Chapter 22
Elowen
I spent the entire day overthinking. They sent my lunch and dinner to Bruno’s room—which means he doesn’t want to see me. And why would he? To him, this is a carefully planned betrayal.
I thought a thousand times about telling him I’m not Avira. But every time, fear stops me cold.
I stare at the clock. Midnight. This has been the longest day in this house.
I get up. With Bruno, I make my way to the rose garden, the only place that can offer relief from my own mind.
I sit on the bench and begin to play.
The music that pours out is heartbreaking—a composition telling the story of a love that broke a man, shattered a woman. A love that shouldn’t have existed, but that no one could stop. A love that was always a mistake.
But the heart doesn’t understand mistakes.
“I’ve never hated anything more than I hate you.” The words echo louder than the music. The hatred, the pain, the anger in his eyes burn through my soul.
My fingers keep moving across the keys. Tears fall.
Don’t hate me.
The music carries my unspoken pleading into the air—unanswered. There’s no use in begging now that nothing is left. The anguish tells its story through the notes, relentless and without pause.
I stop when my fingers can no longer move.
I open my eyes.
No one is here today.
I’ve played for over an hour, yet he doesn’t come. My ears waited for the sound of his footsteps—but I never hear them.
Salvario
She stops after playing for eighty minutes straight. The music is filled with overwhelming sorrow.
I rise from the step and walk down silently, stopping in the darkness at the bottom.
She comes down and walks through the hall. Her footsteps are heavy, her shoulders slumped. I watch her, jaw clenched, fists tight.
No—I’m not enjoying seeing her like this. But I won’t tell her either that I know her little secret.
The moment she said, “Her,” all the dots connected. Why she looked different in every photo. Why she wanted me never to forget the King’s daughter’s name.
Because that’s her.
Elowen.
I asked Robin to gather everything he could on her. Unsurprisingly, he found nothing. She’s never been seen in public. No one knows what Alessio’s daughter looks like. All Robin managed to dig up was an unverified rumor that she performs as a pianist under the name Ella.
I walk to Bruno’s room and stop outside. She’s lying in his bed. I watch from the doorway as she tosses and turns. Nearly an hour later, her movements finally still.
Only then do I step inside.
I lower myself to the floor beside her. Her face is swollen, the skin beneath her eyes bruised with exhaustion.
She is the daughter of the king of darkness, yet she remains untouched by it. I’m a man forged in ashes, with the cruelest of hearts. There is not a single part of me worthy of her.