CHAPTER 18 - THE DAGGER AT DAWN
Sleep never truly finds me.
Not the kind that wraps itself around your mind and pulls you gently into dreams. Not the kind that softens your thoughts and lets your body forget the world for a few hours.
What I experience instead is something closer to exhaustion pretending to be sleep.
My body lies still beneath the heavy blankets of the king's bed, but my mind refuses to rest. Every small sound pulls me halfway awake again. The quiet shifting of fabric when I turn. The faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth. The steady breathing from the couch across the room.
His breathing.
The king sleeps ten steps away from me.
That thought returns again and again throughout the night like a needle scratching the same place in my mind.
Every time my eyes close, they open again minutes later.
Every time my body begins to relax, my thoughts remind me where I am.
In the chambers of the most feared man in the kingdom.
The man who has buried wives before me.
Eventually exhaustion drags me into shallow sleep anyway.
When morning finally comes, I wake slowly, as if pulled from deep water.
The room is gray with early dawn.
Cold light leaks through the tall windows, washing the stone walls in pale color that makes everything look harder and sharper. The fire in the hearth has died down to a bed of dull red embers, casting only faint warmth into the air.
For a moment I simply lie there.
Then a sound shatters the quiet.
A drawer slams shut.
The crack of wood against wood echoes sharply through the room.
My body reacts before my thoughts do.
My eyes snap open. I sit upright in the bed so suddenly the blankets slide down around my waist.
Across the room Achilles is already awake.
He stands near the cabinet along the wall, his back partially turned toward me. One hand grips the edge of the cabinet hard enough that the wood creaks faintly beneath his fingers.
His other hand is pressed tightly against his side.
For a few seconds I simply watch him.
Something about the way he moves feels wrong. His shoulders rise and fall with careful breaths, the kind people take when they are trying not to make a sound. His posture is tense, the muscles along his back tightening beneath his shirt as he shifts slightly.
He opens another drawer.
It slams shut again.
Then another.
And another.
The sound grows louder each time.
I can see irritation building in the way he moves. The sharper movements. The tightening of his jaw. The short, controlled breaths that escape him.
Then suddenly
He stops.
Just for a moment.
His head dips forward slightly.
And a sound escapes him.
A groan.
It is soft.
Low.
Almost swallowed by the room.
But I hear it.
My first instinct is to remain perfectly still.
Invisible.
Because invisibility has protected me for most of my life.
But something else pushes through the fear.
Concern.
I watch him for another moment. His hand is still pressed against his side. The tension in his shoulders is growing.
He opens another drawer.
Slams it shut again.
The wood rattles loudly.
I swallow.
Maybe I should say something.
Maybe I absolutely should not.
My mind immediately begins arguing with itself.
Do not get involved.
He is dangerous.
He might turn around and kill you.
But another thought pushes through.
He sounded like he was in pain.
I hesitate for several long seconds.
Then I try.
"Your... Majesty?"
The title feels safer than his name.
The words come out quiet.
Careful.
But he does not react.
Either he does not hear me
Or he chooses not to.
He keeps searching through the cabinet with growing irritation.
Another drawer slams.
Another quiet groan escapes him when he twists slightly.
That sound decides it.
I push the blankets aside and slide carefully out of the bed. The floor is cold beneath my bare feet. Every step toward him feels dangerous. The distance between us shortens slowly.
He still does not notice me.
He is too focused on whatever he is looking for.
I stop a few feet behind him.
He opens another drawer.
Empty.
Slams it shut again.
My hand lifts slowly.
I hesitate one last time.
Then I touch his shoulder.
For the smallest fraction of a second
Nothing happens.
He spins around with terrifying speed.
The movement is so fast I barely see it happen.
One moment his back is turned
The next moment steel flashes in the gray morning light.
And suddenly
There is a dagger at my throat.
The blade stops so close to my skin that I feel the cold of the metal against my neck.
My breath stops completely.
I cannot move.
Cannot think.
Cannot even blink.
His face is inches from mine.
Up close he is far more frightening than he was yesterday in court.
The scars are more visible here in the pale morning light raised lines cutting across one side of his face, the skin uneven where old wounds healed badly. His eyes are sharp and alert, filled with the kind of instinct that comes from a life where hesitation means death.
For a single terrifying moment I truly believe he is going to kill me.
Then recognition flickers across his expression.
The dagger lowers slightly.
But the fear does not.
"Jesus, woman," he mutters harshly. "Make noise."
My mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
My entire body has gone rigid with terror.
He drags a hand over his face in obvious irritation.
"What are you?" he mutters. "A ghost?"
My heart is still racing so violently that it hurts.
Then he adds something else.
"Next time I'll tie a bell around your throat."
the way he says it
Low.
Through clenched teeth.
Makes it sound darker.
like a warning.
My throat tightens painfully.
He studies my face for a moment.
Then his expression hardens again.
"Don't look like you're about to die," he snaps.
The words hit me harder than I expect.
How can I not look like I'm about to die?
You nearly killed me two seconds ago.
But I do not say that.
Because arguing with a man holding a dagger seems like a terrible idea.
Instead I stand there.
Frozen.
My hands trembling slightly at my sides.
My breathing shallow.
He watches me for another moment before turning away abruptly.
Storming out of the room without another word.
The door slams behind him.
And suddenly
I am alone.
For several seconds I remain exactly where I am.
My mind struggling to understand what just happened.
Then the shaking begins.
Small at first.
Just my hands.
Then my arms.
Then my entire body.
Tears blur my vision before I even realize I am crying.
I cover my mouth quickly to keep the sound from escaping.
Because even though he is gone
Fear still lingers in the room like smoke.
I slowly sit down on the edge of the bed.
My chest aches.
Not from injury.
From the realization of how close that blade came. I had told myself I made peace with death. When my father told me I would be sent here. When I chose to take my sister's place. When I stood before the court and bowed goodbye.
I told myself I was ready.
But the moment that dagger touched my throat All that courage disappeared.Because accepting death in theory is very different from feeling it against your skin.
Time passes slowly.
Eventually the tears stop.
My breathing steadies.
The morning light grows brighter. The palace begins to wake. Finally there is a knock at the door.
I flinch instinctively.
But when the door opens
It is only the maids.
They bow quietly before entering.
No one asks about my red eyes.
No one mentions the tear marks on my face. They simply begin preparing me for the day.
My hair is brushed.
A simple dress is chosen. The process happens in quiet efficiency. When they finish, one of them opens the door.
And I see him.
Elias.
He stands waiting in the hallway.
The moment I recognize him something inside my chest loosens.
Relief floods through me so suddenly it almost feels like weakness.
Because he is not the king.
He is familiar.
Safe.
The closest thing I have to a friend in this frightening palace.
Elias looks up when I step into the hall.
His sharp eyes study my face carefully.
Noticing more than I want him to.
But he says nothing.
Just inclines his head slightly.
And for the first time since the dagger touched my throat
I feel like I might survive this day.