36. The Violence of Loyalty #2
‘Instructions’ knocks something loose in my anger. I go still on his chest, fists parked on either side of his head. Panting, I rasp the question, “The fuck are you saying?”
“Candles. Jus’ scare… her. Told me where to be. Wh-hen.” He tilts his head to breathe better, whining when his broken nose objects. “So sh- shorry .”
Try as I might to ignore it, his apology forces one possibility to the forefront of my mind.
There’s a chance I’m battering a fucking puppet.
My stomach drops even as I keep heaving.
No, what the fuck? This was supposed to be linear.
Find the bastard who hurt her, find Godwyn’s traitor, and cut the head off the snake.
Rage pushes me to finish this, but I steady myself and ask, “Who gave the instruction?”
His eyes roll, and I slap him back into consciousness. “Dunno, was jus’… passed on to me. Said she’d—that she’d… fight a little. To be careful.” He winces. “You… weren’t supposed to be here. Not here.”
“That’s not good enough. Explain.”
“ Dunno —I swear! That’s jus’ what Ed said, and… that he’s the last in line. L-last chance. He was always—always there for her… always saves her… then you came.”
Always saves her.
Her knight in shining armour. Sir Incest-a-lot. Against my wishes, my mind plays the film. Gabriel attacks her, and who comes to bury the body? Edmund . The trees play the song from her nightmares, and who shows up at the cottage to comfort her? Edmund .
Her last line. Her Crow.
Was he in the trees last night too, hidden behind citrus? Appointed saviour, just waiting for his moment to swoop in and comfort his drunken cousin after her birthday cake went wrong. Except I intercepted, and she found comfort in my arms.
So where was he on the night of her candle?
No Edmund then. Unless he did come. Unless he knocked politely, waited for her permission and stormed into an empty room.
Into a mess he couldn’t help with because she already reached for me .
Maybe his knock went unheard because the world was the size of my bathtub.
Charlie’s right about only one thing right now; I truly never was supposed to be part of this equation.
This game of Edmund’s.
Some anger shifts off him, and without a proper target in sight, it fills my lungs instead. The fucker beneath me is nothing but evidence, even as my knuckles itch to continue.
And Edmund, shit, I want to believe he’s penned this story.
But logic cuts through all anger because Godwyn’s traitor doesn’t save—they destroy.
They want her broken. Want her gone. It’s the one rule that can’t be twisted, that hatred, and Edmund loves his cousin.
It’s a rotten form of love, sure, but still leagues away from hatred.
I don’t know what’s scarier, that someone else has written Edmund’s part this monstrously or that he plays it so well.
The door bangs open. Tommy’s scent fades as if she were never here. I look down and— fuck —I didn’t even realise Charlie went slack beneath me. Mouth ajar, breathing heavily, but unconscious.
Edmund, all decked out in riding gear, yells for somebody to get help and storms inside.
I don’t hear any of it because I’m focused on this incestuous little fuck closing in.
His hands find the back of my shirt, yanking me to my feet.
Taking advantage of his one and only opportunity, he turns me and crashes his fist against my lip so forcefully that it splits.
It lands flawlessly, as if he’s been practising on a punching bag with my face printed in the middle.
Metal floods my mouth. I lick along my teeth and spit it back into his face. I’m grinning as he wipes it, and that grin becomes a deep laugh. I laugh at Edmund and his silly little fantasy where he plays saviour.
I wipe my mouth with the back of an equally bloody hand. “You want to try again, sweetheart? Either make it hurt or stop wasting my time.”
His expression pinches as my laughter grows louder. “You fucking psycho.”
“Good old Giovanni Malatesta ,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s who you think you are, isn’t it? The man owed what he believes is his Francesca. Was wondering when you’d stop pretending.”
“You think this is funny—whatever performance it is you’re playing at?”
“Tell me, when you convinced yourself you were her Giovanni… Paolo was always faceless, right? Anybody would do, any man who stood between you and your prize, giving you a reason to remain possessive. Gabriel when he was chosen for her. Maybe even Charlie when he lingers too long. All of them become Paolo, until one of them gives you a reason to become your favourite, right?”
“Stop, you don’t know?—”
I grin. “Now I’m curious, Cousin Edmund, how long did it take you to realise I was your Paolo?”
That does it. I see the words stick.
Edmund lunges and slams his full weight into me, and the air punches from my lungs as I hit the wall. Shorter than me by a good bit, I can’t help but think he looks like an angry rabbit trying to claw at me.
I shove him off with little trouble, spitting, “It’s so damn obvious. Did you really think nobody would notice?”
