ‘died’ is still too painful to think, let alone say out loud.

  It has been almost three years, and yet the shock and pain of losing her persists. She was so young and I loved her so much.

  “How did she die?” Everly asks, taking my hand in hers.

  I stare down at her palm and I can’t stop the memories from flooding in.

  We are sailing in crystal blue waters around the Bahamas. The sun is high in the sky and the wind is blowing through our hair.

  We haven’t known each other for that long, but we loved each other deeply and passionately.

  That weekend we spent making plans.

  I was going to run away from this place.

  From my family.

  From my life in York.

  And I wasn’t going to just run away to New York.

  I was going to change my name, my whole identity.

  “What do you mean, change your identity?” Everly asks.

  I don’t bother lowering my voice. If anyone is listening, they already know the truth. None of this is secret anymore.

  “We had plans,” I explain. “I was working on getting a new passport. I had saved some money. In a world where everything is electronic and you can track anyone online, the only people who are invisible are the ones who live off the grid completely.”

  “Where were you going to go?” Everly asks.

  “We were just going to sail away. Into the blue, as she called it.” I feel a pinch somewhere in the back of my throat.

  I swallow to keep the pain at bay. I have mourned her enough, but it never seems to be enough.

  “Alicia was willing to go off the grid with me,” I continue, clearing my throat. “She was from a wealthy family. Her father was a friend of my father’s; he was a CFO in one of my father’s companies. But she was willing to give up her whole life to disappear with me.”

  “Why did you want to disappear?” Everly asks.

  There’s no other way to answer but to say what is sanctioned by the monarchy. To say the same words that I had previously said in the official apology to the Kingdom of York.

  “I was a stupid kid,” I say. The tone of my voice changes as I recite the official statement from memory. “I made a mistake. I thought that I could have a better life somewhere else, but I was wrong. I could say that I didn’t know any better, but I know that I was just rebelling. Looking for someone to blame for what happened. I regret my decision to do that to this day.”

  Everly, sensing the change, looks up at me surprised. She is more perceptive than I had thought.

  I want to add that the only thing that’s true about what I had just said is the last sentence.

  I want to tell her that everything else is a lie, something I was ordered to say. But, of course, I can’t. A part of me thinks she already knows.

  “So, what happened?” Everly asks.

  “We thought that we could just sail off into the sunset. We thought that we could just escape, you know?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “We should’ve known better.”

  She waits for me to continue.

  “There was an accident. The morning that we took off. The engine caught fire and she got locked below deck.”

  “Locked?” Everly looks at me perplexed.

  “I don’t know.” I shake my head. “A fire started and I called her name. I tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The fire got worse and worse and the boat started to sink. I called for help, but they arrived too late.”

  “Oh my God,” she gasps. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I checked the engine the night before. I checked everything and everything was fine. Not just operational, but in excellent condition. And that door? It never had a lock on it. Yet, when the fire started, she couldn’t get it open and I couldn’t break it.”

  What I don’t say is that I still wake up in the middle of the night hearing Alicia’s screams.

  She yelled for me to save her, but I failed.

  There was nothing I could do.

  The door wouldn’t open.

  What I also don’t tell her is that I didn’t leave her even when the smoke got too thick. Even when it engulfed me completely.

  The water was filling up the cabin, but I kept diving under and trying to save her.

  Finally, the last thing I don’t tell her is that York’s Coast Guard arrived before I ever called them. It was like they knew what was happening all along.

  I have my suspicions, of course, about what really happened.

  Perhaps, my father had found out about our plan and had Alicia killed. But he had to make it an accident. She was the daughter of one of his closest friends.

  Of course, this is just speculation. What proof do I have?

  Everly leans over, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers in my ear.

  When she looks up at me, the flutter of her eyelashes brushes against my cheek, and I press my lips onto hers.

  Everly

  When the fissures start to disappear…

  There’s something about the way he’s looking at me.

  All of his defenses are down.

  He is showing me parts of him that he has held hidden for a very long time. He’s dripping in vu
lnerability, and it’s pushing me closer to him. I need to touch him. I need to tell him that everything is going to be alright.

