Chapter 24
There were several times, well before the weekend, that I thought Mr. Evergreen’s fever would break. Several times that I feared it would never leave us. By Saturday, I had become a shell of worry.
I spent days lurking in and out of his room, at odd hours, at proper ones.
It wasn’t long before I convinced myself that Mr. Evergreen’s ailment was simply the first step toward an impending divine punishment for our actions in befouling the church.
Actions that could only fuel the curse I had blighted my Sword with–that any man I should want for myself, not the empire, should be penalized for my misbehavior.
I wanted, more than anything, to free him from evil thralls of the enchantment. I wanted to wake him somehow, some way. I wanted him to escape the daze he muttered in. I wanted every croak and moan he lost, to transition into an actual word or sentence that I could consume and understand.
Then that exact desire manifested into reality, and I cried.
I even tried to silence it. I tried to cover his mouth with my hand, to awkwardly distract the chambermaid from noticing the things he said.
She left, I was certain, in suspicion of my mental state.
Evergreen spoke painfully of the War. He apologized to men I didn’t know and who weren’t in the room with us, and he sobbed for things that he had done.
For families he’d taken sons from. For children without fathers.
Then he confused me for Sameer. He apologized to him for wanting me, and I shook my head.
I brushed back his sweat-slicked hair back from his face. I whispered.
“Everything’s okay, my Sword.” I exhaled, measuredly, watching his chest raise and fall with trouble. “I’m sorry this is happening to you. It’s happening because of me. Because I love you, and bad things happen to the men I love. I’m sorry.”
But he thrashed again, and I felt his agony, an experience I was ashamed to be granted without permission. When he fell asleep, I moved to sit along the wall, watching him. Listening.
I thought about the fire. About his caution.
About the kitchen before he confessed he loved me.
I thought about how angry I had been that he left for Oreia, how I had assumed it was for someone else.
I thought about the feather, no doubt burned in with the house–what a waste.
And I thought about how remarkably, confessing to him that I had killed Miss Hellveig hadn’t bothered him the way I thought it would.
I thought about how he comforted me. How he let me keep the dagger. How he took me into his arms and told me that I was safe until I eased.
“I knew better,” I told myself or him. “I knew it would happen. I was right to be afraid for you, Mr. Evergreen. Miss Hellveig had that boy maimed. Yet, I let you close enough to be hurt, too.” I exhaled deeply, closing my eyes, and pressing my head against the wall.
“The Lord does not appreciate adulterers; he does not value those who believe they are above his rules. God has reaped his vengeance over me, and worse, I know it was deserved. I did this,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry I did this to you.”
Another breath in the silent room.
“If he lives,” I promised God, “I will do anything. Anything you ask. Anything at all. Just, God, please. Please let him live. He doesn’t deserve this. This is my fault. This should be my fate, my punishment. Tell me how to-!”
“Princess?” someone asked.
I stumbled out of prayer, opening my eyes with such horror, relaxing only at the sight of Ser Willoughby standing near the door. His arms were folded, coolly.
“It’s the middle of the night,” he added. “I didn’t expect to find you here. I thought this was Miss Jocelyn’s shift.”
“She’s still off,” I said. “I sent the other girl to bed.”
He paused, resting a hand to his belt.
I sat up, looking closer at him. “...Miss Jocelyn’s shift, huh?”
He tensed.
“And so late, cousin?” I asked. I grinned. “Did you come in here to misbehave?”
“No, I-”
I scoffed, delighted. “You did,” I said. “You absolutely did! Look at you! You’re not even in your armor.”
He shifted, releasing his arms. “Contain yourself, Your Highness,” he said.
“Why should I? You clearly have no intention of containing.”
He bobbed his head, slower. Then hinted at a smirk. “I didn’t come in here to misbehave.”
“Said the liar.”
He gave me a look. “I didn’t come in here to misbehave,” he repeated. “I came in here to check on Mr. Evergreen. The fact that I am not in my armor is just what it is. It wasn’t intentional. I came from bed.”
“You’re in day clothes, not your nightwear.
And I literally live where I live and I have never once seen you without your armor.
Not since we were children.” I glanced back at Cyrus.
“But fine. I’ll heed the correction and ignore the obvious intentionality of it all.
If I must. ...How’s your bruise?” I asked.
“It’s a little more than a bruise, Your Highness. But it’s fine, basically gone. Thank you for asking.”
“Your Highness.” I met his eyes, narrowing mine. “That’s twice now. Are we back to titles, cousin?”
