Chapter Twelve #3
I questioned but there was nothing else it could be. Resting on an ivory pedestal was a beautiful, brilliant red rose protected under glass. Sweetly delicate petals burst from the stem, defying nature and refusing to wilt, brown, or die.
It defied nature in every way. It had no roots, no water, and no foundation. The impossible rose floated above the pedestal, glowing with the magic that made it be, and as I took it in, the thrumming heartbeat stopped instantly—leaving only its faint echo in my ears.
Beautiful. So very beautiful... and I wanted to throw up at the sight of it.
The flower was wrong. So terrifyingly wrong, I wanted to rip off the glass and smash it—crush it under my heel and wipe the horrid thing from the world. I might’ve done so if I could bring myself to get closer to it. I didn’t even want to be as close as I was.
Clapping my hand over my mouth, I fought the bile rising in my throat. The cold and dark. This thing was the reason. I didn’t know how I knew, but it was sucking the heat from the air, the light from the world, and the joy in my heart.
Revulsion and hate burned in my chest gazing at the thing. Bitterness and regret drowned me. The voices in my head screamed for me to run!
This was not Alisdair’s heart. This was no one’s heart. Nothing and no one could’ve ever survived with that thing in their chest. This was some kind of dreadful magic—earthed from the deepest, darkest depths of forbidden spells.
This thing... was a curse.
I flung myself away, gagging. My feet tangled and I fell, my hand flying out grabbing for something to break my fall. I closed on something and it gave way—dropping me flat on the freezing floor.
Groaning, I pushed up and locked on to furious, rage-filled eyes.
“Ahh,” I cried, scrambling back. But she didn’t follow.
The glow from the appalling rose cast long shadows over the portrait, revealing her face bit by bit.
Hard, unsmiling mouth. Dark eyes. Severe cleft chin.
Sharp cheekbones casting their own shadow over gaunt cheeks, and raven hair falling in wisps and tangles around her shoulder.
At first glance, it was a portrait of a woman during tragedy, but flicking back to her eyes I knew. .. she was the tragedy.
Hurriedly I grabbed the sheet and threw it back over her.
I suddenly didn’t know why I was here. Alisdair wouldn’t hide his heart in this cold, dark, frightening place.
I wouldn’t even tie Kirwan up and lock him in this room.
This wasn’t for things you cared about. It wasn’t even for things you hated.
It was just a room you didn’t go near like an abandoned cellar that had been flooded over and was now riddled with mold and decay.
There was nothing for you down there. There was nothing for me here.
Moving away, I turned my back on that rose and was glad to do so. I would return to my bed and my husband, letting his warmth and nearness banish the chill from my bones, and the sludge that ghastly thing leeched on my soul.
Passing the floating rectangles, curiosity tickled me. Were they all portraits of that strange woman? If so, who painted them? Was it Alisdair?
Alisdair never told me he could paint, and he told me a great many things in exchange for my knees on the floor and my lips around his cock.
I slowed, lingering on a sheet-covered canvas looming on my right. My fingers curled around the linen before I could stop it, pulling it off.
“Wow,” I breathed, coming to a standstill.
No. Every portrait was not of that woman. She was night and day the woman smiling back at me, and I meant that almost literally.
Where there was anger and distaste bleeding out of the brushwork of the first portrait, the one before me was bursting with life, joy, and color. A beautiful woman with sun-burnished auburn hair beamed the widest, brightest smile—teasing the dimples from her cheeks and the light in her hazel eyes.
I didn’t have to ask if this was Raelina.
Her name was scrawled across the bottom of the canvas.
Seeing her, it was easy to understand how two men could fall hopelessly in love with her.
And it was simple to see why one man would hate the other for the rest of his life for destroying this woman and her smile.
I swept the gloom, taking in the many covered paintings. Crossing to the other side of the room, I reached for another sheet.
“What are you doing?!” A hand snatched mine back, hauling me across. I screamed as I was shoved back and pushed against the wall. “How did you get in here!”
Alisdair’s red, bulging eyes threw me into a sea of rage. I’d never seen him so angry.
“I was— I was just—”
“You were what!”
“I was just leaving,” I cried, yanking at my captured wrist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“What? What didn’t you mean, Emiana? To barge in here after you were told to stay away?
” he roared. “To assume that just because I like fucking you, my people and my castle are yours to dictate and trample on!” His lips twisted.
