42. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
VERONICA
Tomato’s chest rumbles with soft purrs that send vibrating tingles up my thigh.
I’ve been sitting in the garden for a few hours.
The sun is starting to finally go down, but I don't want to leave. At this point, it’s the only place I keep myself from going insane.
My windows still won’t open, nails firmly knocked into the wooden seams. It’s suffocating in there.
My own personal prison. Exactly as Mary planned.
The cream dress I wear flows, allows more air to circulate than I prefer, but it’s comfortable. The hem touches down right past my knees, allowing the soft blades of grass to tickle my skin in a way that makes me feel alive.
Soon winter will be here.
Soon there will be snow covering the grass and coating the different flower bushes.
All of the juliet roses and peony pastelgance bushes will be bare.
I won’t be able to see the beautiful white hydrangeas I love so dearly, especially when they are coated in a light dusting of morning dew.
The gazebo will be left empty and the vined ivy that curls around the thick pillars will be dull and browned.
No butterflies will flutter, no bees will buzz, no crickets to lull the kingdom to sleep.
Soon the twins will be here.
My palm finds my swollen stomach on instinct, it’s the oddest feeling in the world.
I’d always thought a pregnant belly would be squishy to the touch but it’s the opposite.
The thought has my lips twitching as I run my thumb against the top of my bump, feeling the firmness underneath.
A sharp kick nudges against my palm and I let out a laugh which stirs more fluttering kicks.
I’ve named them, the twins.
Lilith and Jameson.
If there is one of each: Lilith, for my mom, and Jameson, for Sebastian.
If they are both girls: Lilith, for my mom, and Georgina, for well...Georgina.
If they are both boys: Jameson, for Sebastian, and maybe Gareth, for my curly haired friend back in the village.
Either way, they’ll never know their real names. Mary has her names picked out, ones I’m not allowed to know. As soon as they are born, I’ll be nothing more than a cow giving milk. She’s made that very, very, clear.
Mary has taken everything from me and I hate her.
I hate her, but I understand. That bothers me the most.
If the roles were reversed, I know I’d be just as sour about the whole thing. No, I wouldn’t go to the extent that Mary has, but I can’t say I’d be too freaking kind about it.
“Veronica?” A soft voice calls behind me, and I tense.
That isn’t Georgina’s voice. It’s too quiet. It isn’t Missy’s voice either. She wouldn’t say my true name out loud, especially not out here, in the garden.
Tomato jumps up beside me, startled by the voice. I watch with wide eyes as the little white cat struts away, without a care in the world. After all we have been through, I would have at least expected the cat to stay by my side, but she’s already out of sight.
“Veronica, it’s okay,” Queen Sophia says. I tense at her voice.
My eyes lift to see her fully. She has the same hazel coloring as Sebastian, though her eyes are a bit more green than golden. Even now, she’s reserved as she steps closer, with an almost expression on her aging face.
Queen Sophia has always been beautiful. She’s the perfect example of who a Queen is supposed to be. Without question, Sophia stays by her husband's side. There was never any arguing when I lived here, all those years ago. She held her chin high and maintained the perfect persona.
Her hair is greying where it peeks out from the thin silk hood that hides the rest away. She’s aged a lot since Sebastian left. Everyone has from the stress of everything inside the palace.
King Deacon is sick and it’s not looking good. He collapsed three months into the war and hasn’t gotten out of bed since. That’s all I know.
Sophia must notice the way I shift, one palm pressed against my stomach protectively while the other rests on the bench behind me. I’m ready to push myself up and run if needed.
“Can I sit?” She asks and I tilt my chin down in a small nod.
I stay seated on the grass, with my back pressed to the marbled bench as the older woman settles down on the end of it.
She, too, is wearing a dress but it’s so much more elegant than mine, her top half is wrapped in a thin silk scarf that covers her head like a hood.
The wrinkles stand out from down here, a stark reminder of how much has changed since I arrived over a year ago.
Her eyes are harder too, filled with years of uncertainty she’s kept to herself.
“Your Majesty…” I stop when the top of her hand comes to rest on top of mine, still gripping the bench.
“I loved Thomas.” She starts and my heart stops.
Did she just say she loved my uncle? The one that supposedly stole from her jewelry box? “He was brilliant and so kind. I’ve never seen anyone love a bunch of bushes quite like him.”
My eyes narrow as I listen to Sophia speak, the unease in my chest grows until I nearly pass out. Why is she saying this? Did Georgina tell her who I truly am? Or did she figure it out on her own? At this point it’s obvious, considering I spend every moment out here in the garden.
“He loved thi—” I start.
“Please, let me get this out.” Sophia interjects and our eyes meet for the first time. “I gave him every piece of jewelry I could give.”
What?
“Anything I knew of value, what I knew would help.” She continues.
I pull my hand harshly from under hers, using the balls of my bare feet to dig into the grass so I can stand.
My balance isn’t great and I sway for a moment before I catch my footing.
I step back with my hands both resting on my stomach, as I stare down at the woman.
The person telling me something I’ve needed to hear for years.
“What do you mean you gave them to him?” The anger in my tone is borderline murderous. Bile fills my throat and I’m nauseous, ready to throw up my force-fed dinner onto the grass by my feet. “What do you mean?”
She rises from the bench and I gawk as she moves to the gazebo a few feet away.
The silence between us makes me want to scream, but I bite my tongue until the bitter taste of metal floods my mouth.
I feel the tears already tracking down my cheeks as Sophia touches the wilting ivy.
She frowns when a leaf breaks and holds it in her palm as if it were something deeply cherished. At last, she turns to me.
“He came to me one night.” Her throat bobs and there are tears in her eyes. “He asked me to sit down and explained to me how he wasn’t going to live much longer.”
A tear runs down her rosy cheek, it reaches her jaw before it’s hastily wiped away. Crying is a sign of weakness. Sebastian told me that a million times.
“Your uncle wanted to make sure you were taken care of. He knew as well as I, that you wouldn’t be able to stay in the palace if he passed while working. It’s just how these things go.” Sophia’s gaze finds mine. “I’m not the villain in your narrative, Veronica.”
“How dare you?” My voice breaks in a choked whisper.
The Queen knew my uncle was dying. She knew he was going to pass and her answer to it was some quick trade money, before sending him off with a ten-year old little girl. Was there no remorse in knowing once he passed, that little girl would be left alone… with nothing?
“You have no idea what you did.” I grit out, taking a quick step back to put more distance between us. “I was ten years old! Ten!” My voice rises with anger as the hot tears threatening to fall over my lash line finally give way.
How could she say she loved my uncle, when she willingly let him take a child from their home, knowing they would become an orphan, with no one to fight for them?? I knew the Baros’ family always acted under tough love, but this was a whole new level of sickness that stemmed from them.
“What else have you been lying about? You marked me for death the day you let my uncle leave with me.” My voice shakes. “Are you going to say you knew it was me when I first came here too?”
The snark in my tone is deliberate, but the silence that trails after is piercing. Sophia steps closer, attempting to clear the space between us. The green in her eyes disappears beneath pools of gold, reflecting the garden around us engulfed in flames. She knew.
She knew.