She searches my face in disbelief. “You aren’t one to be tardy. And ever since you came to the ball with her, you’ve been…off.”
“I’m just nervous, is all. The trials have shaken me, and the elimination has added so much stress. I don’t want to go home. I want King Cyrus to choose me.”
She lifts her teacup and takes a sip. “As do we all.”
Twenty-Five
- MARCELLA -
“Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me? What this is all about?” I hiss at Devin a step above me as I ascend the last stair.
He doesn’t even afford me a glance. “No.”
As we exit the dining room doors and my attention slides to my left down the hallway, I snag on a particular wall. It holds no paintings. No curtains. Flat and plain, yet I can’t help staring at it. Waiting for something I can’t place before Devin grabs my arm to pull me away.
“Keep walking,” he grunts. “We’re on a tight timeline.”
I rip my arm out of his, glaring. “I will not walk until you tell me where you’re taking me.”
He turns to me with a sly chuckle. A hint of a bruise graces the bridge of his nose. “I’m not afraid to throw your stubborn ass over my shoulder.”
“I’ll scream.”
“And that’ll do…what exactly?” he challenges. Then nabs my arm again and shoves me forward. “Move. And don’t make me ask you again. Cyrus is requesting your immediate presence.”
Cyrus.
I pull a breath into my lungs as the flash of his letter from the night of eliminations replays through my mind.
We need to talk. Come to me alone.
Please.
Swatting Devin off me, I walk down the hall toward Cyrus’ office.He needed me, and…I never showed. Why? Had I fallen asleep?
That night is a blur in my mind. Layered over by the events of the trial, the ball, the elimination. As I try to sift through them, to pick out what happened after the eliminations, I come up empty-handed as Devin reaches past me to knock on Cyrus’ office door.
“Come in.” Cyrus’s voice is gruff on the other side.
Devin swings the door open. Cyrus has his back to us, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed and looking out the window at the mountain range.
The view alone evokes a massive wave of deja vu. His silhouette facing the window, head low.
“Make sure you close the door when you leave, Devin,” Cyrus says without looking at us.
Oh, Gods.He’s upset. Maybe angry. I glance at Devin, catching his eye before he shuts the door. Leaving me alone with Cyrus. I rest my hand at my thigh, feeling the absence of my knife.
“You never came,” Cyrus says quietly.
I open my mouth—unable to form the truth.
He turns slightly, his chin tucked into his broad shoulder as he looks down at my feet. “Why? I waited for you.”
“You’re angry with me,” I offer bluntly. “Am I to be punished for insubordination?”
He turns his face away again, hiding his expression as he looks out the window. For a long moment he is quiet. “No.”
I stare at his back. The sculpted set of his shoulders, framed by the soft fall of a white long-sleeved shirt. I wait for him to explain why he’s called upon me. Perhaps share what he needed me for two nights ago.
