37. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
SEBASTIAN
Twelve Years Old
She is usually still sleeping this early, but my bed is empty.
It’s not like Ronnie to stay away all night.
Even when Georgina comes in and carries her out of my bed, she always comes back. She knows I can’t sleep without her. So where is she and why didn’t she wake me up too?
No one has come to check on me this morning but I don’t care to wait, not when there’s a burning feeling in my chest. I clutch at the soft fabric of my white ruffled shirt, gripping it as if it can ease the ache. It doesn’t, of course.
I check the bathroom first, pulling open the cabinet to the right of the claw foot tub.
Within seconds, I manage to toss all the neatly folded towels across the marbled floor.
My eyebrows pinch as I stare at the now empty space and I push my palm into my chest again.
There’s a small ‘s and r’ etched to the inside of the wood.
I trail my fingers over it before I leave the bathroom and my room altogether.
The room she shares with her Uncle is empty, it’s clean too.
A frown sets on my lips and I have to leave that room before I tear it apart too. Where is she? Did her uncle take her to the village for the day? No. She would have woken me, to tell me.
Ronnie knows I worry. Probably too much.
My stomach churns and I feel sick. I need to relax. It’s crazy to be this scared, right? Ronnie would have told me if she was going anywhere. She tells me when she’s going to the bathroom for crying out loud.
The halls are quiet. Today is just… not right.
Usually someone would be out here. There are so many maids and butlers… where is everyone?
“Georgina!” I call out, my voice higher than I’d like to admit, and I realize it’s from fear. I’m scared. This is nearly the same fear I felt when Ronnie got sick with the flu last year. No one would tell me what was going on, and I wasn’t allowed to see her.
Thoughts of her hurt have my feet moving with the need to find her immediately.
I run as fast as I can down the hallway of the East Wing, straining my ears to catch any sounds I can pick up. It’s silent.
“Georgina!” I call out again, but this time I’m myself screaming her name. The fear growing inside, makes it hard to breathe. What if something happened? “GEORGINA!” I shout again, my voice breaking as I skid around the corner, my socks sliding against the slick marbled floor.
A group of maids stand huddled together at the end of the corridor that leads to the dining room. My mother and father stand off to the side, speaking in hushed voices to Georgina. Her cheeks are wet. No.
“No.” I whisper, taking a step back.
My father is already heading toward me, before I can sneak back around the corner. His eyes are hard and I know he’s mad, but why would he be mad? I spare a glance to my mother, she’s staring at the ground. Why won’t she look at me? What did I do?
“Father?” I manage, my eyes wide as I stare up at the man in front of me. “Father, what is going on?”
I look back at Georgina, wanting to ask her instead. I want to run into her arms because she’d tell me no matter what is happening that it would be okay. My mother holds Georgina’s arm. Why?
“Fath—”
“Enough.”
My father’s harsh tone has my whole body still. I stare up at him. He doesn’t speak, not for a moment at least, but he does stare down at me with unfamiliar emotions running through his dark eyes. I can’t make them out. He looks mad, that I do know.
“Father, please, just…” I try. He shakes his head before I feel the firm grip on the back of my neck. My whole body stills but I don’t fight my father’s hold as he guides me from the hall and up the spiral staircase, right to his office.
“It’s time to grow up, Sebastian.”
I awake startled and sweat slicked.
My chest heaves as I suck in large gulps of air to get friction back into my lungs. Strands of hair cling to my forehead and sweat trickles into my eyes, burning my irises until I’m blinking the wetness away. I haven’t had that dream in years… so why now? Why now?
Everything is falling together for the first time in what feels like forever. I’m fucking happy.
So why would I dream of the day she was taken from me?
There isn’t a moment to dwell on it, not when the door to my room flings open and I’m greeted with a tear-stricken wife.
“Mary?” I say gruffly, my voice still thick with sleep and torture from the nightmare I had thankfully woken from.
“What time is it?” My eyebrows furrow as I slide from the sheets now damp from sweat.
I let out a soft sigh and run my fingers through my hair, slicking back to strands that cling to my skin.
Mary’s palm brushes my cheek and the action has my whole body still, the hair on the back of my neck rising. I’m about to tell her to step back, but stop when another enters the room.
My father.
“What is the meaning of this?” I ask, my fingers tightly gripping Mary’s wrist. Her nails dig into my cheek before I push her back roughly. She stumbles, but doesn’t fall, not when my father is quick to her side to steady her. I narrow my eyes at them while I manage to rise from the mattress.
The robe hanging from the hook beside my headboard calls to me, but I can’t manage to grab it, not when my eyes are locked on the tears running down Mary’s pink cheeks.
They’re not real. I know, because Mary has a way of manipulating things.
I’ve been a victim too many times over the past two years to know when they are false.
However, my father is completely won by the streams falling down her face.
“Father, if I may ask you to lea—”
“How could you?!” Mary wails in fake distress, I fight against rolling my eyes. She clings to my father, burying her face in his chest and gripping his arm for dear life. I shift my gaze to his, and he’s livid.
There are many times I’ve seen anger come from the man I was loosely raised by. Never, though, have I seen it pointed directly toward me. Not like this.
He looks as if he would kill me with his bare hands if he could get away with it.
What the fuck?
“What is going on? I just woke up, what could I have possibly done already, wife?” I snarl out, frustration growing in my tone as I rip the robe from its hanger to pull it roughly onto my broad shoulders.
My words have Mary wailing harder and if I could toss my hands up in defeat right now, I would.
“Speak.” I snap and my father’s hand is around my throat in seconds.
I sputter, shocked from not only the action but by how my father is reacting to this.
It isn’t as if he doesn’t speak to my mother the same way?
Hell, I have heard far worse from his lips to her.
Mary lingers behind him, sitting on the bed with her face in her hands.
She’s crying; the sound causes my father’s grip to tighten around my throat.
“Father,” I say through gritted teeth. His jaw ticks.
“How dare you embarrass me? This kingdom? Your wife?” He finally speaks, his voice laced with venom. My heart sinks.
“What?” I demand.
My father’s eyes narrow and disappointment takes over the anger on his face. The grip on my throat releases and Deacon steps back, shaking his head.
“I may have been a lackluster father but I didn’t expect such a fucking cunt of a son.”
His words pierce me.
“What?” I manage and the anger flashes in my father’s dark irises once again.
“We know.” Mary speaks, her words clipped. I turn to her, meeting the fire in her gaze as the tears stop falling. Her blue eyes are wild with anger, hellfire from the underworld flickering in those icy specks.
“You know what? Stop speaking in riddles and fucking speak, Mary!”
Her lip twitches.
It’s subtle. Oh so subtle but I catch it.
This was a game, and I fell into her trap. She’s provoking me and not only got what she wanted, but she did it in front of the one person I fear most, my father.
I press my lips firmly together as I stare at her, my heart thrashing against my ribcage.
Mary moves toward me with purpose, her back to my father who hovers protectively.
Her hands are warm as she slides her palms against my cheeks, holding my face still.
I don’t fight it. One wrong move and she will have more of whatever it is against me.
She’s already gotten me to snap at her in front of him.
I will deal with the punishment of that later.
“We know.” She repeats, slanting her lips over my own. “I know.”
Her breath fans across my mouth and I can taste the deceit immediately. Whatever she knows, she needs to say soon before I lose my absolute fucking shit. I lift my hands to grip her wrists, holding them firmly as I stare down at her. It’s then I know what she does and she’s...elated.