Chapter 7 #2
When the meeting was over and the people filed out of the room, Myra had fully expected to hear the clang of the chains, despite the Queen’s reassurance that they were no longer prisoners.
Myra had been a prisoner for so long that feeling safe was a strange sensation.
Even when she was on the run with Rian and Laurince, paranoia weighed her down and made her steps heavy.
While some of that anxiety still existed, there was also an ounce of relief for once.
Around her, conversations stirred to life from those leaving the meeting.
Their voices were merely noise in her ears, though, her wayward thoughts consuming her.
Myra wasn’t sure where she was going, but she knew she needed to keep moving.
Everyone seemed to have something to do, somewhere to go, something to prepare for.
The Pontians were already making arrangements for their return to Pontia.
While Domitius had claimed Myra’s parents were from Pontia, Myra did not think Kallie or the others would want her to join them.
Even Rian, who the others had persuaded not to return to his kingdom yet, seemed to have a sense of purpose.
Myra chewed on the tip of her thumbnail as she walked down the hall aimlessly, her thoughts wandering beyond the castle’s wall. Someone called out, but Myra kept walking, her feet continuing forward. Whoever it was did not need her.
For nearly a decade, Domitius had dictated her life. Who was she now that she wasn’t Kallie’s handmaiden? Now that she was no longer a servant to the king?
"Myra, hold on a moment."
Muscle memory took over, and she spun around, folding into a curtsy.
"What are you doing?"
Myra peeked through the chunk of blonde hair that had fallen in her face. Laurince was hurrying toward her, amusement wrinkling the corners of his eyes. Her gaze trailed lower, and her breath caught in her throat. Did he…did he have a dimple?
"Uhm…" Myra stood, the movement more rigid than she would have liked. She smoothed out the fabric of her skirt, needing something to do. "A habit, I suppose." She peered down the hall. "Shouldn’t you be with His Majesty?"
"There are plenty of guards around," Laurince said with a shrug. "And I’m afraid I cannot help Rian right now. He’s spatting back and forth with that white-haired woman—Ellie, I think? You saw them in there. I’m not getting anywhere near that.
" He chuckled as he shifted his weight to his other foot.
"Is there something I can help you with then?" Myra asked.
The captain rubbed a hand over the scar that had finally scabbed over. "I was going to ask if you wanted to get some fresh air. After being stuck in that cell, I thought it would be good to—"
Myra’s eyes widened.
Laurince cut himself off, and a flurry of embarrassment rushed off him. He waved his hands frantically. "I didn’t mean—if you don’t want to—"
"I—" Myra swallowed. It was as if a dozen rocks sat on her tongue. Sweat dampened the back of her neck as she glanced between Laurince and the space behind him.
"What’s wrong?" Looking over his shoulder, Laurince did a double take.
Graeson was barreling toward them, his emotions unreadable.
"What do you want?" Laurince demanded, stepping in front of Myra as though to shield her.
Myra peeked around him.
Graeson raked a hand through his ink-black hair. The light seeping in from the windows caught on his scar, illuminating it. Instead of answering Laurince, he addressed her, "I only wanted to ask you a couple of questions."
Laurince side-stepped, blocking her from Graeson’s view. "Haven’t you asked enough? Ever since we came here, we’ve been interrogated. Can’t you—"
"It’s fine, Laurince," Myra said, stepping around him. "What did you wish to ask me?"
Laurince mumbled something under his breath, but it was too quiet for her to hear. His posture remained stiff beside her.
Graeson stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers. But as if second-guessing the movement, he removed one hand and rubbed his neck. It was Myra’s first time seeing him uneasy.
Curious, Myra cautiously reached out. At first, she struggled to find the invisible thread, for it was so thin that she nearly missed it.
But, once she did, she felt a nervous energy buzzing across the string of emotions that poured from him.
She quickly let go before she was tempted to dig further into his emotions.
After seeing how he had reacted the first time, Myra was not willing to experience his wrath again.
"I—" Graeson looked out the window, hesitating. "How was she?"
At Graeson’s question, Laurince marginally relaxed beside Myra.
"Your friends were right," Myra said with a soft smile. "Your mother is a fighter and hasn’t stopped fighting."
"But," Graeson tugged at the ends of his hair, "how did she look?"
A lump formed in Myra’s throat as sadness filled Graeson’s pained gaze.
She did not wish to tell him that Lysanthia was nearly skin and bone, that her hair had hung limp around her face, that her cheeks were sunken, and her skin nearly translucent.
He didn’t need to hear that. Graeson had not been shy about expressing his anger toward them during the meeting, but pain and anger had a way of blinding people.
Myra had no desire to make him feel worse.
"She’s alive."
"I see," Graeson said, tone hollow, understanding the truth behind the statement.
Silence filled the space between them, and the three of them stood there awkwardly.
Then Myra gasped, straightening as she recalled something else Lysanthia had said before they had left. "She did have a message for you, though."
"She did?" Graeson asked, hopeful.
"She said to tell you not to fear your true self. That you"—Myra wrung her hands together, struggling to remember the seer’s exact words—"you have to embrace it."
Graeson looked around the hall at the people who still lingered outside the council room. He took a small step closer. "Are you sure that’s what she said?"
Myra nodded. She was positive.
"Why didn’t you tell me sooner?"
Myra flinched, realizing her mistake. "I—I didn’t mean to—"
Laurince stepped in between them and pressed a hand against Graeson’s chest, preventing him from coming any closer. "It’s been a long day—actually, a long fucking few months. Lay off."
Graeson glanced down at Laurince’s hand, his nose twitching. The two men nearly stood toe-to-toe, almost matching in both height and stature. With one movement, Graeson swiped it away as if the caption was no more than a fly. To Laurince’s credit, he didn’t shrink back and instead held his ground.
"Do you know what she meant?" Myra asked, ignoring the overwhelming stench of masculinity.
Graeson’s attention snapped to her, and something she couldn’t pinpoint flashed across his face. He retreated one step, then another.
"It’s not important," he said before storming off in the opposite direction, his hands curled into tight fists.
"Did I—did I say something wrong?" Myra asked, staring blankly at Graeson’s back before he disappeared down an adjoining hall.
Laurince was silent beside her, and she couldn’t blame him.
Graeson was an anomaly she didn’t think anyone fully understood.
But there was something there, something she had spotted before he had spun around.
She only hoped that whatever it was, whatever he had to embrace, he would be able to do it before it was too late.