Chapter 29 #2
A grief-stricken scream erupts from him, the agonizing bellow coming from deep in his chest. The sound vibrates through me, echoing off the walls and ringing in my ears as he shakes violently, still clutching me like he never wants to let me go.
I try to will myself to speak, but my throat won’t function as pain slices through, the muscles unable to move after being the victim of Dane’s hatred.
Weston’s face falls, defeat sinking into his features. Opening his eyes, he slowly trails them up my face, wincing the closer he gets to my eyes as if he can’t bear seeing me lifeless.
But I’m not. Barely. And I just want to see his eyes again.
When the darkened teal meets mine, they widen as he sucks in a sharp breath.
“You’re alive.” His words are barely a whisper as his eyes dart between mine, the defeat morphing into complete and utter shock.
Tears escape the corners of my eyes as I blink gently, refusing to look away from him, and unable to escape the swell in my chest at the sight.
It’s the only answer he needs before he’s crushing me to his chest again, cradling my head against him as if I will disappear if I’m not near.
“I need the healers now!” he screams, and there’s more commotion as bodies shuffle around us.
I try to say his name, but there’s no sound as my lips barely form the word with what little energy I have left. Fire laces my throat with every move, and all I can do is whimper from the pain.
“I’m here, sweetheart. Breathe for me, please.
” He scoops me into his arms and stands, turning his back on the room and shielding me from the brutal scene surrounding us.
Kneeling on the plush black carpet, he lowers me down into the aisle and leans my back against the end of a pew.
He may have set me down, but his hands never leave my body.
They course over me, the same way he did back on the ship time and time again, searching for any injury, anything that could be causing me pain.
I want to close my eyes, and savor the feel of his hands on me, but I’m afraid of returning to the darkness.
My breaths are still shallow, and pain accompanies each one, but I try to push it away, and focus on him.
Not the chaos in the room, not the fear of what might happen, not the questionable future.
I want to think only about the pressure of his warm hand resting on my hip, and the other wrapped around my nape.
“Where are the fucking healers?” he barks again, only tearing his eyes away from me for a moment before they’re fixed back on my face, constantly assessing.
A man in a guard’s uniform standing behind Weston answers succinctly. “They’re with the king, sir.”
“The future queen needs them now!” he snaps, and the guard turns on his heel and hurries across the room.
Weston’s entire focus is back on me in an instant, and there’s fear in his eyes as they trail over my face and down my neck.
With the way he’s looking at me, I can only imagine how badly he wishes we were still back in the infirmary, using the magic that was so generously offered to us, despite never wanting to use it for himself.
There’s a pang in my chest as I think back to him refusing to use the magic to heal the cut I so ignorantly gave him, but remember vividly how he didn’t question using anything within his reach to heal me when I needed it.
His love was so obvious, and I ignored it for so long. It was almost ripped away from me tonight. My chest starts rising and falling rapidly as a swell of sorrow builds up.
“Slow, steady breaths,” he croons, his thumb stroking my skin. “Everything is all right.”
“No,” I rasp. My eyes fill with tears, and I try to shake my head, but pain erupts in my neck, and I wince. Weston’s expression is fierce as he looks over his shoulder, back toward where my father lay on the dais surrounded by the group of healers.
“Sir, everyone involved in the insurrection has been detained,” a man says from my other side, but I don’t turn to see who it is. It hurts too much, and I’m too afraid to let him out of my sight.
“Good. Shut the entrances down. I don’t want anyone on or off the grounds until every person has been questioned. Get all the traitors locked in the dungeon. Separately. Make sure they’ve all been searched thoroughly.”
“And the Second Guard?”
Weston’s glare turns deadly. “She’s no longer the Second Guard. Strip her of her sword and armor and lock her away. Alone. I will question her myself.”
“Yes, sir,” the man says, and I hear his footsteps grow quiet as he leaves, barking out the orders he was just given.
Weston turns back toward me, his face falling, and it is only then that I notice the uncontrollable tears still streaming down my cheeks.
“Lennox, baby, you’re safe. It’s over. Please don’t cry.” He leans forward to press a kiss to my forehead, but before he gets close enough, his body jolts to a stop, and a look of anguish fills his face.
All I want is to feel his lips on me, even just the barest brush against my skin, but he can’t.
We can’t. Not here, in the midst of the chaos, so soon after I almost didn’t live to ever feel his lips again.
The pain on his face looks like it is eating him alive, not being able to touch me like he wants to, especially in this moment, and I know exactly what he is feeling.
I was so close to losing him, losing everything, and I can’t even tell him all that I wanted to say.
But more than that, it’s clear things are going to be different than they were in Dawnlin, although still eerily similar.
The way he commands everything around him, and the way everyone defers to his direction, even after all this time. They respect him.