  I hate the pain that I see in his face.

  I hate the world in which he lives.

  I have been here only a short time, and I am certain that this is one of the worst places in the world.

  Everything is gold and gilded, yet the darkness still manages to seep out.

  The pain that he feels for this woman he loved is all over his face. It hurts him to even speak about it.

  In his pain, I see my reflection.

  I haven’t lost anyone, but I have lost a big portion of myself here.

  In this place.

  I never thought that I would ever be able to get that part of me back.

  But being here, in this room with Easton, I feel something within me mending.

  It’s like I’m a statue with a fissure running down my side. One bad move can make the fissure crack and I will never be okay again. But, with the right care and tenderness, the fissure might also be filled up. And perhaps, it can disappear completely.

  He presses his lips onto mine and the repairing process begins.

  His lips are soft and effervescent. At first, they touch me lightly. But after a few moments, they hunger for more. I kiss him back with the same intensity.

  After feeling nothing but hate for so long, it is a shock to feel an inkling of love.

  He runs his fingers down my spine. I dig my fingers into his shoulders.

  He buries one hand in my hair and tugs on it, pulling my head back. My neck is exposed.

  He presses his lips and runs his tongue from my ear down to my collar bone.

  I moan with pleasure.

  He is careful and delicate, yet firm.

  I quiver beneath his touch.

  I gasp.

  I reach for his shirt and pull it off.

  His tan skin glistens in the afternoon light and I run my fingers down every muscle in his lean, taut stomach.

  His pecs move with each breath, bumping into my fingertips. I laugh when we collide.

  “My turn,” he whispers, pulling off my sweatshirt and then the t-shirt underneath. My breasts fall open to him and he puts one in his mouth.

  He tongues my nipple, taking it carefully between his teeth. I bend away from him in pleasure.

  He takes my breasts in his hands, burying his head in between. I laugh. He squeezes lightly and I bend my back even further back.

  With one quick motion, he flips me over.

  I don’t see it coming, but suddenly I’m across his lap with my butt in the air. He pulls down my pants, exposing my flesh.

  “What a nice little butt. I just want to bite into it.”

  He leans down and gives me a big kiss.

  A warm sensation starts to build inside of me.

  He takes my butt cheeks and spreads them wide. Then he runs his fingers over my clit and around the inside of me.

  It feels so good that I have to get away. But he holds me down.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  With another swift motion, he slides his body down and pushes me up. Suddenly, my ass is right at his face.

  My legs are spread open and he presses his tongue deep inside of me.

  His hands move in little concentric circles around my clit and I start to feel woozy from the pleasure.

  With my hand resting on his hard stomach, I undo his pants and pull out his large, glorious cock.

  I wrap my hand around it and feel it throbbing. When I sink my mouth around it, he moans in pleasure.

  With his fingers deep inside of me, I feel myself getting closer and closer to climax.

  My breathing is speeding up.

  My body starts to tense.

  But before I get there, he flips me around and impales me.

  His eager cock is waiting for me, piercing through me.

  My body closes in around him, taking him deep inside. His hands hold me in place at the waist and we move as one.

  My hips move in sync with his moans.

  I grab my breasts and squeeze them. He reaches up and puts one in his mouth.

  “Come for me, Everly,” he says.

  I move faster and faster.

  “Come for me, now,” he instructs.

  The power in his voice sends me over the edge. My whole body tightens around him and then a rush of emotion surges through me as if it were an avalanche.

  “Ahhhhh!” I scream out as he gyrates his cock in and out of me and moans along with me.

  A moment later, I collapse on top of him.

  My body is spent.

  I don’t have an ounce of energy left.

  Easton wraps his arms around me and gives me a soft kiss on my lips.

  In the morning, I wake up next to him. My body is tangled up in sheets. Our legs are intertwined and I’m not entirely sure where I end and he begins.

  It has been a very long time since I’ve had anyone make me feel this good. I’m not just talking about physical satisfaction.

  He’s definitely an expert, but it’s more than that.

  A lot more.

  I feel myself becoming whole again.

  I was a little broken when I found myself here.

  They broke me entirely in the dungeon.

