32. Princess Davina
Chapter 32
Princess Davina
“The real lover is a man who can thrill you by
kissing your forehead or smiling into your eyes
or just staring into space.”
— Marilyn Monroe
M y trembling body crashes to the floor, heaving sobs racking through me as I collapse, the agony of what I just did more than I can bear. I curl into myself, and my arms desperately clutch my stomach.
I want this to be a nightmare.
I need to wake up.
Wake up, wake up, wake up ?—
A burning sensation rips through my throat as I cough uncontrollably, vomit pouring onto the floor. My vision is clouded by tears, swollen eyes barely able to focus through the haze of grief and guilt that suffocates me.
Regret sits heavy on my shattered soul.
I’ve taken a life ? —
Gentle hands encircle my waist, and I’m lifted, pulled into the warmth of a lap.
“I’m here, love.” Cole’s voice cuts through the oppressive fog. “I’ve got you.”
The hold is shaky, but it’s there.
It’s the only thing holding me together, preventing me from breaking down into another wave of screams.
I’ve been curled up in Cole’s lap for what seems like hours, our bodies entwined on the bed. My cheek rests against his chest, and his chin rests gently on the top of my head. My eyes are burning, and I fight to keep the tears at bay, biting the inside of my cheek to stop the sobs from escaping.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to collect myself through the humiliation to finally meet his gaze. Swallowing the knot in my throat, I glance up at him. “Sorry for ruining your shirt.”
He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “As long as it means I get to hold you, I’ll consider it a win.”
I roll my eyes and sniffle, but I can’t help the warmth spreading through my chest.
He looks down at me with a warm, teasing smile, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Don’t ever apologize for finding comfort in my arms,” he says softly. “Under different circumstances, I might say you’d need to take it off to make it up to me, but for now, just let me hold you.”
I laugh despite myself, the sound mingling with another sniffle.
The laughter quickly dissolves into a sob as the weight of my actions crashes back over me.
His arms tighten around me, his hand stroking my back.
“I can’t believe what happened,” I choke out, my vision blurring once more. “Claire was right. I’m pathetic. And I’m a monster? — ”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Let’s not pretend you’re some meek, pathetic little girl when I can see that brilliant, vicious mind working behind your eyes.” He cups the back of my neck, drawing me closer until we’re just inches apart. “Once you realize your worth isn’t defined by someone’s inability to see it, you become untouchable.”
I let out a frustrated breath. “I feel sick . It’s too much to bear. I can’t…”
“I know,” he murmurs. “But you’re not a monster, and I’ll be here to remind you of that every single day.”
My hands rest against his chest, the black fabric of his shirt soft beneath my fingertips. It’s hard to pinpoint what’s affecting me more—his words, the sound of his voice, or the care he’s showing. And the horror that gripped me at the thought of him being poisoned…
I lift my head slightly and meet his gaze, finally letting all his words sink in. “You’re not entirely terrible,” I tell him, rolling my eyes again for good measure.
He smirks, dimples on full display. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” I say, though my voice lacks its usual sharpness.
His smirk widens. “I’ll try not to.”
A small, genuine smile starts to tug at the corners of my lips.
“I can only imagine,” he whispers so softly that it’s barely audible, “what you’ll look like when you’re wearing nothing but that smile of yours.”
His words hang in the air, making my mind race. The room is dimly lit, the last rays of sunlight filtering through the window and casting shadows across the walls.
“Are you planning to stay?” I ask, unsure of my own feelings.
I’m caught between the desire to keep him close, and the fear of what that might mean.
His mouth lowers until it’s close to my ear, his breath trickling down my neck. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, then leans back with a faint smile. His thumbs move in a steady rhythm against the back of my hand. “So, why did you do it? Kill her, I mean.”
“She tried to kill you.”
“I thought you’d be relieved,” he says with a wry grin. “I’m sure you’d like to see me dead too.”
“Well,” I say with a shrug, “I can’t have competition around here.”
“Oh, aren’t you just adorable?” He chuckles with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “But you’re practically saying you’re possessive over me, my death and all.”
“Oh, please,” I reply with a huff, “the only thing I’m possessive over is making sure you stay alive long enough for me to enjoy watching you suffer.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I was worried you might actually have a soft spot for me.”
I feel drained, and without much thought, I let my head fall against his chest with a weary sigh. “Tell me something real.”
“Something real,” he echoes, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back, each touch sending ripples of warmth through me.
He’s quiet for a while, and I start to think he won’t answer me.
“Usually,” he finally says, “being around people drains me, but I always feel recharged after I see you. You help me to get out of my head.”