He swings with blind anger, and I drop beneath his fist, feeling his muttered curse and the breeze of his miss before I come up and deliver a punch to his right eye.
An animalistic grunt escapes him as he staggers back, slipping on the shattered glass of Charlie’s candle before landing ass first in the empty suitcase.
His hand shoots to the new wound, blood seeping between his fingers.
Before I can speak, he’s already rasping, “You’ll ruin her. Sully her good name.”
“Sully her? You’ve been circling her like carrion since childhood—don’t you dare try and pin your disease on me.
” My attention ping-pongs between him and Charlie’s supine form.
“Curious that you didn’t even ask why I’ve beaten your lackey to a pulp.
Because your first thought is always her, isn’t it?
But if you gave a fuck, you wouldn’t have let this little pervert attack her in the first place.
You knew , and you let it happen anyway because you wanted to play saviour. ”
“God, you really are mad, aren’t you?” He wheezes a laugh, and my jaw tightens despite the ache there. “You don’t know a fucking thing about me or her. Been here five minutes, and now you think you’ve seen her, that you see what goes on here. Delusion, that’s what this is.”
“Is it?”
The suitcase slips when he wobbles to his feet, slowly backtracking towards his unconscious friend. Poor thing practically trembles upon seeing what’s been done.
Fury bursts through his pain when he says, “Oh, you’re finished for this, Eric. They’ll drag you back to the capital in chains. Chief Inspector Henderson will make sure of it.”
“Last I checked, Cousin Edmund, I’m still the Prince of Marzod. Do I look worried to you?”
“You should be.”
I step closer, hands lifting to free the top two buttons of my shirt.
“If I cared about consequences, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.
Check the headlines once in a while, why don’t you?
Search my name. See how many scandals they tried to bury me in.
Maybe then you’ll understand the man you’re threatening. ”
“A title only gets you so far, Atherbourne. Francesca will see right through you, and when she does?—”
His words end with an abrupt hiccup at seeing what my shirt has revealed.
One good eye catches the bruise that spells her name in a blotch of violent purple and red.
Here he stands, warning me that I’d be the one to ruin her when she already bared her teeth to me.
Sank them into my skin and left her mark.
I wait until realisation dawns, curdling alongside disbelief and, eventually, jealousy.
Once that mixture bubbles to the surface, leaving his face stretched in horror, only then do I say, “Funny, she’s already seen me. Thoroughly. And I don’t think she’s complaining about what she’s found.”
Edmund nearly trips over his friend to reach me, screaming, “You filthy bastard!” Another missed attempt at a punch, and then security sweeps in, dragging us apart. Hands grab at my arms, and I let them.
The corridor swells with witnesses; security is still addressing me respectfully, but for the sake of the unconscious pervert on the floor, they’ve got my hands behind my back.
My title rings through the air, summoning whispers.
Another scandal. Another headline. Father will be pissed.
I smile wider through the blood clotting my teeth, and I gift it to Edmund as they drag me out.
He flinches. I want him to see it, want him to picture it each time he shuts his eyes.
My feet scuffle against stone like I’m being exiled all over again, two guards on each arm.
The corridors swim with light and whispers, down every grand stairway and through the main doors.
Sylvaine stands at the steps with Frank at her side, grey brows pinched like she already knows what I’ve done.
The old witch doesn’t even flinch. I feel her awareness cut right to the bone.
She knows. Knows that what happened in that room doesn’t belong to scandal but to something older.
To her damn test. Her lips remain pursed, yet the pride is evident in the way she dips her chin.
A damning pride.
And then Francesca. She nearly tears herself from Frank’s hand to cross the space but is forced to take me in from a distance: the blood on my shirt, the split knuckles, and the grin I can’t stop.
I keep my eyes on her, only her, as they lead me past. Concern lights up that stare, and I watch her swallow her temper because there’s too much attention on us right now.
Phones angle for a glimpse at this scandal; vultures are already giving their opinion; the whole fucking resort seems to have spawned here in the courtyard.
They all mutter the same thing, that the prince should’ve been raised better, been taught manners, and Francesca twists in her grandfather’s hold.
Edmund would see a damsel in the quiver of her lips.
I can’t fathom it.
All I see is fury.
That’s where Edmund has it all wrong.
Francesca killed her fiancé with a letter opener to his chest and fought Charlie from her throat.
Her cousin wants her sainted, but my phantom of delight is no saint.
She’s the duchess-heir of a cursed house, a hunted orphan clawing her way out of graves—a murderess , for fuck’s sake.
And if the web is as wide as it feels, she’ll become something worse before it’s all over.
Camera flashes burn my face into permanence, teeth bared in a violent confession before I’m shoved headlong into Philip’s car.