Chapter 38
KALLIE
Kallie's limbs were frozen as she sat in the deep tub with her arms wrapped around her legs. The once scorching water, now lukewarm after sitting in it for who knows how long, had done little to bring life back into her body.
After the normal training with Ellie and then getting kicked on her ass by Dani, Kallie had returned to her room and immediately had a bath drawn. But it wasn't just her muscles that ached; the moment the handmaiden had left the room and the door clicked shut, Kallie had entered the bathtub and tears immediately erupted.
Kallie didn't know when the tears had stopped streaming down her face in torrents. She could still feel them staining her cheeks, the steam from the water having caused the salt to stick to her skin.
For once in her life, numbness didn't coat her mind. And even though she knew she shouldn't, Kallie almost missed it.
She missed the way the numbness shielded everything. The way it kept the world at bay and allowed her to live ignorantly.
But now that her mind was broken? Now that her insides had shattered into crystal glass shards, the images within them distorted and untouchable with their sharp edges? Kallie felt everything all too much.
It was as if Dani had caused something to snap within Kallie when she had forced her to her knees.
Dani's gaze bled with so much hate and pain. It was the first time Kallie had truly come face-to-face with the consequences of her actions.
It didn't matter what Graeson had said. It didn't matter if Domitius and Myra had altered her mind; Kallie was still to blame.
One thought after another weighed down on her as she sat in the tub.
But she couldn't focus on a singular thought. Not when there were too many holes that had been ripped in the fabric of her life.
For years, Kallie had lived a lie, a fabrication she had been made to believe was the truth. What was she supposed to do now that she knew her reality had only been a simple manipulation?
It was almost laughable.
The manipulator had been manipulated.
The woman who had vowed against love when she was a young girl had been betrayed by the one man she thought would never betray her. And even further, she had been betrayed by her best friend, Myra, whom Domitius had instructed to twist Kallie's mind while snaking her way into her heart.
Kallie shouldn't have been surprised.
She should have seen through the deceptions, the lies, the stained glass.
Yet she had ignored the warning signs. She never questioned Myra's presence or why she always felt better after Myra held her.
She had pretended that the holes in Domitius's story--the lack of paintings of her mother, the dismissal of her brothers' involvement in her initial abduction, the endless assignments furthering his own agenda--didn't exist.
The tears threatened to return, but she had no more to give.
Kallie bit down on her lip, pain spiking as her teeth pierced through her skin. She curled her fingers, balling her hands into tight fists beneath the water.
When she was told Domitius had kidnapped her, she had been made to believe that he had done it to protect her. When confronted, Domitius had said he kidnapped her because her mother wished to use her for her gift, that Kallie had been born simply to be used by the Queen of Pontia.
Then, when she was told Domitius had killed the father whose blood ran in her veins, Domitius had told her that he was her father--the one who had raised her, cared for her, and given her everything she needed in life.
He had turned it around on her, as if she was in the wrong for questioning him. As if she was claiming he had not been good enough after everything he had done for her.
When Fynn died, Domitius claimed he was a needed sacrifice, a death that couldn't have been avoided because of Kallie's actions. An unfortunate casualty, but one that shouldn't have been a concern of hers.
Fynn did not care about her, Domitius had said. The prince had only wished for Kallie's demise.
And when Kallie had agreed to marry the King of Frenzia, she'd been told it was to gain her crown, not to give Domitius access to a sea of knowledge.
Domitius had told her he cared for her.
He assured her the crown would be hers.
The power would be hers.
He never told her, however, that he loved her. Never once had he uttered those words in all those years she had lived within the marble castle. Not even as a child.
And the worst part? Kallie was led to believe that was normal and was to be expected of a parent, of a father, of a king.
Rulers were above love, for love weakened and love destroyed.
That's what he had said to her when she had asked about her mother at seven years old with bright, wide blue eyes and an eager, scared mind.
When seven-year-old Kallie had finally gotten the courage to ask the question that rose in her mind at every turn, at every glance in the mirror, every time she had seen another child's mother in the castle, he had looked at her with such disappointment and resentment.
All Kallie had asked was to see a painting of her mother, to get one glimpse of the woman whose eyes Kallie must have shared because she looked nothing like her father. But when the question had left her lips, Domitius had grabbed Kallie's chin, his grip pinching as he forced Kallie to meet his gaze.
As Kallie stared up at the king, tears rolled down the soft contours of her cheeks. His attention immediately went to them, tracking them with a predatory gaze.
His nose twitched as he hissed, "Queens do not cry over the dead."
"But--" Kallie had begun before snapping her mouth shut as he shook his head.
