The urge to rake my fingers down my face has never been stronger than in this moment.Nightmare, please. There are some thoughts you can keep to yourself.
Chelsea takes a hesitant step back that makes my shoulders tighten. I reach for the knob and open the door.
Light spills into the hallway, and I get my first peek inside her room.
Nightmare whistles.Stave has outdone himself.
I’ll say.
When I asked him to prepare this room, he warned me. “The district won't know what to think of this, sir. A Castleview witch as queen.”
He was right. It’s a risk, but one I had to take.
Chelsea’s mouth falls. Her gaze flicks to me and I point inside. “It’s all yours.”
She brushes past me, and I get a whiff of her perfume again. The scent nearly makes me dizzy.
My gaze follows as she absorbs her new room.
The walls are gray, of course, that wasn’t going to change, but Stave—good old Stave—he added touches of color.
Her poster bed has a thick white comforter, but dangling off the end of the bed is a bright pink blanket.
Is that the same color as her sneakers?Nightmare asks.
Yes,I reply with a smile.
Chelsea runs her fingers over the blanket before moving to her bookcase. It’s full of all different types of books.
“I didn’t know what you like, so I made sure you got an assortment of different titles.”
She reads them for a moment and then turns around, grinning. “You did good.”
The look on her face, the sheer happiness, makes my throat shrink. “Glad you like them,” I reply weakly.
What’s wrong with you?Nightmare asks.
It’s nothing. Just allergies.
Since when do you have those?
Since now.
Chelsea leaves the bookcase and travels to a table where a vase of gold roses sits. She fingers each of them delicately.
“They smell amazing. Where did they come from?”
She turns around, waiting for my answer, and in her eyes I spot warmth and gratitude.
Heat crawls up my neck. I fold my arms and rub my chin. “They’re from the balcony.”
She nods and the warmth in her eyes instantly vanishes. I silently berate myself. Why did I say the balcony? I shouldn’t have brought up a bad memory for her.
“You can get rid of them if you wish,” I add.
Chelsea shakes her head. “They’re too beautiful to throw out.”
And something, right then, loosens in my chest. The past ten years of anger created an ice wall around my heart, and Chelsea Thornrose just melted that wall.
