“Rowan is not handling this well and I have a feeling Sebastian won’t either.”
“No. I imagine he won’t.”
Emily and her husband, Javier, who is the chief of security, greet us inside the main parlor, the large sweeping room where I broke the bust of Sebastian’s great-grandfather, which is how I ended up working in the palace in the first place. We exchange hellos, but I’m anxious to get upstairs to see my father, and Emily recognizes it.
“Let me take him for you.”
“Thank you!” I kiss Zayer’s head and set him down. He takes Emily’s hand, and I race up the large stone steps to the second floor and practically sprint to the guest wing where Sebastian had two rooms redone for my father.
There’s a doctor in scrubs and a white coat standing outside the room, pressed against the wall and on her phone. When she notices me coming, she immediately ends her call and stops me before I can enter.
“Your Majesty,” she says with a small curtsy that I’ll never in all my years get used to. I am an American girl who married the king of Messalina. It’s one thing for Sebastian to call me his queen, but it’s entirely something else for strangers to do it or consider me to be royalty.
I extend my hand. “Hi. I’m Bellamy.”
She blinks at me, stunned by my lack of formality and airs, but quickly adjusts. “All right, Bellamy. I am Dr. Leigh, but you can call me Jocelyn. I am the attending physician on your father’s case, but purely from an orthopedic standpoint. That said, I have been collaborating with his regular neurologist, Dr. Franks.”
“How is my father?” I ask, cutting past all the bullshit I have no time or desire for.
“He is…comfortable,” she says after a slight pause. “He’s been quite disoriented as well as combative. He’s confused, which is natural with his condition, especially after a big episode. Those seem to make confusion worse for patients. His cold isn’t helping things either.”
“How long will he have to stay sedated?”
She shifts her stance. “It’s unclear at this time. We don’t love sedating people for long periods of time, and the medication won’t help his cognitive function. Unfortunately, it’s a balancing act. We’re hoping we can keep him on something light that will be just enough to keep him calm and comfortable and yet awake and as alert as he can be.”
I swallow past the tight lump forming high in my throat and force a jerky nod. “I just want him comfortable and at peace as much as possible. I know he’s slipping away. I know it. I’m just not…” I blow out a breath and stare up at the ceiling, willing the tears that burn the backs of my eyes away. “I’m just not ready for the next phase of this.”
Her hand clasps my shoulder and I lower my chin until our eyes meet. “No one is. He is your father. My own papa struggled with cancer for years and it never gets easier. But may I say, your expectations are reasonable and where they should be. We can make him comfortable, and we can take the edge off his aggression. That’s about the best we can do though.”
“I appreciate your candor,” I tell her, sincerity bleeding from my lips. “May I go in and see him?”
“Of course.” She gives me a slight smile and steps back, giving me access to my father’s room.
I twist the knob and immediately note how warm it is in here. Practically sweltering, even in this centuries-old palace made of stone, so therefore more influenced by the weather than a smaller, more modern home. My father is lying in his bed asleep with a white cast covering his left hand up to his wrist and forearm. Thankfully it’s not his dominant hand.
He looks so peaceful like this. And for a moment, I imagine he’s simply resting. That he is the way he was when we first left America after my mother’s death, trying to outrun our grief andtraveling around Europe, finding new adventures and living moment to moment. It was just us then, living in tiny apartments and sometimes barely getting by.
I always wanted more. Wanted stability and friends and normalcy. My father was the opposite. He felt weighed down by that concept. Like, the moment he stopped moving, he’d realize my mother was gone and have to deal with it. We didn’t stop until I was seventeen and ready to start university and picked Messalina.
Now this is where we are, and it’s light-years from where we started.
I take a seat on the edge of the bed and grasp his good hand, hating how it feels cold despite the warmth of the room.
“I love you, Dad. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.” I gulp and stare down at my tiny bump. A tiny bump the world doesn’t know about yet. “I can’t wait for you to meet your new grandchildren. Think of how fun and exciting that will be. We just have to get through this and then everything will be okay again.”
It comes out as a wish. As a prayer. One my heart is pleading for.
The door creaks open and I twist to find Sebastian haloed in the glow from the hallway. He doesn’t look well. His expression is stiff and stoic, and his coloring is off. My prayer immediately multiplies. Because I hope my king is able to find what he’s seeking. And I hope, beyond all measure, that both my prayers come true and don’t leave us in a sea of ruin.
4
SEBASTIAN
If you had asked me on the plane, I would have told you I was good. Now? Now I’m not sure. They found the bloody baby clothes of my little sister, plus more, and Bellamy’s father they feel will do better in a more sedated state because he was so combative and confused, he attacked both his aides and his nurse.
I asked them not to tell Bellamy that last part. It will only break her heart and make her feel even more guilty that she wasn’t here, and I can’t have that. But I also can’t have him attacking his daughter without realizing who she is. She’s pregnant, and while it breaks me to do so, I have to protect her and our children first.
Even from her own father.