"Am I not enough for you? Is all of this"--he waved a hand at his office and the castle at large--"Not enough for you, Kalisandre?"
Her lip quivered. "But my mother--" she tried.
Domitius shook his head again. "A mother would not solve your problems for you."
"Then what will?" Kallie asked, her voice just as meek and small as she felt.
A fire had sparked in Domitius's eyes then, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. "You, Kalisandre. You will solve all of my-- our problems."
"Me?" She struggled to understand him.
So much hope had filled his eyes at that moment that Kallie couldn't help but believe him when he said, "Yes, you."
She was too young to see the truth then. Too naive and ignorant to see the hunger and greed stewing beneath the falsified hope he portrayed.
That was the night her training had begun.
When the King of Ardentol had begun to shape and mold Kallie into his weapon. Kallie, a child then, had thought it was to better her, to make her stronger and more capable. She thought it was for her benefit.
She never saw the truth, though.
She never saw through his endless lies, the falsehoods that slipped so easily from his tongue.
She never questioned why she couldn't manipulate him. Why, every time she got mad or angry at him for sending her off on another assignment or locking her in the room after she had been out past curfew, she couldn't manipulate him like she was learning to do to others.
But whenever she thought to do it, something would pull the rage back. A little voice in her mind would whisper into her bloodstream that he was doing it for her, that these punishments were only to make her stronger, better, more .
But now, as the water of the tub lapped at her skin, as the sweltering heat in the air stuck to her neck, as sweat beaded on her flesh, she saw the truth at last.
Finally, she saw the bull king for the bastard he was, and her best friend for the traitor she had always been.
Domitius and Myra would pay.
They would pay for every assignment, every betrayal, every life they had forced Kallie to take.
Even if it was the last thing she did.
Even if it meant she had nowhere to run to, no castle to her name.
She would destroy them.
She would destroy everything the king cared about by becoming the blade that would pierce his very heart.
One day, anyway.
Because right now, despite this newfound resolve, all she could do was lie in her filth, her head resting atop her knees as she held herself as if she might fall apart.
She tried to stuff all the feelings back inside and stitch herself back together. She tried to hide away everything she had been ignoring, but she couldn't.
Without the block that Myra had placed in her mind, Kallie was drowning in her thoughts and emotions: her dead brother, her pretend father who had never cared, the fire in the temple, the fire all those years ago that had started it all.
Her life had become a series of fires and lies, and she couldn't find her way out.
It was an endless cycle, an endless torrent that kept repeating and repeating. But she needed it to stop. She needed it to stop like she needed air.
Kallie tried counting.
One.
Breathe in.
Two.
Hold.
Three.
Breathe out.
A knock came at the door, but she ignored it. She started counting again.
One.
Two.
Three.
Shoes clapped against the ground, and her eyes sprung open. Soaked tendrils of her hair had fallen in front of her face, but she didn't dare move. She pretended he wasn't there. She tried counting again, trying to focus on the numbers, her breathing, and most definitely not on Graeson's presence.
One--
"Kalisandre," Graeson said. But based on his voice, he was still several feet away. Near the threshold of the bathing chambers, if Kallie had to guess.
So she ignored him, hoping he would leave.
She squeezed her eyes closed and willed him to go away.
If the gods wished to show her any mercy, they would make him leave.
But did she deserve their mercy? She had brought this on herself after all, hadn't she?
Deep breath in.
One. Two--
Steps lightly rapped against the bathroom tile.
What number was she at? Her brows furrowed.
No matter. She started over.
One.
Exhale .
She could feel his approach, and something within her stirred. She quickly shook it away. But as she tried to count again, fingers brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, the pads of them rough.
Kallie didn't dare breathe as Graeson's hand remained on her face a moment longer, cupping her cheek. His thumb circled the space beneath her ear, but she didn't raise her gaze to meet the silvereyes she knew she would find.
"Kalisandre," he whispered.
Kallie took in a sharp inhale as the sound of her name repeated on his tongue. Her brows drew together, and her eyes cracked open slightly.
Graeson knelt beside the tub, an arm resting on the edge.
Staring at the top button of his black blouse, Kallie at last asked, "Why do you call me that?"
Graeson's fingers danced across the tub's ledge, the gold rings on them sparkling in the candlelight of the bathing chambers. "It is your name, is it not?"
Kallie could almost hear the smirk that was no doubt on his face.
"No one calls me that, though," she mumbled.
Besides Domitius, she thought.
She squeezed her arms tighter around her knees.
"Would you prefer that I call you something else?" he asked thoughtfully.
