Chapter 21
Twenty-One
ALLETTE
Clouds linger off the balcony, a cottony white carpet that looks thick enough to step onto. My body longs to soar toward the deep blue horizon to see where it ends. Instead, I remain planted on two feet.
With a resigned sigh, I turn toward a bed big enough for three people. Even though the bedding appears unused, I change it anyway, trading the sheets for fresh ones and swapping one white duvet cover for another, just like back in the human realm.
After adding the sheets to the bottom of the basket, I wipe down the surfaces with lemon-scented cleaner and check the fireplace for ashes. Rooms forty-one and forty-two are equally as clean.
The same cannot be said for forty-three. Brown-speckled feathers litter the white sheets. Sourness hangs in the air, as if someone has gotten sick. Sure enough, there is a vomit-splattered sink in the adjoining bathing room. Gagging behind my mask, I clean and scrub the chunks from the sink and some suspicious stains from the floor in front of the toilet.
After scooping the ash from the fireplace and resetting the tinder and a single log, I collect the soiled linen and add it to my basket.
From the position of the sun outside the tower, it looks to be past noon when I throw the last pillowcase into the basket of the final room. This sort of work feels familiar, satisfying even. And knowing I’ll earn a decent wage lifts my mood. At least it’ll occupy my time until I reach Senan.
I’m about to collect the dirty laundry when the strangest sensation comes over me, like someone has fisted the fabric of my dress and yanked me toward the main door. It’s so unexpected, I stumble forward, completely knocked off balance. A split second later, the main door eases open. I’m too far away from the servants’ entrance to slip inside unnoticed, so I press my back against the wall and pretend to be invisible.
When a tattooed hand curves around the door, my breath lodges in my throat. I know who that hand belongs to without even seeing his face. I can’t believe it . Senan— my mate —is coming into this room.
After all these years, fate has finally smiled upon me. I could’ve been anywhere in this castle, and yet I’m here, and so is he. After so long apart, the stars have finally forgiven us for taking destiny into our own hands and brought us back together.
He is even more handsome than I remember, especially with all those colors painting his skin, highlighting the tanned, toned ridges of his forearms and the cut of his chest peeking from beneath the top of his white shirt.
So many words are on the tip of my tongue, and yet I’m rendered speechless when Senan’s head falls back against the closed door, exposing the length of his tanned throat.
As if he hears the air evacuating my lungs, the prince’s silver eyes find me.
Those eyes—how I’ve longed to stare into their shimmering depths once more.
And he is here. Here .
Out in the hallway, a deep voice calls my mate’s name.
Instead of leaving, Senan crosses to where I stand, bringing him closer and closer with each step. That cinching sensation around my torso grows tighter and tighter until it suddenly snaps and is no more.
I need to take off my mask, except my hands are shaking so badly where they wrench together.
He is so familiar and yet not. The lines of his face have sharpened with maturity, but the mischievous glimmer in his eyes hasn’t changed. His midnight hair is cut short at the sides and a little longer at the top, making his striking features stand out all the more. Handsome as a devil with star-kissed eyes.
He abandoned you .
There must be an explanation. There must.
He never came back .
He has a good reason. I know it.
Suddenly, Senan halts, whispers, “You didn’t see me,” and drops to the floor to shimmy beneath the bed.
The door flies open, slamming against the far wall, and a second man darts inside.
Same high cheekbones. Same strong jaw. Same silver eyes. He could’ve been Senan’s twin but for the lack of tattoos and the long black hair tied back with a leather queue.
The man snaps his fingers at me. “You there.”
Should I respond? I’m supposed to be invisible, but holding a conversation with someone who is clearly a member of the royal family is decidedly not invisible.
I settle on bobbing my head.
“Did anyone come into this room just now?” the man demands.
I shake my head, holding my breath when the man lets out a vicious curse. His stomps retreat, and he slams the door behind him.
“He appears to be in quite a sour mood today,” Senan drawls from beneath the bed in the same voice that used to whisper dark, secret promises against my bare skin.
Stars, I’ve missed his voice.
His left hand appears from beneath the bed, the word LOVE inked upon his knuckles. “Can you help me out? My legs appear to have fallen asleep.”
I take a fortifying breath and reach for him with a gloved hand. When his fingers clasp mine, heat surges through my veins. I’d forgotten the sheer force of this mating bond. Even with the gloves, its power is impossible to deny.
Senan manages to extricate himself from beneath the bed. His white shirt rides up, revealing the ridges of his abdomen swathed in more ink. How many tattoos does he have? I cannot wait to tear him out of those clothes and trace each and every one. First with my fingers and then with my lips.
He stares up at me from the floor, his brow furrowed. “Thank you.”
I try to say, “You’re welcome,” but what comes out is more garbled, and now I sound like a total dolt. Clearing my throat doesn’t help either.
Senan’s head tilts, his gaze falling to where my hands clench in front of me as he drags himself out the rest of the way and stands. Stars, he is even taller than I remember.
“What is your name?” he asks, dusting bits of fluff from his black trousers.
It’s me . The woman you love. Your mate . I open my mouth to tell him just that when the door swings wide.
