32. “Angels Like You” - Miley Cyrus
“Angels Like You” - Miley Cyrus
The palace is abuzz with that predinner hum I’m slowly growing accustomed to.
Staff members halt their various tasks to bow their heads as I pass, something I hardly notice anymore.
While I’m certainly more comfortable with the routines of the royal household now and no longer get lost on my way to the dining room, I seriously doubt whether these cold rooms will ever feel like home.
In exchange for becoming a household name and my picture someday being featured on banknotes and stamps, I have given up the chance to ever feel truly at home again.
My heels click a rapid staccato on the tiled floors, occasionally muffled by carpets as I pass through salons and drawing rooms, their drapes now closed against the glow of the setting sun. Dinner will be served in an hour, and Henry will not be present. The reminder stings, sharp and visceral.
I’m walking through the Blue Salon, and distracted as I am by my thoughts, I’m not sure I would have noticed the figures were it not for the whimper. They’re huddled together in a corner not yet lit by the lamps.
I stop, the rhythm of my steps coming to an abrupt halt. The king is seated on the floor, a position I’ve never seen him in, and Argos’s chocolate-colored head lies in his lap. William is stroking his velvety ears and murmuring in tones so low I can’t make out the words.
If he notices my presence, he doesn’t acknowledge it, just keeps speaking in a soothing voice to his dog, who isn’t doing well at all.
Without a thought to what I’m doing, I move closer.
Argos doesn’t lift his head, but his eyes flicker toward me.
I see pain reflected there. I kneel down and place my hand on his forehead.
“The vet said he won’t last through the night,” the king mumbles.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, settling myself down beside Argos. “Is there anything we can do to make him more comfortable?”
William looks at me, and with a start, I recognize Henry’s dark eyes in his. Gone is their usual hard glint; instead, they’re overflowing with sorrow. My heart softens ever so slightly.
“Won’t be much longer now. A stronger person would’ve had him put to sleep, but I didn’t want him dying on an operating table. This is his home.”
I nod. “Do you mind if I stay?”
William’s only answer is a grunt, which I take as an invitation. Stroking the soft fur between his eyes, I will Argos to leave this world peacefully and without pain. He just looks at me, his wet eyes luminous and beseeching. Poor baby. I press a kiss to his nose. It’s cold.
I study the king covertly, keeping my head down.
He’s slumped over on the floor, his back to the wall, his legs splayed in both directions.
It can’t be comfortable, but by all appearances, he’s been here for a while.
His suit is wrinkled and he’s kicked off his shoes, leaving stockinged feet, the sight of which feels strangely intimate.
I want to hate him. I do hate him for what he did to Henry. But at the same time, my heart breaks for him. Right now he isn’t a harsh and imposing king or a cold and molesting father. He’s a man watching his dog die, and it’s killing him.
“I got him when he was a pup,” he says.
I feign a stretch to cover my startle reflex at the sound of his voice. “How old is he?”
“Fourteen.” William runs a hand over his face in a gesture that reminds me so much of Henry my heart gives a tiny jolt.
I decide to just let him talk. What is there to say, anyway?
“He followed me everywhere I went. Everyone thought I was ridiculous for getting a dog, but I had one when I was young. Best part of my life.” He strokes Argos’s head, his fingers nearly colliding with mine.
I move my hand to the dog’s belly. “When I lost that dog, I was a mess. My mother didn’t know what to do with me.
Offered to get me another one, but I refused.
Another dog can’t take the place of the one you love, you know?
” He looks at me, and I nod, not sure what else there is to do.
“You ever have a dog?” he asks.
“My mum’s allergic. I’ve always wanted one, though.”
William grunts—in approval, I guess. It’s hard to know.
“They’re like people,” I say softly. “Once they’re in our hearts, it’s impossible to root them out.”
“They’re better than people. Dogs don’t hurt you.” His words hang in the air, a dark, heavy fog swirling around us.
“Not everyone means to hurt others,” I say.
“But some do.” The king’s jaw clenches tightly.
I wonder if he’s including himself in that quantification.
“My father told me I deserved to watch my dog die if I was going to act like a sissy about it. He’d love seeing me like this.
” His upper lip pulls into a sneer. “A grown man—the fucking king—crying over a dog,” he says, swiping at his nose.
“Sometimes it takes more strength to show emotion than to hide it.” I pause to contemplate the words before I ask, “Does Henry know? About Argos?”
William snorts his derision. “He doesn’t care about him.”
I feel deep trenches forming in my brow as I say, “He loves this dog. He would want to know.”
“Nothing he can do about it.”
“All the same, I’d like to tell him, if you don’t mind.”
“Suit yourself.”
I pull my phone from my bag to send Henry a text. I’m searching through my contacts before I remember that I deleted his number weeks ago.
I’ll message him on Instagram. I open the app, and Bea’s story icon winks at me with its colorful ring. I realize I haven’t seen her for the past two days. I click on it and immediately regret it.
A photo fills my screen, evidently taken at a club, based on the lights and closely pressed bodies in the background.
Henry’s and Beatrice’s faces beam at me, cheeks pressed together, eyes bright from what was likely an insane number of cocktails.
God, they look so good together, with their perfect symmetry and their flawless skin.
I tap to the next photo, taken right after the first. They’re in the same position, but this time Bea’s planting a saucy kiss on Henry’s cheek, her arm wrapped possessively around his shoulders. He’s grinning.
I toss the phone back into my bag. Let Henry find out about Argos himself.
No wonder the bastard had to jet off to London. He promised me he’d leave Bea alone, so he couldn’t very well mess around with her under my nose here in Wesbourne.
But her betrayal hurts even more. Technically, Henry doesn’t owe me anything, but Bea is my sister. Blood is supposed to be thicker than water.
If William notices the change in my demeanor, he doesn’t mention it. We sit there in silence, stroking Argos, our hearts breaking in tandem. His for the loss of his dog, mine for the loss of everything I hold dear.