Henry had come to her rooms. He hadcometo her rooms, carrying the very papers that would see her betrothed to another. He had heard her feelings, he had listened to the wounds he was dealing upon her heart.
And he had slain her once more. He had made her bleed for him all over again.
Disbelief became shock, shock melted into sorrow, and sorrow rose like a phoenix into a blinding rage. Still, however, she had not reached her full transformation. Because, as much as she wanted to fight its eventual conclusion, as much as she wished to reverse time and send it all back the other way, the rage had to convert one more time. Between one heartbeat and the next, Belle's white-hot anger had melted, cooled, and cemented into something far more fearsome.
A calm and disappointing acceptance of her fate.
But it fizzled out a moment later.
She could not care anymore.
Shewouldnot care anymore.
It hurt too much.
"Leave."
Henry's words trailed to a stop as Belle issued her order. A single word to stem the tide.
"What?" Henry tried to meet her eye, but Belle simply looked through him.
She refused to see him. Refused to bend to the love she held for him. She could not do it anymore. Her love for Henry Munro was so strong that it had near broken her in barely two weeks. If she could not prevail through a fortnight of adoring him, then how could she survive a lifetime?
"I need you to leave," she repeated.
She did not cry. She did not tremble. She simply died a little inside and closed herself off from all that she felt as she sent him away.
"A-Alright," Henry agreed, his hands shifting to her shoulders so that he could step back and give her a little space. "Alright, I'll return to my chambers, and perhaps we can—"
"No, Henry." Belle was shaking her head. Her hair was a tumultuous mess about her shoulders, turned wanton by his desirous hands. She pushed it from her mind. "I mean, I need you toleave."
Finally looking up at him, Belle was careful in how she met his eye. She could not allow herself to fall into his gaze a thousandth time over.
"I need you to leave this castle," she said. "Leave my father's lands. Leave the North. Return to your home, your laird, and your Laura. Return there and please...please don't ever come back."
Henry's hands left her skin as if she had just turned to ice. The chill ran through his body as he shuddered, and he looked as if she had just struck him with an arrow between the eyes.
"Do...do you mean that, Belle?"
There was a warning in his eyes. A vow that he would follow her next words to the letter. That, if she bid him farewell, this would be the last time she ever saw him.
With her heart screaming into the silence, desperate for the truth to reach him, Belle took a steadying breath, clenched at her skirts, and vowed that she would not cry.
"Yes, Henry," she said. "I mean it. Please go. And please do not return."
This, she knew, was important. He could not come back. Her heart would be reduced to dust at his leavetaking.
She would not survive a second time.
"As you wish..." Henry's words were raw, but they were firm. His eyes shone with something she could not name, and he sketched her a deep, respectful bow. "...Lady Henderson."
And, with that, Henry Munro turned and, in a single stride, left her chambers and walked out of Belle's life forever.
16
"Ican arrange for the carriage to be made available for you, sir?"
Henry yanked on the girth strap of his saddle, ensuring it was set tight and ready for a long journey.
