Chapter 19
PENELOPE
Her father’s footsteps echoed in the hallway before the door creaked open. Panic, dread, and something heavier drove her to her knees the moment he entered. She pressed her palms to the floor, bowed her head and waited.
“What is his name?”
Penelope’s head shot up because no—that was not her father.
Henry stood before her, his musket strapped to his side as he stared down at her with complete reproach.
“Henry—”
“What is his name? Do not make me ask again. Do you even understand what you have done? You were to be wed to me,” Henry spat.
“And yet… you have allowed yourself to be defiled by a vampire. By that monster. I did not want to believe the rumors when I heard them—that some abomination had been slipping into your chambers. But I had to be certain before I took you as my wife. And I thank God I thought to give your father an amulet, else he might have lived blind to the truth of what his daughter was. The embarrassment she was reaping upon his name.”
Her knees sank deeper into the floorboards as her tears fell freely, leaving wet streaks between her hands.
“You have shamed us all,” Henry continued, voice rising.
“The union, our agreement—it is sullied because of your folly. And that thing… he will pay. I will hunt him down, and he will not survive this night. And then we will see how long your defiance lasts. Perhaps when his head is mounted on our wall you will remember what these acts earn you.”
Her sobs choked her. “Henry… please! I—I will marry you! I swear it! I will be the perfect wife. I will obey. I will never speak against you or your wishes again! C-children! I will bare them. I will do all as you wish.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed. He did not move, did not speak—yet the weight of his presence was heavy.
“I will marry you—no! I will serve you as a wife aught to do,” she repeated, voice shaking, tears staining the floor beneath her.
“If you grant him his freedom—freedom from you, from persecution. Grant this, and I will marry you. I will have children. I will raise them quietly. I will never defy you again. I swear it!”
Her voice rang against the walls, her ears humming with desperation.
Henry’s fists tightened. His jaw rigid. His gaze flickered to her, brimming with controlled, furious rage.
Henry’s gaze softened slightly, though the edge of steel never left his eyes.
He took a measured step closer, the weight of his presence filling the room as he grabbed her face, forcing her eyes to meet his.
“Very well,” he said. “You will marry me. But hear me clearly, Penelope—the cost of your defiance is not erased.”
Penelope’s knees trembled beneath her, relief washing through her in shivering waves. “Thank you… thank you, Henry,” she whispered. “Thank you for you forgiveness—”
“Do not mistake my agreement for forgiveness. He walks free tonight because I choose it—but you, Penelope, will not forget this. Step out of line once, and there will be no second chance. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Henry,” she breathed, swallowing hard, tears threatening again. “I… I understand.”
“Good. You will keep your promise. You will be a wife worthy of your station. But the next time I catch so much as a whisper of you offering even a glance towards a monster, the consequences will fall not just on him, but on you as well.”
Her chest rose and fell in rapid, uneven breaths, relief and fear mingling so tightly that she felt dizzy. Yet she still thought of Elias even as she bowed her head in acquiescence to Henry’s warning.
Penelope moved through her morning in a hollow sort of calm.
Her hands were steady, her movements precise, but inside she felt as though all warmth had been drained from her chest. Every brush of silk against her skin, every mirror she faced, every decorative jewel placed on her finger sparked nothing.
No fear, yes, but no joy—no hope, either.
She felt as though every speck of who she was had been carved out of her piece by piece, until there was nothing but flesh left behind. A husk.
She had spent much of the night waiting. Writing. Her final requiem to him. Because now, she would submit. It was her duty. She knew that now. She understood the cost of ever thinking that she could be more than a wife.
Her father’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Are you ready, Penelope?”
She straightened her spine, forcing a composure she did not feel. “Yes, Father,” she repeated like a record left to spin long after the music had stopped.
“You will see in time, that this is for the best,” her father said as she stepped through the door, making her way into the halls.
“Yes, father.”
His features pinched together, exaggerating his wrinkles as he held her hand in his. “I am doing this because I love you, Penelope. I only want what is best for you, you know that right?”
“Yes, father.”