Page 12 of Prince of Wrath

I am used to knowing everything, or having people report them to me. This unknown lake is wide, its stillness disguising its depth. I know she was held in a cell, barely clothed, cold, and there is no doubt they starved her, since she lost a significant amount of weight. Perhaps all I can do now is make sure she is fed and sleeps properly. Perhaps right now, that is all she will let me do. Even if I have never done that, tending to someone. I don't want anyone but me to do it.

“I want… I want to go…home,” she signs, hesitating, her eyes answering my declaration, scared and tired, holding a thousand secrets and the hardness of young souls who lost their innocence. Of those who saw too much, too fast, unable to process the hurt, using coping mechanisms to survive. I have been there, Ella. Those same eyes greeted me each morning when I woke up in juvie, knowing there would still be days of punishment and solitary confinement waiting for me. It was different, and I am not about to push the idea that I understand her when I cannot truly. Some use cynicism, I picked work and discipline. Something tells me my silent princess will hide inside herself, in a mental cage of her own, and I will be the only one who can access it.

Her hand trembles. “Where is…home now?” A single tear meets the velvet of her cheek, and it takes everything in me not to kiss it away. “I can’t go back there. Mara, Mara orchestrated everything.” And yet the phone call cannot be used as proof of her involvement yet. It was a burner phone, bought with cash in a shop downtown, Alfie found. We know it was her, but the police will need more to prove her involvement. So yes, she is still in Ella’s house, bathing in expensive salt baths, not knowing that I will work tirelessly to be the one locking her behind bars soon.

Call it overconfidence or excess zeal, but I decide on the spot that this is where she will need me from now on. To help her see the big picture, the dangers, and how to avoid them. I will lead in her interest, keeping mine nonexistent, because this is what she needs now. Someone in her corner, no matter the cost. And I want to be that someone.

“We could…” I clear my throat, not knowing if I am overstepping, but of course, I am. I brace for impact, waiting for the car crash to slash me in two. “Maybe you could-you could…come home. I mean, to my home.” Her lips part, the faintest spark making an appearance in her mesmerizing pupils. What I would give to hold her right now.

“But…” The word, easy to read on her pillow lips, fuels my faith.

“You could have your own bedroom and have everything you need. I would hire someone to move all your belongings from your bedroom to mine and…”

“Tristan.” I shift on my feet, my business-negotiation tactics kicking in.

“No, I know. I know it’s early, and you want to see your dad first, but…” There’s a small lift at the corner of her mouth. Those lips I have seen smiling so often and yet not once since she woke up. I stop, realizing my hands are gesturing around, I am out of breath, and my heart is right there, in my Adam’s apple, pulsing like a damn lion pacing in a cage.

“Okay,” she nods twice, a softness taking place on her beautiful face, even if only for a second before it disappears.

“Okay?” I ask, my voice barely recognizable. Any other grown man should surely find me pathetic, but I am about to throw up from fear of being parted from her, so I guess shame can laugh at me for all I care. If Ella changed in twelve days, so did I. I am a goner for this woman, point blank. And I would very much like her to take up residence in my home permanently, please and thank you.

She nods, fidgeting with her fingers before signing again. “Can we go…now?” A knock sounds at the door just as I am about to tell her we can go whenever she wants, but a nurse enters with a tray of meds. So I stay there, standing, watching my girl, and holding on to hope with both hands until my palms bleed and my pride combusts.

I am bringing my girl home.

As in our home.

We will work out the technicalities later. She is coming back with me. And that is a win I will never take for granted.

Chapter Five

Ella

If anyone had told me I wasn't in the room, I would have believed them.

Surreal. Impossible to understand, impossible to even act on. I watch myself from across the room, begging me to reach out to Tristan, to take his pain away, to hold his hand, to kiss him, to sign back, “I love you too,” even though he has not said those exact words. Why do I have the hunch that’s what he meant in hidden ways?

Twelve days, he said.

I could have bet on two weeks, or even a month. Time had thinned out between my fingers like sand, and I had lost the ability to tell what time it was underground, if it was night or day, morning or evening. In twelve days, I had forgotten what it was like to watch the sun kiss the moon goodbye, and how the stars shone like glitter above my bedroom window, offering a constant reminder that beauty, mystery, and inexplicable miracles existed above us, despite the day's hardships. That somewhere, there was always something shining. Always someone else looking up at the stars, like me, perhaps from the other side of the world, both of us linked without even knowing. It used to make me feel less alone.

A nurse comes to check on my vitals, breaking our spell, then a doctor, talking too much for my brain to catch it all. Possible concussion, underweight, exhaustion, no infection on the scar on my shoulder, need to rest, lie down, and stay hydrated. He recommends therapy as well, a specialist dealing with some sort of after-war syndrome I cannot remember. He says they need to keep me under observation until tomorrow morning, and that, in the meantime, they can send a nurse to help me shower.

“We won’t need a nurse. I’ll help,” Tristan declares. My doctor rubs his chin.

“Mr. Ashford, I know how invested you are in Ella’s well-being, but…”

“Let me do it.” His face turns toward me, pleading, so unlike every facet I have yet seen of him.

“I can’t stand there doing nothing, Ella. Let me help.” He winces. “Please.” Both men wait for my consent as I tug at my lower lip, battling the obvious, visible state of my body with what should be a first physical connection with Tristan. I decide things will be different for us, and so yes, I nod. I will let him help me shower.

“Right, just make sure her shoulder doesn’t touch water. We still need the bandage to remain dry to prevent infection.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Tristan answers like a soldier. The doctor removes my bandage, pats my skin with a light, approving hum, then covers it with my gown again. A minute later, we are alone, and he is observing me like a hunter facing an undiscovered species in the wild, unsure of my reactions.

“Bathtub,” I sign. He looks at the open door of the white bathroom on the opposite side of the window, clenching his jaw.

“I…” He stops. “You don’t want me to touch you. So…how can I help then?”