Willoughby shrugged. He took a moment. “The Lord Commander was unhappy I was late to aid you at the fire. He asked where I was, if not beside you. Why I had left you alone with Mr. Evergreen.”
“And you told him?” I checked. “You’re supposed to lie, you absolute imbecile!"
“We had a discussion. I was reprimanded,” he said. “It’s resolved.”
I frowned. “You were reprimanded. Formally? Or just by Elías’s scolding?”
“Formally,” he said.
“But that goes on your record, Daniel,” I said. “The King will see it. He reviews those. They affect your ability to rank.”
“It’s alright,” he replied.
“It is not alright. You were scolded because of something I did,” I said. I scoffed. “No. I’ll take care of it.”
“I cannot allow you to do that,” he said. “You can’t just fix things because I’m your cousin.”
“I’m not fixing it because you’re my cousin.
Your brother is my cousin, too, and if Elías tore into him, I wouldn’t fix anything.
I would allow it–encourage it even. The Lord Commander is fielding his own frustrations of not being at that fire himself.
Don’t read into it as criticism of your performance.
It’s no one's fault but my own, and I will not have you punished for my mistake. I’ll have it stricken from your record as soon as I see him tomorrow. ”
“Your Highness, that fire, that attack, it was not your fault,” he said. “You’re not burning and robbing homes. They are.”
“They burn and rob homes for me, Daniel. It is my fault. For existing,” I said. “…You don’t have to stand in the hall, you know? Come in. Please.”
I shifted, moving on the seat. He stepped closer, sitting beside me and hanging his hands over his knees into his lap.
After a pause, I motioned to the bed. “I’m afraid this is it. Riveting, really. He stopped talking an hour or so ago. He’s just breathing now.”
“I'm sure he appreciates you being here,” he said.
“You’re sure, huh? Everyone is so sure of everything,” I muttered. “This is actually quite boring. You don’t have to stay. I wasn’t ordering you to. I’m perfectly fine brooding here on my own if you want to go not wear your armor somewhere else.”
Willoughby smiled. “Nah, brooding is best spent with a friend.”
“A friend whom you only refer to as her rank,” I said. “I wish the men of Chalke respected me half as much as you do, cousin. Then maybe things would be different here.”
He leaned in. “I don’t know about that. I heard a few of them whispering today. You scared them properly with your little tantrum in the council room. You should be very proud of yourself for that. They respect you now.”
“They respect my father,” I said.
“No.” He waved dismissively. “Your father is a week’s ride from here. They respect you. They fear you, some of them. You aren’t the girl they thought they could control. You’re… fearless now.”
“Fearless, ha!” I shook my head. I gave him a genuine grin. “Sure I am, Daniel. That’s why I’m part of the furniture in this chamber now.” I giggled. “I’m plenty fearful, if I’m honest. I’m scared of many things.”
“Like what?”
“Like Mr. Evergreen dying,” I said. I stared at the swordsman’s face.
“Like my father dying. Becoming Queen suddenly. Not knowing what I’m doing.
I’m scared of the dark most of the time.
I’m scared of meeting new people. That they’ll see through me.
I’m scared that my friends don’t like me.
Not really. That they’re cautious of my title.
I’m scared that when I marry Sameer, I’ll fade into the background.
Not because I don’t matter, but because I’ll want to. ”
“You’ll want to,” he said, repeating the phrase. He nodded. “Then we are brooding over many things specifically, yeah? Anything else? What about the eerie silence of you two not bickering for once?”
I chuckled. “No, not that. Just existence. Curses. Eternal damnation. Choose whichever suits your fancy.”
“Eternal damnation. That’s always good,” he said. “A constant friend of mine, too, I’d say.”
“Oh, yes,” I nodded. “Oreia’s most loyal and kind-natured knight, fearful of eternal damnation,” I said. “If I were less tired, I might stage an intervention for that comment. That’s likely the worst of those you could have gravitated to. Should I ask if you’re alright?”
He shook his head. “No, probably not.” Then he outright laughed again. “I wouldn’t open that box if I were you.”
“Daniel,” I said, facing him. “Don’t mock me.”
“I’m not mocking you, I just can’t keep a straight face,” he said. “What irreparable offense could you have achieved to win eternal damnation from? I once saw you try to talk a spider out of your chamber instead of smashing it.”
I folded my arms. “Did you come in here to bully me?”
He straightened, shaking his head but was still well-amused. “No. I came in here to see Miss Jocelyn.”