He was snooping around my room, but I have to imagine that if he found the earring, he would have said something. Other than that, there’s nothing in there.
But why is he so distrustful?
Is it the curse? Is it from Samil and Charlotte, and now he’s naturally distrustful of everyone? He’s not this way with any of the other staff on the family side. It’s just me, and it doesn’t quite add up.
I lock my door when I leave my room. Always and without fail. But I didn’t last night, and I didn’t because I wasdistracted. I loved my brother. He was the only bright spot in my life after my father died, other than Jaqueline, and Jaqueline was often kept from me because of that. Samil answered to no one and did what he pleased, and that included spending time with me.
Every villain has a story, and sometimes that story isn’t as evil as people imagine. His was baked in heartache. In jealousy. In grief and hatred. In a venom that necrotized his soul. But…I don’t know if I want to seek his justice anymore.
I can’t change the past. There is no revisionist history.
This is my life. I have to stop imagining what could have been. What I wish it were. I don’t have a reset button as much as I wish I did. I could have been so many pretty things. A magical piece on the board that braved and vanquished adversaries. And I would have made it all better. I would have. No one’s death would be glued under my fingernails. I’d have no sins to atone for.
But that’s not how my story goes.
It’s black and bleak. The crawling earth nightmares derive from.
But with that, I know who I am. Or more likely, who I want to be.
I don’t want to snoop on the king’s computer. I don’t want to find secrets he likely doesn’t have or plant ones he was never a part of. I don’t want to destroy his family. I don’t know if the girls are his or Samil’s, but if they’re Samil’s, that would make them my blood too. More than that, I really like Bellamy.
That woman has been through it and yet somehow manages to greet every day, every interaction, with a smile and hope. It’s magic. It’s addictive. It makes me want to be…different. Have more. More than I ever thought I could.
So I was distracted last night and didn’t lock my door. I was in the shower thinking about my next steps. The choices I have to make for myself, Jaqueline, and our future.
Then Rowan happened and fucked me into a coma. Ormaybe I simply needed a good night’s sleep, which isn’t something I’ve had for, well, likely ever but certainly not since I took over for Emily.
My day doesn’t start any better than it did yesterday.
I rise early, eat quickly, and make sure everything is in line with assignments and staff. It is. But by the time I’m ready to head upstairs to start my morning cleaning, there’s a text from Signoria Batorini.
S.B.: I want you in the king’s computer by tomorrow morning. If you’re not, this is only the beginning.
There’s a video attached, and I find a corner, a tight alcove, and with tremulous fingers and my stomach in my throat, I hit play. I don’t have to. I could delete it and move on. I know what it is simply from the freeze-frame image. Jaqueline is tied to a post in our basement while Antonia whips her back with her favorite cane.
Still, I hit play, and I watch in horror, unshed tears in my eyes, and resolve hardening in my gut. Antonia has that smile on her face. That sick, twisted as fuck smile. She loves punishments as much as Signoria does. I suppose that comes with their bloodline, and I’m grateful I’m not part of it.
Jaqueline’s face is strained in agony, her screams wrenching the air, making a gasp and a cry shoot past my lips. The camera pans, the image changing, and there is Signoria, wearing an equally sadistic smile.
“Get it done,” she says in Italian, and that’s that. Video over.
My lungs cave. I have to do it. Whether I want to or not, I have to do it. Tonight.
I shove my phone into my pocket, wipe away the moisture clinging to my eyelashes, and press on, forcing one foot in front of the other.
I tell myself that I can see what’s on there about Samil. Then I can discover if what the queen told me is accurate. I can search through videos and documents and whatever else I canfind and learn his secrets. And if his secrets are as awful as Samil told me they were, then maybe my actions are justified. Maybe exposing him is mercy to the kingdom.
Maybe.
I don’t see Rowan as I do my morning duties of tidying up, and I’m more than a little grateful for it. I change sheets, dust, polish, and scrub. It’s mindless, tedious work, and I sing through it, focusing on the lyrics and harmonies and stretching my voice because I can’t think about anything else.
Some people are born with a song in their heart, and others have to force it from their lips. I’m the latter, and I’ll never be the former, no matter how much I’d like to be.
After I finish with Rowan’s office—no smelling or snooping today—I head down and check on everyone else, and once I’m positive things are going smoothly, and half the staff is eating their lunch, I take to the path that’s become my respite. My revival.
Today nothing feels open or safe or sacred.
The air is hot and dry, making me sweat, and the buzzing of cicadas gives me a headache. Even the earthy scent of herbs and the freshness of flowers are pissing me off. I read a book once a long time ago that I stole from Antonia, and in it the main character said there’s nothing a drink and an orgasm couldn’t fix.