A stunning young woman with violet hair that reaches all the way to her trim waist saunters into the room. Never in my life have I seen skin so flawless. “Senan, my love. What are you doing in here?” she asks with a coy smile. “We have a meeting with Minister Donnell about our wedding.”
Their… wedding ?
That means?—
Oh, no. OH, NO . The truth crashes like that waterfall in the cave, drowning me where I stand. This woman must be the Princess of Nimbiss—Senan’s betrothed.
And she is quite literally perfect .
I may not know the reason Senan abandoned me in the human realm in the first place, but there is no denying why he never came back.
He obviously met this woman and forgot I ever existed.
I glance down at the palm of his left hand only to find no sign of a scar at all.
Somehow, he has managed to erase a bond that is supposed to exist for eternity.
The princess saunters across the room to press her mouth to my mate’s stubbled cheek.
I’m going to kill her.
I’m going to claw out her eyes and rip out her hair and wrap my hands around her throat until she draws breath no more.
“Wait for me in the hallway. I’ll be there in a moment,” Senan says in the most sensuous voice.
How can I tell him who I am now? He’ll think me pathetic for going to such lengths to find him again when he clearly had no intention of ever seeking me out. I can’t bear to let him see what I’ve become.
The princess hesitates, her gaze flashing to where I stand before she presses a final kiss to my mate’s cheek and quits the room.
When she is gone, Senan turns back to me. “Your name.”
You know my name.
At least, he used to.
If I tell him my false name, he may grow suspicious. Not that I think he’ll remember Wynn since he clearly doesn’t remember me. Still, I can’t afford to take the chance.
“Leni, sire,” I say with a terrible Nimbiss accent, worried he may recognize my voice.
He scratches his stubbled chin with long, tattooed fingers, the word LOST spelled out across the knuckles of his right hand. “And your family’s name?”
“I have no family.” I have no one. I am well and truly alone.
Senan’s thumb skims back and forth across his lower lip as he watches me. “Are you new, Leni?”
Why do you care? Why are you here with me when you could be with her ?
I nod.
His thumb stills. “Well, I appreciate you keeping my secret from the king.”
My stomach sinks when my mate turns and walks away from me—from his past—to a future I’ll never be part of.
The door opens.
The door closes.
Leaving me with nothing more than the memory of his voice and the faint scent of sage and bergamot to haunt me.
When my knees finally unlock, I grab the laundry basket and hurtle for the servants’ door, falling out of the spacious room into the tight stairwell. The tears spilling from my eyes make it damn near impossible to see the steps. My foot slips, and I trip over my too-large shoes, tumbling headfirst down, down, down, spilling linen everywhere.
When I finally come to a stop on the next landing, I lie on the cold, hard floor, cursing fate and the stars.
My body may be beaten and bruised, but nothing hurts worse than my flayed heart.
Red blooms across the white fabric of my uniform, and when I sit up, the screen on my mask flaps open, ripped to bits.
And because I have the worst luck, I run into the House Master when I finally hobble to the bottom of the staircase. When he sees the state of me, his expression darkens. “What the hell happened to you?”
“My shoes are too big, and I slipped.”
His mustache twitches as he withdraws a pencil and a small notepad from his breast pocket, flipping open. “That is one strike. Your name?”
Seriously? Did he not hear me say that my shoes are too big? “My name is Wynn,” I grit out.
He jots down my name, then returns the notepad to his pocket. “Two more strikes and you’re gone. Go to the launderette and collect another uniform.”
Where is his empathy? His compassion? Biting my tongue, I turn away before I give him a piece of my mind.
Be invisible .
Those are the rules, and I shall follow them to the letter.
Right. The launderette. I remember seeing a sign for the launderette somewhere but can’t figure out exactly where it is in relation to where I am now.
“North tower, Room 104,” the House Master grumbles.
I don’t bother thanking him as I turn and walk away.
The lavender-laced steam in the long room reminds me of the soap I used to use back when I lived with Aunt Marjory. I set the basket of laundry next to the others in a line and then flag down a woman to ask for a new uniform.
She takes one look at me and mutters under her breath about clumsy children even though she doesn’t appear much older than me. They keep the uniforms in a locked closet near the rear. She goes to hand me a stack like the one issued yesterday but then pulls back. “I’ll need that one first. It’ll have to be cleaned and repaired.”
This is where I draw the line. I’m tired, sore, mortified, and heartbroken. The last thing I need is this woman’s judgmental stare.
“I’m not stripping bare here.” There are men hanging sheets on the clotheslines right next to the women at the sewing machines, for stars’ sake.
The woman groans. “Fine. Just bring it back after you change.”
Why does it matter? It’s one bloody uniform. They have an entire cabinet full of them.
What if I fall again and need another replacement? That would mean two strikes. With no prospects and no way to reclaim my aunt’s tower, I can’t afford to lose this job.
Although I promise to return the uniform, I have no intention of doing so.
Instead, I change in my room and bring the soiled garment to the bathing room to wash it myself. If I get my hands on a needle and some thread, I can sew the small tears, and it’ll be good as new.
If only my broken heart was as easy to mend.