“Thaddeus?” I called after him.
He turned back, eyes finding mine.
“Thank you,” I said, and meant it.
A smile played on his lips. “Sleep well, Nyleeria.”
I watched him disappear around the corner before I ventured into the room and fell into bed, allowing it to swallow me in comfort, fully clothed.
Chapter 10
Dichotomous Medallions
Iwas exiled from the realm of dreams with a force that had me sitting up and clutching my chest. My breaths came in ragged gulps, as if I’d forgotten to breathe while I slept. Mercifully, I was spared the memory of the dream’s contents, although I couldn’t say the same for the bedding. The sheets were wrapped around me in a wild, twisted mess, while the pillows were strewn across the room. Even the blouse I still wore bore evidence of the terrors I must’ve witnessed—I’d have to see if I could find the buttons later. Extricating myself from the tangled covers, I padded to the lavatory.
I didn’t linger long on my reflection, but it was enough to see how wan I’d become. The deep circles under my eyes were now accentuated by purple along my lash lines. I splashed cold water on my face, to little effect. Sighing, I strode back into the chamber toward the wardrobe, lazily tossing the pillows back on the bed as I passed them.
There was a soft pair of slacks and a dark-blue shirt laid out for me. I silently thanked the stars for no laces and slipped into the comfortable clothing.
I found my escort dutifully waiting for me just outside the doors. His presence caught me off guard and I scrambled to collect myself.
“Good morning,” he said before I could, then signaled for me to go in the same direction as before. I still didn’t know his name, but I was too tired to ask and he didn’t seem inclined to share.
We made our way to an intimate solarium, where the king was waiting at the head of the table.
His features warmed as I entered and he rose, pulling a chair out for me. “Good morning, Nyleeria,” he said, offering me a welcoming smile.
“Good morning. Thank you,” I said, settling into a seat next to him that offered a sweeping view of the expansive gardens.
“Beautiful, no?” the king asked, noting what held my attention.
I remained fully transfixed by the land beyond the windows. “Stunning,” I said, unable to pull my gaze away.
“Would you like breakfast?” he asked.
I nodded.
A moment later, he placed a plate in front of me. It was brimming with scrambled eggs, cured ham, a medley of fruit, and a warm roll dripping with molten butter.
“Thank you,” I said, feeling an ache for Mrs. E. Until that moment, I hadn’t even considered the ramifications my new life would have on our relationship.
Fork poised, a surge of nausea overwhelmed me. The familiar aroma of breakfast wafted up from my plate and I had to force myself to breathe through my mouth. There was no way I could palate this food. I surveyed the table weighing my options. Filling a cup with tea, I nursed it in the vain hope it would settle my roiling stomach.
Very little made me queasy. But in that moment, I would have given anything to have this plate disappear. Not wanting to offend, I tore off a tiny morsel of bread and attempted to eat it—I couldn’t force it down.
“You can’t make yourself eat, can you?” the king asked, his attentiveness catching me off guard.
“I… No. I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. The meal is lovely, I just… I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Nyleeria. When my parents died, I had a hard time eating too. I’ve learned over time that grief can have that effect. What you’ve gone through—what you’regoingthrough—it’s okay.” Relief washed over me from his kind words, the feeling quickly muddied from the stark reminder of my parents’ deaths. Hands below the table, I rubbed my thumb over the ridges of my knuckles, trying to root myself in this moment and keep the sorrow at bay.
“I’ll have the chef make some soup for you,” the king said. “I’ve found liquids easier to palate during times like this, and it’s been too long since you’ve eaten a proper meal. Your skin is ashen and you’ve lost weight.” Deep concern creased between his brows.
“Are you this kind to everyone?” I asked, unsure of how to accept his doting.
Putting his fork down, he leaned in, resting a palm on the white linen between us. “Nyleeria, I don’t think you quite understand just how important you are to me.”
Right.Iwas his lifelong pursuit. For centuries, he’d looked upon an enchanted page, only to find it blank. How had he not forsaken hope? A man of lesser quality would’ve surely succumbed to despair. I still needed time to reconcile everything, butIwas important—to him. In what way exactly? I wasn’t sure. I’d be lying if I claimed it didn’t feel nice to matter to someone, if not somewhat foreign. Yet, the fragment within me that anchored to him under the willow, urged me to lean in again. And in that moment, I allowed myself to be important to him.
