My worst fear has been realized—Mom arrived when Dad was still here, and now they have been going back and forth about this for about twenty minutes. It’s really cutting into my nap time. Mom has no real arguments about me staying as a guest at the castle, other than her hate on the royal family, blaming King Magnus for the breakup of her marriage to Dad.
I love my mother, but I see her faults.
Her protests are doing the opposite of what she wants—I’ve started thinking that it might not be that bad of an idea to hang out at the castle for a couple of days. Even for a week or so until I’m able to conquer stairs again.
I remember how much fun I used to have during sleepovers in Lyra’s room. I used to love visiting the castle with Dad. He would let me loose with Spencer and Stella and we would explore everywhere.
But then there was the break. The blip, as Lyra calls it; when we went from being best friends to never talking. All because of my mother, and her anger toward my father. The rage that made her tell us lies about Dad and how he loved Spencer more than us. And how he loved the royal family more than anyone.
She said he picked them over us. Hearing that, as an impressionable ten-year-old, does things to your head.
No more sleepovers with Lyra. No more being friends with the princes, chasing them around the gardens and following them into the dungeons.
No more having big brother Spencer in my life because he left to go to school in England soon after.
My mother made a mess of so many things, but she’s still my mother. I do love her.
But I’m tired of listening to her rhyme off all the reasons why I won’t be staying in the castle. “I’m going to stay at the castle,” I say loudly, breaking into the argument between my parents in my hospital room.
The semi-private room, so Mrs. Bertram and her broken hip get to hear the airing of dirty family laundry as well.
“There are stairs at my place, and stairs at your place,” I remind my mother. “I don’t want you to have to watch over me every time I need to go to the bathroom.”
“But I won’t be there to take care of you,” she huffs.
No. She won’t. And I hope she can’t read in my eyes that it isn’t a bad idea. “You can visit,” I say lamely.
Dad must know what I’m thinking. That if I have to listen to Mom’s negativity and schemes on how to make my step-father, the mayor, more popular than the king, I might head back out into the middle of the street and wait for another car to finish me off.
I won’t say that because it won’t make anyone feel any better.
There has been so muchtalksince the accident. And that’s what it was—an accident. But now, already there’s a new law about keeping sidewalks clear. Trucks have been added to clear the roads and spread salt, not to mention the new reduced speed limit in town.
Dad reported this like he thought I would be pleased.
No. Because I’m going to be blamed for all the changes. Because I couldn’t get out of the way.
AndAshton…
No one will tell me what happened to him. I know the police talked to him. I know my father spoke to him. I know he’s still in the hospital because I’ve seen his shadow pass the door to my room.
I know his shadow by now.
And I know he stole into my room when he thought I was asleep this morning.
I’d think it were sweet if it weren’t so weird. It’sAshton Carrington, acting like he’s checking up on me.
Not going to happen.
My decision doesn’t resolve the animosity between my parents, but it does end the argument. They leave—separately—with Dad telling me under his breath that he’ll pick me up in the morning and get me settled.
At the castle.
And then I’m alone because Mrs. Betram was taken down for another round of X-rays. I close my eyes, wishing for my books, wishing for my paints. Wishing that none of this had happened to me. I missed out on two of my shifts at Ye Olde Fish and Chips, as well as the rescue shelter. I had to tell Ajax that I couldn’t cover one of their morning shifts, and Stella made Gunnar take an earlier flight so she could get back to me.
There’s been so much attention, so much talk, and I’m not used to it. I want—
The scuff of a shoe has my eyes flying open.
