I slammed the door shut and ran. Ran for distance, for air because with each second it seemed to come less freely. I rounded one corner, then another, ignoring the questioning looks from the servants as I dashed by. Thankfully, none of my friends roamed the corridors. No one tried to make me stop. No one seemed to register the tears that had fallen.
That luck held until I swung around my third blind corner and ran right into someone. Slipped.
A hand reached out to steady me, but the moment I was on my feet, it released me, as if I were poisonous. When I pulled my gaze up, I swallowed.
“Lord Balik.” My voice was raspy, my breathing irregular. “I apologize.”
The Warden of the South stared down at me, golden eyes hard, though I detected a bit of concern there. But when he nodded and swerved around me, leaving me there without a word, I thought I probably imagined that concern.
Fates, he hated me. Hated what was inside me.
My chest tightened, and my already shallow breathing worsened. I couldn’t get a lungful, couldn’t think straight. Only once had I experienced anything close to this—when Prince Gervais of the Blood Court had arrived in Frostveil with Anna at his side.
Hide. You’ve shown too much weakness as it is. A small, rational part of my mind spoke through all the garbled thoughts.
I had to look strong. Had to pull myself together.
I shoved open the nearest door and slammed it shut behind me. Hand to my chest, I went to a bed that was stripped of blankets. Nothing else in the room either. I’d stumbled upon one of the spare bedrooms. Doing my best to regulate my erratic breathing, I perched on the edge, pressed my palms into the feather mattress, and tilted my chin to the ceiling, only for the door to swing inward on a groan.
My head snapped up. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
However, it wasn’t Thyra who stood in the doorway, but Lord Riis.
“I—won’t press,” he blurted. “But I wanted to make sure you weren’t injured. I saw you run into Lord Balik, then rush into this room. You appeared distressed.”
Clearly, because I hadn’t even seen Lord Riis, and he wasn’t exactly a pixie.
“I’m fi—fi—” a sob ripped up my chest.
Lord Riis inhaled. “You’re having a panic attack, Isolde. Like that one night.”
Ah yes. Who other than the Lord of Tongues had seen me run from Prince Gervais and into the kitchen the night of the ball? Lord Riis was always there. Always watching. But unlike that night, I’d not have him touching me or comforting me.
“Leave,” I muttered. “Please, just leave.”
He nodded. “I’ll find Vale.”
Lord Riis shut the door behind him. It was closed for no more than ten seconds before the hinges groaned, and Thyra entered. She took me in and poked her head out the door.
“I have it from here, Riis. Don’t send Vale.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said on the backend of a ragged breath.
“And I’m not going to make you,” she replied, shocking me to my core. “I’m sorry. I’ve been quite jealous at times and have taken it out on you.” She crossed the room and took a seat beside me before I registered her words. “Please, forgive me.”
At those words, words that I’d not expected to hear, my shadows settled. My breathing too. Finally, I let out a long exhale.
“I forgive you.” And it wasn’t even hard to do so. I didn’t want tension between us.
She nodded slowly. “The stress of figuring out the Crown and our shadows is a lot.”
“Yes, but I was actually being serious when I said I didn’t want to use it any more. Not just reactionary.”
“What? Why?”
“If I’m being honest, I don’t think I can control the Crown. And there’s a chance that no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be able to.” The Hallow had never made me feel right, and something in me understood that was a sign.
“Perhaps not,” Thyra mused. “And maybe we don’t need it to reach our goals.”
