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“Rise and shine!”
I groaned and rolled onto my stomach, burying my face in my pillow to hide from the light streaming through the windows. Theresa knew very well how late Chevalier and I got back the night before. I’d woken her up because I couldn’t reach the fastenings at the back of my dress, and that triggered plenty of grumblings from her, along with snide comments that I should have asked Chevalier to help me.
“Five more minutes,” I muttered.
“Nope.” She yanked the blanket off of me, and I groaned again, curling into a stubborn ball. “You’ve neglected your duties too long, milady.”
“We should have stayed the night,” I grumbled.
“That’s what I thought, but since you didn’t, you have to wake up,” she said cheerfully. “All the people who came to celebrate your engagement ceremony are waiting for a little acknowledgement, you know.”
I know, I know…”
“But before that, I spent all day yesterday helping Sariel go through all your presents. Look!”
I remembered tripping over something last night, but Theresa had insisted I didn’t need to light a candle.
This had to be the most groaning I’d done in a single morning.
“How bad is it?” I moaned, sitting up reluctantly and rubbing my eyes.
“It’s not bad to get loads of presents!” she laughed. “Open your eyes. Come on!”
I sighed, steeling myself for the sight of piles of things I didn’t need. Whatever Theresa wanted, she could have. I dropped my hands to my lap, and my breath caught in my throat.
Propped up against the wall opposite me was a portrait. A portrait of a woman I’d know anywhere. Long, silky black hair plaited in a braid that hung over her shoulder and past her waist, bright green eyes lit up with the smile on her full pink lips, her heart-shaped face turned up and to the side, gazing fondly at the man beside her. My mother. Younger than I’d ever seen her, an elaborate green gown fit for a queen adorning her slender figure. Because she was a queen. The queen of Garnet, with both hands wrapped around her husband’s arm, my father, the king of Garnet. Arvon Romanov. Almost a full head taller than her, even without the crown on his head, gray streaking his short chocolate brown hair, sky-blue eyes looking down at his wife, a gentle smile on his lips.
Theresa rested a light hand on my shoulder. “Ivetta?”
“I…how?” I asked, my trembling voice squeaking past the lump in my throat.
The mattress shifted as she sat beside me, hugging my shoulders. “It’s a gift from Obsidian. There’s a huge crate in Sariel’s office full of stuff they took from Garnet.”
Warm tears dampened my cheeks as my heart throbbed in my chest. The pain was exquisite. A muddle of emotions fought for dominance, lifting me in a swell of joy and throwing me into an ocean of grief all in the same instant. I never thought I’d see Mother again, and to see her this way—so happy, so in love—and my father. He wasn’t just a name anymore. He had a face. A face and a smile. He smiled a lot. I saw that in the crow’s feet crinkling the corners of his eyes, the deep laugh lines etched between his rounded cheeks and his wide grin. Mother said he was kind and tender, and that was the best word to describe the way he was looking at her. Tender. Like she was the only person in the world, and he’d do anything for her. And she was looking at him the same way.
My vision blurred until I couldn’t see them anymore. Theresa wrapped both arms around me, embracing me as I cried.
“I thought you’d be happy,” she said.
“I am happy,” I sobbed. “But I miss her so much.”
And it just hit home how much pain she must have felt after losing my father. I could see myself in that picture, and not only because of the physical similarities between Mother and me. That could be me, smiling up at Chevalier. Young, happy, looking forward to a lifetime with the one I loved.
How long did they have together? A year, maybe two? And then she lost everything in one fell swoop. Everything. Her husband, her home, her country, her status. That rapturously happy young woman found herself pregnant and alone in a foreign country, sleeping in a church graveyard until a priest took her in.
I couldn’t imagine how much pain I would feel if I lost Chevalier. It would be like ripping my heart out.
How did she go on?
That question made my heart hurt even more, because I knew that answer. She’d told me time and time again, smiling through her tears when I found her crying in the middle of the night with Father’s journal clutched to her chest. Me. I was her reason to live.
I cried until the tears ran dry, already exhausted before Theresa dragged me out of bed to survey the rest of the presents. New dresses, more than could fit in my bureau. Enough books to warrant getting a new bookcase in the near future. Jewelry, knick-knacks, paintings, perfumes, bath oils—and that was just what Theresa squeezed into every open space of my room. She assured me there was a lot more still in Sariel’s office. Except for the horse, of course.
“A horse?” I exclaimed. “I already have a horse!”
“And I made you a list,” she continued, presenting me with a stack of parchment. “Because I knew you’d want to write thank-you letters to everybody.”
I took the stack from her and leafed through it. “We’re not allowing any gifts for the wedding.”
She laughed. “Good luck with that.”
“I’ll have Sariel put it in the wedding invitations,” I replied. “With a note that Chevalier will kill anybody who disobeys.”
“You wouldn’t.”
I sighed and dropped the papers on the crowded table, between the glass sculpture of a long-stemmed rose and the oak jewelry box with a rose blossom etched into each of the oval mirrors on its two folding doors. “No, I wouldn’t. But I’m not keeping all this.”
“And I knew you’d say that. So, can I have this perfume? It’s an aphrodisiac,” she said in a sing-song voice, holding up a small glass bottle filled with innocent-looking clear liquid. “Unless you and Chevalier—”
“No! Please take that,” I interrupted hastily, taking a large step back from her. “And keep it away from my perfume. I don’t want to put that on by accident.”
The redness and puffiness from crying had gone away by the time I finished getting dressed and ready for the day, although my blush was out in full force, thanks to Theresa questioning me about every detail of my day off with Chevalier. It wasn’t until we left my room that I had a moment to think about the huge crate from Obsidian.
From Gilbert.