"I--" Kallie's mouth grew dry, and she tried to swallow. "I don't know. I just..."
Graeson sighed and shifted, getting more comfortable. "I call you Kalisandre not only because it is your name but because you asked me to when we were children."
"I did?" Kallie asked, taken aback. She recalled him calling her little mouse but not asking him to call her by her full name.
"You said it made you feel older." Graeson chuckled as if recalling the memory and scratched the back of his head, the fabric stretching across his arm. "You actually tried saying it made you feel respected, but back then S's and P's were kind of hard for you to say."
The corner of Kallie's lip twitched, but the smile quickly fell. Too much was on her mind.
Graeson sighed, his fingers tapping on the porcelain. "Will you please look at me, Kalisandre?" he murmured. He slipped his hand beneath her chin, coaxing her to raise her head. "A queen does not bow her head."
Kallie wanted to laugh, but she refrained from doing so. "I am no queen," she said, the words sour on her lips.
"You are right," he agreed after a moment.
Despite the truth of the words, pain still pierced her heart. She never would be a queen, and perhaps that was for the best.
But did Graeson think those words would help her? That they would clear the troubles from her mind? They might have been the truth, but they were a truth she had yet to come to terms with.
Without Frenzia's crown, or any crown for that matter, what was there for her in this world? When her mind broke, so too did her desire for that hunk of metal. It was as if the two were tied together so inextricably they could not dare part.
Kallie didn't know what to make of that.
She didn't know if she wanted to.
He quirked a brow. "You are so much more than that. You could be so much more than that if you just let yourself."
Kallie dropped her gaze. She had said it too many times to count, so she didn't need to waste her breath to repeat it. Graeson knew nothing. Gods, none of them did.
He sighed. "Come on, get up," Graeson said softly.
Kallie made some noncommittal noise in disagreement, for she still needed to wash herself.
His gaze scanned over her face, looking for an answer she didn't have.
She was so tired of the pitying eyes. She was tired of the silence that permeated any room she walked into, as if her mere presence was a storm that sent even the most skilled sailors scurrying away and hiding on land.
She was tired of feeling as if she had been buried alive with no way out.
She was tired of people taking a step back when she took a step forward.
Kallie tilted her head to the side as she looked at Graeson.
Unlike the others, Graeson never stepped away from her.
She lifted a hand, splaying it across his chest. She may have been in pieces, broken and discarded, but right now, she didn't care. She didn't care if she never felt whole again.
Because right now, as she ran her fingers over the polished buttons of his cotton shirt, all she wanted was to feel something .
Anything other than this grief that crawled over her skin and soaked into her veins.
But as Kallie made to speak, Graeson stood and disappeared out of the bathing chambers. Her hand hung in the air, quickly growing cold and limp without Graeson's warmth.
She shook her head, shooing away the thoughts inching to the surface.
Part of Kallie was thankful for the peace his leave brought, but another part of her crumbled as she watched him turn his back on her. The least he could have done was shut the door.
She closed her eyes again.
She would get up, she told herself.
Soon.
In a moment, she would wash her hair, rinse the scum from her skin, then get out of the tub. That was only three things; how hard could it be?
Seconds went by, yet she did none of that.
Then footsteps sounded outside once again.
Her eyes sprung open as Graeson reentered her bathing chambers carrying an iron bucket.
"If you insist on staying in there, you can at least do so with fresh, warm water," he said, sitting the bucket on the ground. "Do you need anything else?"
Kallie shook her head, a flush climbing up her neck. Only the sound of the water lightly hitting the sides of the tub and their breaths filled the room.
Then he turned to leave again.
"Wait," she breathed.
Graeson's steps stopped.
Silence filled the air as Kallie cursed herself for speaking. She hadn't meant to, yet the word slipped free, nevertheless.
He stared at a spot on his shoulder as if he couldn't bring himself to look at her fully. She wished he would.
"Do you want me to leave?" Graeson asked carefully.
Did she want that? Was being alone better than being in his company? For some reason, Kallie did not think so.
"Kalisandre, I need you to tell me." His voice was soft yet stern.
Still, Kallie said nothing.
But then, when she heard him begin to shift his weight as if to leave once more, she whispered, barely audible, "Stay."
His hesitation lasted less than a second. "All right."
He sat on the stool behind her head, his knees brushing against the porcelain tub. Somewhere behind her, in the bucket perhaps, she heard the sound of water sloshing.
"May I?" he asked.
She glanced up. "Hmm?"
