I scrub my hands up my face. “Desta is gone. Brea is gone. Sebastian?—”
“Don’t.” He cuts me off. “I can’t. I truly can’t. Bellamy is the link. She’s the curse breaker, even if the curse isn’t broken yet. You said this to me yourself.”
“What if I was wrong?”
He shakes his head adamantly. “There’s a reason she survived Samil and a reason she survived Charlotte. Hell, there’s a reason I survived Samil when I shouldn’t have. I died on that floor, Rowan, and yet here I am. I have to believe there’s a reason for that.”
I release a heavy breath and get myself back in line. “I do too.” Otherwise, I’ll go mad. Maybe I already am. I just want to fix this for all of us. I want my family to be safe. To be happy.
“Let’s just hope this Marcella woman is as sweet and loyal as she seems,” Sebastian says, pulling me from my thoughts.
I nod in agreement. “Let’s go meet with her.”
Sebastian and I walk inside and go right to the stairs. We had instructed Marcella to wait for us in the parlor where Emily was, and when we enter, we find her standing by the window that overlooks the back gardens and pool.
She’s not on her phone. She’s not pacing. She’s not impatient. She’s simply standing there, lost in her own introspection, a soft song humming from her lips. Before I can stop it, my gaze locks on her profile, admiring the pretty lines of it.
Sebastian throws me a side-eye. He knows me and can read me better than anyone. Yes, I’m attracted to her. I can’t imagine there’s a man alive who wouldn’t be. She’s seriously fucking gorgeous in a very sweet, girl-next-door sort of way.
But so what? It doesn’t matter.
I won’t fuck her.
She’s only been here four months, and I don’t trust her. I don’t care how polite, loyal, and demure she seems or what the background checks showed. Hell, Charlotte was the daughter of the head of the guard and a former schoolteacher, and she turned out to be as fucked as it gets.
That’s the look I give him.
What I told our aunt is a fact. I’ve never messed aroundwith staff, and I have no intention of starting now. Especially when she’s going to be the primary keeper of the palace.
With that thought, something inside me catches.
I won’t let what happened with Charlotte happen again. I’m going to watch this woman like a fucking hawk. Sebastian has enough on his plate with running the country, the children, and a pregnant wife.
It’s up to me, and I won’t fail us again.
9
MARCELLA
I’ve been standing at the window watching the children play with their aunt since Emily was taken by the paramedics, and I was told to stay put. They’re smiling and laughing with each other as they splash in the pool and jump off the diving board. They seem happy, and I hope they are.
They’re just children. Children who have already known unspeakable pain.
I’m hit with a pang of…guilt? I don’t know. I’ve never felt that before, but I can’t find any other word for it. I think about Jaqueline. Could she have been like this if she were born into a different family? If Samil had married Nora and they’d taken us with them?
I’m here to ruin their lives, but I don’t want to hurt children.
Their father I don’t care about. Despising him comes as naturally to me as breathing.
Antonia and the Signoria hate the royal family with a vengeance. It’s why I’m here. Even if I have my own skin in this particular game. They snap their fingers, and I dutifully go because I have no options in my life other than toobey. I do their bidding, sometimes with my own adjustments or flourish, but the job still gets done.
When my father died, my stepmother became the matriarch of the Batorini dynasty. A legacy built on money, power, and intimidation. Who am I to argue how anything gets done? No one. That’s the point. I’m nothing. No one. I’m not allowed to have my own thoughts, make mistakes, or bother with regrets.
I never met my mother, so I know what it’s like not to remember someone who is supposed to be so vital to who you are. From what I’ve heard, Bellamy truly loves them and cares for them as a mother would. It endears me further to the queen. There’s something so inherently likable about her. Like…if the world were a different place, she’s someone I’d want to be friends with.
I nearly laugh at that. How ridiculous a thought or notion.
My father loved me and did what he could, but there wasn’t much to be done. He wasn’t leaving his wife or creating a scandal. My mother died, and my stepmother hated me. I wasn’t allowed to even have their last name, which is why I still technically don’t have one. They didn’t give me my mother’s, and to this day, I don’t know her first name or anything about her.
