Chapter 12
He hadapologized, as he always did in the grandest ways. The bedroom was drowned in roses—so many their sweetness turned cloying, almost suffocating.
Jewels followed, glittering on velvet trays, as if their brilliance could outshine the memory of his violence.
And yet, when he touched me, I felt that familiar pull—the dangerous one. The one that made me forget the sound of his voice when he was angry. Later, tangled in linen and warmth, I let myself believe him again. I always did, in these moments—when he was soft, when he looked at me as though I was the only mercy he knew.
It is this version of him I love. Or perhaps it is thisfeeling—this dizzy, consuming closeness—that I can never quite abandon.
When I think back on it later, the months blur together like a road seen through rain.
We leave Acheron at the end of summer, packing away warmth and comfort and hot springs as though they were only a season-long indulgence. The court moves south in long caravans—horses, banners, chests of silk and silver—rolling steadily toward autumn.The leaves turn, the days shorten.
Autumn is spent traveling.
There are inns and temporary courts, halls borrowed from lesser lords, nights spent by firelight. Charles is often in high spirits then, energized by motion, by novelty. He laughs more. He teases me. He tells stories from the front as though they are triumphs instead of wounds.
I laugh with him.
From the outside, we are happy. That matters to him. We joke, we dine together. Sometimes we walk ahead of others, our hands brushing like newlyweds. When he looks at me in those moments, there is something genuine there—something warm and possessive and proud.
Aileen travels with us. That is my greatest mercy.
She listens when I chatter too much, laughs when I am foolish. I never tell her about the night in Acheron. I never tell her about the way the memory lives just under my skin. I am not ready to hear it spoken aloud.
By the time we reach Passberg, one of Charles’s smaller southern palaces, just before winter truly settles, I almost believe I imagined it.
The palace is quieter than Acheron, less grand. It’s surrounded by a thick forest. Christmastide approaches, candles are being lit, while evergreen branches are hung in the halls.
And most days, he is kind.
Then there are the other days.
I learn to read him the moment he enters a room—the weight of his steps, the tightness in his jaw, the way his eyes slide past me instead of settling. I learn when to speak and when to stay silent. When to touch him and when to make myself small.
At first, it was easy to excuse.
A sharp word spoken too loudly. A hand landing a little too hard when I displease him. A laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’d tell me he doesn’t mean it, that he drank too much, that the day was difficult. He kisses the place he hurts me afterward, apologetic, murmuring that I drive him mad.
I want to believe that.
Sometimes, the line between affection and something darker blurs. His touch has grown rougher, more demanding. It wasn’t painful, not at first at least, but possessive. I tell myself it is passion. That I wanted him to want me like this.
Still, something inside me flinches every time he looks my way.
He is careful in other ways. He washes before coming to me when he has been elsewhere. He does not speak of other women. It feels, absurdly, like a concession, like kindness offered to me.
The violence escalates quietly.
Never my face. Bruises are hidden where dresses fall—along the backs of my thighs, my hips, places no one sees unless I allow it. Once, his hand closes too tightly around my wrist. The snap that followed is a sound I will never forget. I scream before I can stop myself.
He stares at me in horror afterward, he starts crying, and I have to soothe him.
I tell everyone I fell from my horse; lying is becoming easier.
Between those moments, life continues. We host dinners, and we receive petitions. I sit beside him in court and smile. I laugh at Aileen’s jokes. I almost convince myself that the good outweighs the rest.
But the fear settles deeper each time.