A part of me wants to doubt his words and dismiss them as mere flattery. But there’s something raw and vulnerable in his voice, something he rarely lets slip. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear something like that—how much I needed to feel like I wasn’t a burden.
His fingers grasp my chin, tilting my head up and forcing me to look up at him. “Can’t stop taking my eyes off you. Can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop wanting you. What are you doing to me?” he whispers, almost to himself this time.
His hand moves from my chin to cup the side of my face, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. “Remember that day we were lying in bed, and I asked what I should do with you? You told me to never let you go, cherish you forever, and love you endless?—”
“I was kidding,” I cut in quickly. “I didn’t mean any of that, and?—”
“But I could do all of that. I would, if you’d let me. I’d hold you like this every night and trace every inch of your skin until I know it better than my own.”
My breath catches at the depth of emotion in his eyes and the way he seems to strip away my defenses with just a glance.
“But you, with your sly smile and that stubborn heart of yours, you’d never let me just hold you, would you? You’d make me work for it, make me prove myself over and over,” he says, “and I’d do it gladly.”
“Cole—” I try to find the right words, but his sincerity leaves me speechless.
“Say it again.”
“Say what?”
“My name. Say my name again,” he rasps, almost pleading. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”
“Cole,” I repeat, the name slipping from my lips like a soft sigh.
He closes his eyes for a moment, as if he’s savoring the sound. “The way you say it,” he murmurs, “it’s like you’re carving something into my soul. It’s like you’re the only one who’s ever called me that.”
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look into my eyes, searching for something, some kind of reassurance or permission.
His fingers are tracing my jawline, gentle yet possessive.
The intensity of his gaze holds me captive, making it impossible to look away.
“Do you have any idea,” he says, his voice raw with emotion, “how much power you have over me?”
Suddenly, the door swings open, and I flinch, pulling back.
“Princess, I—oh, shit.” Rafe bursts in, his footsteps faltering as he takes in the scene.
Cole’s gaze remains locked on mine for a moment longer before he shifts his attention to Rafe. “Rafe,” he says, his voice now a controlled mask of composure. “What is it?”
Rafe’s eyes dart between us, clearly uncomfortable. “I didn’t realize you were—” He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. “Am I interrupting?”
“No,” Cole and I respond in unison, and a part of me is grateful for the interruption.
Rafe rubs the back of his neck. “Listen, we might have a little problem here.”
Angry and shocked faces. That’s all I see.
I glance around, my eyes widening in horror at the shattered chandeliers strewn across the floor.
“We won’t stay here with her,” one of them says, her voice dripping with disdain, and the harshness of her tone makes me flinch.
They’re scared of me.
My soul feels tainted, stained in red, and guilt presses heavily on my chest.
“She’s insane,” another voice hisses in accusation.
Rafe sneers, letting out a derisive laugh. “What a bitch.”
They start whispering among themselves, their faces contorted with scorn. Apologies now seem meaningless—they hate me.
One of them steps towards me, and I freeze.
Cole steps in front of me, and the room falls silent. I gasp as his voice rings out, loud and furious.
“If you dare lay a finger on her, I’ll do far worse than what she did to Claire.” He looks around, meeting each gaze. “You’re free to leave. No one is obligated to stay, so leave. All of you.”
They don’t hesitate and scramble towards the door, except for Juliet. “If you don’t mind,” she says, “I’d like to stay, Your Highness.”
Cole turns to me, his expression serious, but I like how it slightly softens as he looks at me. The way he looks at me is different from how he looks at everyone else.
He doesn’t speak, just continues to watch me. Is he waiting for me to say something? I wait, but he remains silent. He doesn’t say a word, simply gazing at me, waiting.
He wants me to decide.
I take a breath, relieved that at least one person here doesn’t despise me. Juliet saved Cole, and that’s enough for me to trust her. “Of course you can stay here,” I tell her.
Her face lights up with a warm, genuine smile. She steps closer and, with a graceful movement, pulls me into a hug. Her embrace is reassuring, and I can feel the tension in my shoulders ease slightly.
“Ridiculous,” Rafe mutters. “Listen, Princess, we don’t judge you. You didn’t know what you were doing.”
Didn’t I?
I didn’t want to kill her, but I did want her to be gone.
Still, Rafe’s words provide some relief. They don’t excuse my actions, but they soothe me a little.
Rafe smirks. “And I suppose we make quite the team, don’t we?”
“Rafe,” Cole warns.
He just shrugs, unbothered. “Let’s get some whiskey.”
I sigh. “Count me in.”