It had to be him. He’d been there when I’d asked Yves to look for anything from Garnet or my mother’s family while he was in Obsidian. I hadn’t held out much hope when I made that request, especially since Gilbert had held his silence, neither confirming nor denying the existence of any records from my past, and what little hope I had died when Yves returned empty-handed. But Gilbert kept looking. Or maybe he’d just kept everything hidden from Yves. That was more likely, and yet…
I couldn’t be mad at him. Whatever his intentions were, he knew how much that portrait would mean to me. It was more than enough on its own, but an entire crate? Probably filled with books and documents Sariel had to translate, which was why Theresa couldn’t help him go through everything.
Gilbert was such a liar. He had to care. There was no other reason for him to do something this nice for me.
“Is Gilbert still here?” I asked Julius.
Theresa’s red curls whipped through the air as she snapped her head around to stare at me.
“I believe he’s leaving this morning,” Julius replied.
“You don’t have to thank him,” Theresa interjected. “He owed you at least this, after the way he’s treated you.”
I leveled her with a steady look. She sighed and shrugged.
“Yeah, right. You’re too nice not to thank him. Well, I heard they were getting his carriage ready when I got your breakfast, so if you want to catch him, you’d better move fast,” she said, splitting away from me toward the kitchens with my dirty dishes. “And don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she called back over her shoulder.
Julius and Byron didn’t comment as I turned my steps toward the entry hall. They followed in silence, and when we reached the red carpet, I saw Gilbert, already halfway to the door.
“Gilbert!” I called, stopping him in his tracks. He turned and gave me an inquisitive look. “Could we talk for a moment? In private.”
His blood-red eye flicked to my guards, but his deceptive smile didn’t change. “Of course.”
I led him to the nearest lounge, wondering what I was going to say. I hadn’t exactly thought it through. My plan today had been to convene with Sariel and then make my rounds with the guests, but that portrait had thrown everything off. Including my thoughts.
What could I say? A simple “thank you” wasn’t enough. Not for this.
Julius held the door open for me, and Gilbert followed me inside. My guards didn’t. I glanced around the room, decorated in shades of red with comfortable furniture centered around a massive stone fireplace, and confirmed we were alone.
“I assume this is about my gift,” he said in a pleasant, nonchalant tone.
“Yes, it is.” I took a deep breath, looked directly into his blood-red eye, and said, “I really don’t know how to thank you. That was…”
He shrugged. “It was gathering dust in storage.”
“You—” I stared up at this detached, almost bored expression, as if he didn’t care one way or another. “You liar,” I finally said, throwing my arms around him without a second thought. His entire body stiffened, and I heard his sharp intake of breath, but I didn’t release him from the hug. “Thank you,” I whispered.
His breath left him in a sigh as he relaxed and wrapped his arms around me. “Are you trying to get me killed?”
“I’m the one who hugged you. Chevalier won’t kill you for that. And…” I swallowed the lump in my throat and shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut to stop from crying again. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“I think I get the idea.”
Chevalier had to have been in on it. I should have known there was more to our outing than him just wanting to spend the day with me. His reasoning was always more complex than that. But I couldn’t say any of that to Gilbert, because the lump was back, and if I opened my mouth, I would cry. They hated each other, and yet they were willing to put that aside to give me a priceless gift. I’d never had a future or a past, so just having a future was gift enough. And now, I had both.
I couldn’t keep from crying.
If it bothered Gilbert, he didn’t say. Maybe he had an ulterior motive. Maybe he was holding me now for himself and not for me. It didn’t matter. I knew I’d never see Mother again, had known it through her entire sickness, reminded every agonizing day that I saw her increasingly pale, thin, fatigued, pained face. But now, I could see her every day, radiant, happy, like I’d never seen her before.
Because of Gilbert.
A chill radiated through the layers of clothes over his chest, his sleeved arms and black leather-gloved hands wrapping me in ice. He was always so cold. It worried me.
“Are…are you sure you’re okay?” I asked hesitantly. “I know you said your normal body temperature is low, but…”
He released me abruptly and stepped back. A black-gloved hand holding a black handkerchief appeared in front of me, and I took it, wiping my face and nose dry.
“And what if I am sick?” he asked, a touch of amusement in his voice.
I lifted my head to study his face. It was the same mask he always wore. A friendly smile, a calculating eye, normal color.
“Then I’d send you to bed and call the doctor,” I replied.
“Just like that.”
“I can be very insistent. Just ask Nokto or Chevalier.”
He closed his eye and shook his head, chuckling softly, and then he opened his eye again, and my heart skipped a nervous beat. There was a warmth there I’d never seen before. But he wouldn’t—
Cold black leather cupped my cheek, cutting that thought short and bringing my heart to a stuttering stop. One, two solid heartbeats, loud thuds in my ears, and then it was off again, racing with my thoughts as his thumb brushed across my skin and I stood frozen.
I needed to stop hugging men other than Chevalier. Especially when I was crying. First Nokto, and now Gilbert. And I was too stunned to react either time.
“I was wrong,” Gilbert murmured. “You aren’t weak at all.”
I needed to say something. I should say something. But then he leaned in, and I knew he was going to kiss me, and I couldn’t breathe. The memory of his aggressive kiss from his last visit here flashed through my mind. He’d done that to make a point. What was he—
His lips pressed into mine in a cold, soft, brief kiss.
“Remember that one,” he breathed.
And then he was gone.
I stood still, staring straight ahead, wide-eyed, the sound of the door latching closed echoing over-loud in my ears. It took a moment before my limbs unfroze enough for me to take the few steps to the nearest sofa and collapse.
I still didn’t understand him, but that felt more real than any other interaction I’d had with him before. And it felt like a goodbye.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4TZarW4DxT