“Or did you not mean to delude yourself into believing I’d actually fall for you? ”
My heart stopped hearing the sweet words I whispered to him thrown back at me.
“Get this into your fucking head,” he hissed. “Nothing in my kingdom is yours to do as you see fit. Not my people. Not my castle. And not my heart!”
Tears blinded me. “But, Alisdair—”
“GET OUT!”
He released me and I ran. Bursting out the door, I crashed into the wall, cracking my head, but still I kept going—tripping down the steps, shoving through the crack in the walls, and bolting through the castle, my sobs bouncing through the halls.
I ran and didn’t stop running until I threw myself outside and was smacked by the cold, bracing air. Picking up my skirts, I raced through the snow and flowers—disappearing past the tree line into the dark.
THE NEXT DAY, I STAYED far away from Alisdair—gritting my teeth against the blinding agony tearing apart my leg. I didn’t care. The pain was nothing compared to what I felt every time Alisdair’s words roared through my head.
It was as though he shoved his fist down inside of me and tore everything out. I was an empty shell of a stupid girl who deluded herself into thinking she was falling in love.
The proof of that was knowing that Alisdair could smell me hiding out in Riordan’s horse stall, surrounded by the gentle, curious creatures, but he didn’t come. He didn’t come to speak to me, apologize, or relieve the pain he knew I was feeling—in my leg or in my heart.
Because he didn’t say a word he didn’t mean, a small voice whispered. You don’t apologize for the truth.
It was my fault for believing anything had changed between us. He liked fucking me—that didn’t and never had amounted to love.
Kirwan loved bedding Mama. He didn’t love her. Salman loved nothing more than romping with his harem at the end of the day, but would as soon slit their throats if a single one of them looked at him wrong.
Sex wasn’t love. I knew it. It was drilled into my head before I could walk. And still I let myself believe a heartless man would be an exception to the rule.
I choked on a sob, curling tighter on the hay bale.
“He’s never g-going to love me,” I whispered to my silent audience.
“He’ll never free me. I will live the rest of my days as a cold and hateful queen married to a colder and more hateful king, and everything I was.
..” I thought of Sheena. Of the sweet, talented, beautiful singer. “Gone.”
I raised my head, receiving a compassionate headbutt from the mare sharing her stall with me. Back I tipped my head, gazing through the roof slats to the heavens.
“Yes, yes,” I said softly. “I understand, Mother Meya. Never let it be said you had to tell me your will twice.”
It was a long time before I dragged myself to the castle. Yes, dragged. My leg was a useless stump trailing behind me, screaming to be cut off.
Eventually I staggered through the castle doors and crawled up the steps to our bedroom.
Alisdair reclined in an armchair, sipping a mug of ale, and gazing out at a hidden sunset like nothing ever happened.
He cast me a cursory glance when I fell through the doors, near in tears when the pain finally eased.
“Princess,” he drawled. “Nice of you to return. Did you enjoy your time in the stables?”
I shoved up and locked on to the mess in the mirror. Hay stuck to every inch of her, as clingy as the stink of manure and the redness of my eyes and cheeks. “I did, as it happens.” My voice was a thin rasp. “It was very illuminating. Gave me a chance to clear my head.”
He studied me, face unreadable. “I assume we understand each other now.”
“We do.”
“And me,” he repeated, force bleeding into the word. “Do you understand me?”
I raised my chin. “More than ever, Alisdair. Shall we?”
“Shall we what?”
A smile broke out on my lips. Closing the distance, I peeled off my clothes—raising his brows higher. “Shall we make up?”
Alisdair didn’t move. “What is this?”
“What do you mean? I had time to think and you were right. I shouldn’t have been snooping,” I said.
“Honestly, I didn’t mean to go up there again in the first place.
It was strange. It was like something...
” I tossed my head. “Anyway, it’s not a reason for us to fall out.
I’ll respect your privacy from now on, and you’ll continue to worship at the altar of my pleasure.
” I flicked his nose, giggling. “Everyone wins.”
“You’re certain,” he replied slowly. “There’s nothing more we need to discuss? You’re not going to yell, rant, or bite me like a rabid animal?”
I laughed louder. “Don’t be silly. The only rabid animal in this room will be you, my husband.” I stood up and pulled him with me, skipping over to the bed. “Now are you going to remind me why I put up with you, or not?”