27. Emmerick
Chapter 27
Emmerick
“ W hat is on your agenda tonight?” Ryssa asked.
We were in the drawing room, and the light from the windows had begun to dim. Nighttime was a reprieve from the way that all the gold in the castle glistened in the sun.
“Ale,” I answered easily.
She tilted her head as though she disapproved.
“Wine?” I tried again.
She motioned to the veil over her face. “Can’t, I’m afraid.”
“I can face away.” I stood and grabbed two crystal glasses from a side table as well as a dusty bottle of wine. After uncorking it, I poured two glasses and handed her one. “Put your feet up that way,” I said, instructing her to face away from me.
A waterlogged-sounding chuckle emitted from beneath the veil. “Fine...fine.”
I sat next to her on the sofa, kicking off my boots before lifting my legs in the opposite direction and pulling my knees tight to fit there. We sat back-to-back. She was much shorter than I was, and her head rested between my shoulder blades.
As her weight pressed against me, I felt the rise and fall of her breath growing quicker. She shifted, and the veil caressed the back of my neck. My eyes closed at the friction of the fabric.
“Cheers,” I said as I lifted the glass to my lips.
She took a deep breath and whispered, “Cheers, my King.”
Her voice was hauntingly beautiful—velvety and strangely familiar. The temptation to turn, to see her, was so strong. I was certain that no burns or scars would prevent me from finding her breathtaking.
“You sound beautiful,” I hummed.
I could feel her silent laugh. “Don’t waste your energy charming a broken woman.”
Using my elbow, I gently poked her rib cage. “You feel plenty whole to me.”
She was quiet. We both sipped our wine and relaxed against each other. She finally cut through the silence. “Sometimes it isn’t just the outer parts of a person that can be broken.”
I sighed. “That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. But I understand.”
Broken didn’t quite cover how I felt. My sense of self withered. Where was the person who loved cooking dinner with his mother? The person who would stand by the people he loved unconditionally? I couldn’t find him.
He’d been replaced by a wicked King who woke with ash-tipped fingers, who may have been capable of the murderous acts I’d witnessed at the pleasure hall…
Ryssa must have drained her wine because her voice was wispy and muffled when she spoke again. “The world is often a sad place.” She shifted away from me.
Instinctually, I followed, turning forward and letting my socks hit the dark wood floor. Something possessed me to take her hand. The warmth of her gloved palm in mine filled me with something—hope? Affection? I wasn’t sure.
“I know the things that have broken me. What has broken you?” I asked.
She hesitated a moment and then said, “My upbringing was not what you might imagine of a noble woman’s formative years. I wasn’t born into a prosperous family—I had to work for my position, to rise through the ranks of this realm. All of the things I have done to get here…”
She paused, and I ran my thumb up and down her gloved knuckles. She wore a ring under the glove, which made me wonder—how much had she once lost? To my knowledge, she’d never mentioned a husband, and she seemed to own her own estate.
She cleared her throat. “I’ve made enough mistakes to fill a book—a thick one. I deserve every scar I wear. Sometimes the life you wish for leads you to places that later bring you shame.”
“I’m sorry that life dealt you that hand. But I don’t believe for a moment that you deserved it.” The maroon void where her face should’ve been turned and stared at me. “Maybe things don’t have to be so dreary forever.”
I lifted her hand to my lips and placed a tender kiss on her palm. I imagined being able to look into her eyes.
“Doubtful,” she answered. She abruptly pulled her hand away, stood, and headed for the door to the sitting room. “Beneath the veil, I am monstrous. I should be going, King Mattock.”
Too forward, you idiot. My heart pounded, and I desperately wanted to take back the last thirty seconds.
“Wait, Ryssa,” I said before she could get to the door.
She peered at me over a cloaked shoulder.
“Whatever is under that veil—it doesn’t matter.”
She stiffened.
“Forgive me for my advance,” I continued. “But I have spoken to you enough to know that no person can be so kind on the inside and be anything but a joy to look upon.”
She shook her head. “You are wrong. Goodnight, my King.”
With that, she left the room, and I felt empty.