Sleep didn’t find me no matter my fatigue. Silver lay atop my chest as I watched the small opening in the curtains turn darker—the sun was about to set.
My heart fought for its way out with every breath I took; my restless mind spun in a storm. I couldn’t face her lifeless eyes, not after what I’d done.
Silver stretched across my chest, deep in his slumber. I allowed myself a small smile at his unbothered muzzle before moving him onto the bed.
“Sorry, friend, I have to go,” I whispered when Silver meowed, complaining about the disturbance to his sleep.
The trousers sat comfortably on my body, the warm fabric felt nice to the touch. Mother would be furious were she to see my attire.Such an insult to our family,she would say. I contemplated changing, but the growing storm outside made the choice for me.
The walls buzzed with the storm’s whispers as I made my way up the stairs to Francis’ room. To my surprise, the room was vacant once I walked in after several failed attempts at knocking.
Did he leave without me?My heart galloped. Panic spread through my veins at the thought.
I turned to leave when my eyes caught a piece of parchment resting on his bedside table.
Cordelia.It read, when my hands reached for the letter.
Oh no. No, no, no. How could he leave without me?
“Snooping around, are we?” His voice came from behind me, making me jump. Francis walked into the room, his eyes planted on the parchment in my hands. His brows flew up. “Were you never told theft is punishable by death?”
“Sorry.” The heat went up my cheeks as I dropped the letter back onto his table. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“So I see.” He grabbed the cloak off the chair, fitting it around his shoulders.
“I thought you left without me.”
“As sweet as the thought is, I wouldn’t break my promise like that.” He showed me out of his room. “Come, we must be on our way if we are to make it on time.”
“Of course,” I mumbled, averting my gaze as I followed him down the stairs: away from his room, away from the letter he wrote to me.
Chapter 13. Disturbance of the Dead.
The storm calmed shortly into our trip, yet the drifts of snow were difficult to navigate nevertheless: Annabelle’s fatigue traveled through me with every step she took. I squeezed the reins tighter, forgetting of my injuries that ached from the sensation.
The gloves kept the burns away from unwanted eyes, yet my hands cried from having to wear the fabric so much—despite being used to such torture from a young age.
Mother had insisted my hands be covered in public ever since I’d turned five, only letting me go barehanded after the engagement. Was it to show off the ring to the Court and make their new alliance known, or perhaps to ensure my hand would never be taken by another—I would never know. Though, I supposed the latter, since I stopped wearing that ring right after my birthday: no matter her withering gazes at my bare finger.
I sighed, watching the snow fall on Annabelle’s mane. How could I be mad at the woman after knowing what I did now?
I’d often wondered whether she’d loved us, but now I wondered whether she’d known love at all? Betrayed by her parents, heartbroken by her lover, her firstborn stolen away from her while still an infant...
She’d become what she’d needed to be in order to survive, and I wondered if that would have been my fate had I stayed at the palace.