  But last night was the beginning of a renovation.

  “Last night was…” Easton begins to say, but I put my finger to his lips. It was so much more than what can be summed up in one-word.

  “Epic,” he says, kissing my fingers.

  Epic. Huh? I did not expect that.

  “Was it not?”

  “No, epic seems…appropriate,” I say.

  We lie together for a few moments, staring at the ceiling.

  Oh, how I wish that I had met him under different circumstances.

  In a bar, perhaps? Or on a blind date? Or even on a dating app. Anything but here in York during this.

  “Was I allowed to do that?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, with the competition and everything? I have no idea. I mean, they didn’t give me a set of rules or anything. But now I was thinking that maybe this was…out of line.”

  “I don’t think so,” he says with a little smile at the corner of his lips.

  I look at him, narrowing my eyes.

  Wait a second. What’s going on here?

  “What?” Easton asks.

  I sit up and, out of habit, wrap my sheet around me.

  “They haven’t told us who this mystery person is that we’re supposed to be competing for.”

  “So?”

  “So?” I look deep into his eyes. “Is it you?”

  Just then the doorbell rings and Easton goes to answer it.

  Everly

  When the doorbell rings…

  I run after him and demand that he answer me. As he reaches for the door, I jump in front of it and refuse to let him open it.

  “Please!” I plead excitedly. “You have to tell me!”

  He tries to push me out of the way, averting his gaze. When our eyes finally meet, I see that his are cold and expressionless. Suddenly, I’m sorry that I had brought any of that up.

  “I was just joking.”

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” he whispers. “That it’s not me.”

  A cold shudder rushes through my body.

  It’s the tone of his voice. There’s fear in it.

  Who is it then? If it’s not him, then who?

  The doorbell rings again, snapping me out of my daze.

  Mirabelle is here. She is telling me to get dressed. I have to attend some sort of meeting. I’m only half hearing the words that are coming out of her mouth. And I’m understanding even fewer of them.

  “Go get ready,” she says, shaking me by my shoulders. “You have to wear something professional.”

  “I don’t have anything,” I start to say, but she hands me a pencil skirt, a light pink blouse, a pair of heels, an
d a makeup bag.

  I want to talk to Easton again, but he is avoiding me. He knows more about this than he is letting on and suddenly I’m angry at him.

  Why won’t he tell me?

  If he can’t tell me outright, why can’t he tell me in secret?

  He can turn up the music and whisper it in my ear. He could write me a note. Anything, but this.

  She takes me to the bathroom and watches me change. She applies my makeup and helps me put on the heels.

  I come back to the living room, eager to speak to Easton. But he’s not there.

  Mirabelle points to the pool. Easton is swimming laps.

  “Let’s go,” she says.

  “I have to say goodbye.”

  “You don’t have time,” she says and pushes me out of the door.

  “What’s going on?” I ask her. “Why…where are you taking me?”

  “You will see.”

  As we exit Easton’s house, I feel a cloud of darkness descend upon my shoulders. The lightness that I felt only a few hours ago is all but gone.

  In reality, I am not a free woman.

  I’m a prisoner.

  A slave.

  I don’t have any say in anything that happens to me.

  Mirabelle leads me to a large door.

  It’s elaborately carved with scenes depicting people in everyday life.

  Some parts of it are scratched up and weathered.

  It stands in stark contrast to the rest of the mansion.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Mirabelle asks. “It’s Italian. It used to belong to the Medici family.”

  If it’s so old, then shouldn’t it be in a museum, not rotting away in the tropics? I wonder to myself. Mirabelle pushes the doors open and leads me into a long hall.

  It’s dark and empty except for the tapestries hanging on the walls. Light streams in through the stained glass windows.

  Somewhere in the distance, I see a chair.

  More like a throne.

  On it sits a figure - his face and body engulfed in shadow.

  Mirabelle leads me toward him. Our shoes make a loud clicking sound as we walk, which echoes all around the chamber.

  The throne is a baroque high-back chair upholstered in beautiful plush silver velvet fabric. It boasts rich rolled arms and wood silver-finished legs. Slender and elegant, it has somewhat of a contemporary business look.