Graeson cleared his throat. "May I help you? If you wish for privacy, I'm sure we could lay a--"
Kallie closed her eyes. "It's fine." She scooted forward a couple of inches away from the back of the tub, her movements slow and uncoordinated from having been sedentary for so long. Then, she tipped her head back.
"I--okay," Graeson stammered, almost as if unsure of himself.
A stream of water flowed down the back of her head moments later. He held his other hand at the edge of her hair, preventing water from spilling down her face.
Then, Graeson cursed.
"What is it?" Kallie asked, beginning to sit up.
"Nothing. It's fine," he mumbled. "Just a little water."
A second later, a swatch of black fabric was tossed onto the ground. Heat rose to her cheeks as she glimpsed his black shirt from the corner of her eye, but she said nothing.
Soon, the smell of citrus filled the room. She took a deep, shaky inhale before shutting her eyes again. He placed one hand on her forehead as he dripped the soap onto her hair.
Graeson worked quietly as if washing her hair was a job that required his sole attention. He scrubbed from the front of her hairline to the base of her neck. His fingers wove into her hair, scratching her skull and spreading the soap into a lather.
She would never have guessed they were the hands of a man who fought with the strength of ten men as they ran through her tangled waves, massaging her scalp with a careful touch.
Then his hands traveled to the divots between her shoulders, his thumbs circling. The proper thing would have been to tell him to stop, that she did not deserve this kind of treatment, but as he continued to apply pressure, the release felt too good to deny it.
"I wish...I wish I could take it all back," Kallie whispered finally.
"It does not do anyone any good living in the past," Graeson scolded.
She smiled sadly. "Dani hates me."
"Dani does not--"
Kallie arched a brow and snorted.
"She doesn't hate you," Graeson said, though his words were less convincing. "She is still grieving. She just needs time."
"There is not enough time in the world that would make her forgive me."
Silence fell between them then, and Kallie couldn't blame Graeson for hesitating. And perhaps it was wrong of her to express her feelings to him when Fynn was his best friend, too. A part of Graeson must have hated her too, yet he never showed it.
"Dani is mad at all of us right now," he said at last.
Her eyes widened in surprise. "Why is she mad at you?"
He chuckled. "She's always mad at me for one reason or another. This time it might be because I am the one who dragged her here and let Domitius slip through our hands."
Kallie recalled the events Terin had relayed to her in the infirmary, and her brows drew together. "But from what Terin told me, that is not your fault. You saved her."
"Sure, but she does not see it that way." He shrugged.
"And Terin? Why is she mad at him?"
Graeson sighed. "She knows that he still has a connection to Fynn."
Kallie bit her lip. She had hoped that Terin had listened to her suggestion of letting Dani speak to him, but it seemed he hadn't.
"Fynn didn't want her to know," she murmured.
"Terin told her and I as much, but that does not lessen the pain. When he refused to let her talk to him, she was enraged. She still is."
"And Terin hasn't given in?"
Graeson shook his head.
"Maybe he should," Kallie said.
"Maybe."
Graeson's palms rolled over her shoulders, and the tension in her body lessened. She focused on her breathing, taking deep, slow breaths.
Then she sunk back into his hands, stretching out her legs, her arms resting over the sides of the tubs. After a moment, Graeson's hands stopped, and Kallie's eyelids fluttered open. Although she couldn't see him, she didn't need to in order to realize why he had stopped.
When he had entered the room, she had been covering herself with her limbs. But now, with her legs stretched out, her arms hanging on the side of the tub, she was laid bare before him. The peaks of her breasts lay above the water.
"I thought you said you wouldn't look?" Kallie asked, unable not to poke fun at him and break the tension.
Graeson cleared his throat. Once. Twice. Three times. "I--I wasn't."
"Mhm," Kallie hummed. "Don't worry. If there was someone else in this tub instead of me, I would probably have a hard time looking away, too." She forced her tone to be nonchalant, smug. Unfazed.
This was normal, she told herself. But another part of her said that it was a distraction, a way to divert the wayward thoughts that had consumed her earlier.
But she didn't care.
She inhaled, holding her breath, and submerged herself under the water, fully realizing that it only made her more vulnerable to prying eyes. But also fully knowing she did not care if he looked at her.
She was never one to be self-conscious of her body. To her, it was another tool. However, there was no longer a need for her to use her body against Graeson, was there?
She stayed under the water, scratching her scalp to remove the soap from her hair.
And perhaps she stayed under the water for a little longer than she needed to because she didn't know how to face him now.
After drowning out the intrusive thoughts, she resurfaced, but Graeson was gone when she opened her eyes. His black shirt, discarded on the ground, was the only proof that he had even been there at all.