A woman kneels beside Weston, and I recognize her immediately. Roxyana has been a healer in the castle for a long time and has tended to more than one of my scrapes or wounds over the years. But she’s never seen me like this.
“What happened?” she asks firmly as her eyes rake over my body, assessing before she lays a hand on me.
“He strangled her.” Weston’s throat bobs, and the muscle in his cheek flickers before he speaks again. “She lost consciousness for a few minutes. She wouldn’t respond, and then she did. Her breathing has been shallow since. She can’t speak.”
Roxyana gives him a brief nod, but she stays focused on me. “Please step back,” she says and raises her arm to make room for her to get closer to me.
The threatening growl from Weston’s chest is audible.
“No.”
She shoots him an exasperated look, her mouth in a tight line. “I need space to examine the princess if I am to make sure there’s no permanent damage.”
Weston looks pained, as if it’s taking him extra effort to step away, but he doesn’t.
His hands immediately find his head, wringing his hair as he watches the healer shift in front of me.
Her hands are gentle as she begins, starting at the top of my head and working her way down.
When she brushes the column of my neck, I can’t stop the whimper that escapes my throat or the rapid breathing accompanied by a cower.
Weston starts toward me, but stops himself as she pulls her hands away quickly.
“I won’t harm you, princess,” she says. “I just need to examine you to see what harm was done.”
My eyes flick back up to Weston, and I can see the tension rippling through his body. I look back at her and try to mutter the only word I can manage in this moment. Sound barely comes out, and the movement is still laced with pain, but I give her my consent.
“Yes.”
She moves slowly so as not to startle me, reaching up and gently pressing into the muscles of my neck, feeling the structures, and checking my face for any sign of pain at her touch.
Fingertips press into the back of my neck, sliding down my spine and into my shoulders, pressing every bone, muscle, and ligament.
Her face stays locked in a firm look of concentration that doesn’t change even when she releases me.
“How badly did he hurt her?” Weston says impatiently.
Roxyana sits back on her heels and folds her hands onto her lap. “The princess is very lucky. Things could have been much worse. Everything seems to be intact, but she will be in a bit of pain for a while. She will need rest.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” he grumbles, and she moves again.
She looks into each of my eyes and instructs me to follow her commands.
Moving my eyes and face, blinking at her, wiggling my toes and fingers.
I follow each as best I can, but my body is weak.
Even though I can do them, it feels too difficult, like I’m having to push my body too hard to accomplish something so simple.
“It might be difficult to speak for a while,” she says once she seems satisfied that my body didn’t lose any function, “but other than the pain and the voice, I do not believe you will have lasting damage.”
Weston’s hands fall to his knees as he lets out a gust of breath.
My chest squeezes as I take him in, back hunched and head hanging between his shoulders.
I would feel just as relieved as he looks if our roles were reversed, but I can imagine it’s affecting him even more knowing the guilt he feels for Dane hurting me once again.
Roxyana stands and smoothes her skirts. “I will still continue to monitor you closely, just to be sure. We will give you a tonic to help with the pain. Strict bed rest for at least a week while the muscles heal.”
“Thank you,” Weston breathes, straightening to his full height again, just as the healer drops into a deep curtsey.
“Sir?” Another guard strides toward us as Roxyana turns away. His voice is breathless as he rushes to Weston, and it’s only then that I recognize him. He was one of the older guards who stood in the hall, who watched Brynne lead us to the throne room.
And he called Weston, sir.
Did he recognize him? Does he remember him? Is that how this nightmare ended?
“What?” Weston says, turning to face the guard.
“The king is asking for her,” he says, looking down toward me, his face solemn and respectful. He drops to a knee in a quick bow, dipping his head, before rising up once again. “Princess. The healers say he doesn’t have much time.”
“Thank you,” Weston mutters, then sinks down beside me again. “Do you want to see him?”
His brow is soft as he scans my face, waiting for my answer.
Do I? It feels odd having the choice, but I have been honest with Weston about the relationship I had with my father.
He must know how difficult it could be for me, and how much of our history might prevent me from wanting to speak to him, but just like back in Dawnlin, he’s giving me the ability to choose, like I told him I always wanted.
His hand finds mine, and he squeezes reassuringly. “I know things between the two of you were not great when you left, and I would understand if you don’t.”
Staring blankly at him, I try to push through the fog in my mind that is still recovering from being deprived of air for so long, that is still reeling from everything that has happened tonight.
I didn’t get to say goodbye to one parent, and despite my father and my history, I don’t want to regret choosing to ignore him now.
The gods kept him alive long enough to save my life, and there must have been a reason.
Maybe it was only to give me the chance to let him go, to have closure, to walk into my reign with a logical mind and not worry about who I am trying to impress.
My voice is scratchy and barely audible when I force out my answer.
“Yes.”