I’mhangingtheapronback up on the hook I watched Vee take it from. My cake has finally finished baking, and I need to get myself out of the scullery before Marita comes to the kitchen to start making dinner. Sky’s Celestials protect whoever gets in Marita’s way when she starts cooking.
I’ve taken care to make sure everything I used and touched is spotless. I even brought the cake over to cool on an abandoned counter that looks as though it hasn’t been touched in a long time. As I look around the tiny corner of space, I realize there’s another apron hanging up over here. This one seems far nicer than the ones the servants and chef have for their daily use. Stitched on the front of it is a small pocket in the center of the chest cover with the tiniest embroidery on it. I step closer to look at the lavender apron and find the lettersAandCsewn on the corner of the pocket. My brows furrow as I try to think of what those letters could be, but I’m yanked from my thoughts as I hear a jostling begin in the scullery. Turning around, I see Vee quickly approaching.
“Ye best be getting on yer way, miss Azalea.” Vee gently grasps my arm and begins shuffling me out of the room, just as the kitchen and scullery come to life with servants preparing for dinner.
As Vee continues to push me out of the kitchen, I hear Marita round the corner and begin barking orders. I mouth a quick “thank you,” to Vee before stepping out of the kitchen and effectively closing off the chaos that was ensuing inside of it.
As I step into the hallway, I hear a commotion down the hall. I momentarily look back and forth between the hallway leading to my room so that I can get cleaned up before dinner, and where the commotion came from. Figuring that Braxton has already seen me with flour dusting my face and clothes, I head toward the noise, realizing as I step closer that it’s coming from Braxton’s study.
With my curiosity firmly gripping my decisions, I peek my head around the door to find the prince lazily sprawled out on one of the oversized armchairs that occupy the room.
An unnecessarily fancy glass sloshes around, spilling a brown liquid across his cream shirt as he adjusts his position. My eyes roam to the splatters of liquid glistening against the exposed skin on his chest. He seems unbothered by the mess he’s made, leaving me to believe that this was not his first drink.
I’ve never seen Braxton lose any semblance of control. Even during our suppers together, he has never once reached for his wine. Thus, I can’t help but feel slightly unnerved to find him like this. More than that though, I know this is a unique opportunity for me to exploit him for my benefit.
I watch him a moment longer, sure that he hasn’t noticed my presence yet, until he drawls, “care to join me, or are you in the business of staring tonight?”
I clear my throat, feeling a sudden sense of shame at being caught.
“You look comfortable,” I comment apathetically as I continue to study him.
“Ahh, princess,” he slurs the words as his eyes lock on my face. “So nice of you to join us.”
“Us?” I look around the empty room.
My question seems to prompt him to also pick his head up and survey the room. With a shrug, he takes another heavy gulp of liquor before fixing his glazed eyes back on me. “Me,” he corrects with a shrug.
“And what is the occasion for such… celebration?” I try to be careful in picking my words. I have no idea what stoking his anger could do to him while he’s clearly intoxicated.
“Celebrating?” He snorts into his glass. “I haven’t had something to celebrate in a very long time.” His eyes go distant as he looks into the roaring fire in front of him.
“So why all the liquor?” I sit across from him in the other armchair that practically swallows me whole. I could never figure out why these chairs were so big.
“You know they bear the same curse. I didn’t think it would expand, but they are just like you.”
“Who?” I prompted, sounding all too eager for answers. Braxton looks at me, as if he had forgotten my presence and is now surprised to have an audience.
“The servants,” he says, before taking another slow gulp of whatever is in his glass. He keeps his eyes pinned on me. “Do you know how exhausting it is to have no one to confide in? To have no one who knows the truth…” his voice drifts off as he looks away.
“You can confide in me,” I offer, leaning forward.
He laughs and shakes his head. “You’re actually the last person I can confide in, no matter how much I wish I could.”
My mind soaks up every crumb of answers his words might provide, and as I’m pondering them, he stands and beginsheading to the door. My mind reels as I try to think of something to say to make him stay. He stops when his fingers brush the doorknob and turns back to me.
“Some might think it could drive a person mad. Perhaps even turn them into a monster.” Braxton places his empty glass on the edge of his desk with a little too much force, causing a loud clang to echo through the room. “Is that what you think?” His voice is so soft now that I almost don’t hear him.
“That you’re a monster?” I ask, studying his expression. The liquor is making it harder for him to slide his mask of indifference on, which is the only reason I can see how much he cares about how I answer this. “Why does my opinion matter?”
A dark chuckle echoes through the silence that follows my question.
“Believe it or not, Wildflower, but your opinion is the only one that matters.” Without another word, Braxton stumbles out of his study.
Even in his drunken stupor, his words remain painfully cryptic. I should chase after him. I should demand more answers from him, or at the very least trick him into giving me some, but his words “your opinion is the only one that matters,”clang around inside my head, ultimately leaving me rooted in place.
15
Braxton
