Queen (The Blackcoat Rebellion #3)(50)

Greyson grabbed me by the shoulders before I could leap out of my seat and claw Daxton’s eyes out. Only once he was tucked safely away in the back of the plane did Greyson finally let me go. He sat beside me and took my hand, clasping it tightly between his. “You know that’s what he wants from you.”

“I don’t care.” Tears stung my eyes, and my breaths came in wet, noisy gasps. It felt as if a boulder was pressed against my chest, and even Greyson, with his steady gaze and warm touch, did nothing to help calm me down. “All those people—he doesn’t care. Their lives are nothing to him as long as he’s still in power.”

“Their lives will never be anything to him,” said Greyson gently. “It doesn’t mean they weren’t worth anything at all.”

“As long as he’s running the country, that’s exactly what it means.” I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand. “When we get back to D.C., we have to find a way to get him alone.”

“We will,” he said softly, and though he was holding himself together far better than I was, there was a break in his voice that said more than words ever could. It would have been simple for him to go over to Daxton’s side—tobe his ally, his pet, his heir. He would have been safer. Happier, probably. And he would have had far more freedom than we did now.

Instead, he remained resolute in our mutual goals: to find a way to overthrow that monster, and to finish the war the Blackcoats had started. He was on my side—Lila’s side, even though Lila wasn’t here anymore. We were in thistogether.

I didn’t remember much about the rest of the flight to D.C. Greyson remained beside me on the sofa, but neither of us said anything. Hours felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours, and when we finally landed, all I wantedto do was curl up in bed and never get up again.

As our chauffeured car drove through the streets of D.C., part of me realized I was expecting to return to Somerset, where I had spent my months as Lila. But it was gone now, too, and instead I looked at Greyson. “Where are wegoing?”

He looked up from the scribbles he was making on a notepad. “What? Oh. Daxton said something about—reclaiming Minister Creed’s manor. That it belonged to the state now, and since we didn’t have anywhere else to stay...” Greyson frowned.

I rested my head against the cool window, watching the buildings and pedestrians slide by. Creed Manor. Of course. Because he hadn’t tortured me enough already.

Daxton’s car was already parked and empty when we pulled into the wide circular drive. Knox’s home was a sprawling brick mansion, and though the estate was as wet and gray as the rest of D.C., it had a warm, inviting feel to it that I resented. I didn’t know what I’d expected from the place Knox had grown up, and where he had slowly been forged into a rebel, but this wasn’t it.

The inside was cozy. Nothing like the cold, elegant starkness of both Somerset Manor and Mercer Manor, which had technically belonged to the Hart family anyway. The floors were made of wood, bright curtains opened up to wide windows, and artwork hung on the walls not to intimidate, but to complement. It was a beautiful home, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was walking down the hallways with a ghost.

Greyson followed me with his arms crossed, looking as uncomfortable as I felt. “I’ve been here a few times. I know where the guest rooms are.”

I wasn’t interested in the guest rooms. Not yet anyway. “Can you show me his room?” I said, and Greyson nodded. Together we trudged up the winding staircase and into the bright and airy upper floors, where he led me down a maze of hallways until we stopped at a doorway toward the end of the wing.

“I’ll be across the hall,” he said, nodding to another door. “If you don’t want to sleep in Knox’s room, you can sleep in here, too. There are two beds.”

I would have slept on the floor if it meant waking up and having instant reassurance that Greyson was all right. “Okay. I’ll be in soon,” I said.

He flashed me a sad smile and slipped inside, leaving me alone to face Knox’s room and the questions and memories that would undoubtedly come with it. I took a deep breath and slowly turned the handle.

The musky scent of Knox hit me hard, and I stood in the doorway, struggling for air and gripping the handle so tightly I could feel the lock leave an imprint on my skin.

His bedroom—his suite, really—was decorated much like the one in Somerset; in rich golds and blues, with a leather sofa, desk, and an entire wall full of books that looked read and cherished, not just put on display. Even though I knew it was an invasion of privacy, I wandered into his bedroom as soon as I could make myself move. I sat down on his king-size bed and picked up one of the pillows, hugging it to my chest.

I’d never imagined where he’d lived when he wasn’t at Somerset. He was there so often that I’d nearly forgotten he was a guest, rather than a permanent resident, and I racked my brain trying to think of any period of time where he’d been gone for longer than a day. He probably hadn’t come back here, anyway, I reasoned, at least not for the night. Given the way Knox had spoken about his family, I couldn’t imagine this had been a happy, welcoming place for him. It was hard to picture Somerset as a safe haven for anyone, but maybe that was exactly what it had been to Knox.

“Your pillow smells like you.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and my face grew warm, but there was no one around and no reason to be embarrassed, not really. Back at the Stronghold, during the few moments Greyson had left me alone, I’d caught myself talking to Knox every now and then, in the hope that he could hear me. Here, surrounded by his things, it felt as natural as breathing.