Scarred (Never After #2)(72)

My cheeks flush, and my fingers grapple for the comforter, pulling it over the mess as I clear my throat. “Thank you, Ophelia.”

She grins and tips her head.

“What is it we’re doing today?” I ask, trying to remain calm even though my heart is beating out of my chest. Stupid to fall asleep like this.

Marisol spins around, her eyes narrowing on me. “Your uncle and His Majesty wish to dine with you.”

Her words are sharp and they sting as they whip across my face. I’m not sure if it’s from the tone of her voice or the thought of having to put on an act with the king when I’ve just been stripped of my innocence by his brother, but either way it smarts.

She slaps her hands together and walks my way. My insides tighten and I grip the comforter higher up, realizing that I’m naked beneath the sheets.

“Get out of bed, milady, so we can get you dressed and ready.”

Ophelia moves over to Marisol and links their arms together, pulling her to the washroom. “We’ll draw you a bath. I’m sure you could use the relaxation after yesterday.”

The reminder of yesterday twists my chest, but I smile, grateful that she seems to be in my corner. Once they disappear, I blow out a slow exhale, turning to find Sheina smirking at me from the other side of the room, a robe in one hand, the other on her hip.

“Don’t look at me that way, Sheina. Get over here and help me,” I hiss.

She lets out a small laugh before walking over and holding it out to me.

“Marisol must be blind as a bat,” she chides. “Your hair is an absolute rat’s nest, and you’re clearly not wearing any clothes.” Her eyes sparkle.

Scoffing, I grab the silk robe from her hands, shielding myself as best as possible when I toss off the comforter and stand to slip it on. My muscles groan in protest and again, a sharp stab careens through my center, making me jolt from the pain.

I like the way it feels.

Strangely, the ache is a comfort; a reminder that Tristan cares. That out of everyone in my life—Sheina and my uncle included—he’s the only one who showed up and held me through the night. Who distracted my mind and let me break in his arms, giving me his strength when he knew I had none.

“Quiet,” I snap, although I can’t keep the grin from curling in the corners of my mouth.

She giggles. “Well, at least wipe the freshly fucked look off your face.”

I gasp, shoving at her shoulder, allowing the smile to break free. “Watch your mouth, Sheina! Lord, what happened to my friend? I’ve never heard you speak so crude.”

Tying the sash of the robe together, I glance around, cringing when I see the bed is in such disarray.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ll take care of it.”

Sighing in relief, the tension eases from my shoulders and I reach out, grasping her forearm in my hand. “Can we spend some time this evening, just the two of us?”

Hope blossoms in my chest, wanting to feel some sense of normalcy, knowing I’ve had none since before coming to Saxum and embarking on this long, torturous journey.

Her eyes shutter and she glances away. “Of course.”

My chest twists, the smile dropping from my face at her lack of enthusiasm. “If you’re busy…”

“For you, milady? Never.” She grins, squeezing my arm. “Your bath is probably ready.”

Unease sifts through the air and settles on me like a blanket as I watch her move to my bed and strip the sheets, and the feeling stays through the rest of the morning; as my corset is cinched tight, my hair scrunched and pinned, and fresh rouge put on my cheeks.

The only thing that distracts me is when we’re actually on our way to the dining hall, and we run into Paul.

My heart stutters at the sight of him.

“Paul.” I stumble to a stop in the middle of the dimly lit hall, Marisol—who decided it was her responsibility to escort me here—jerks to a halt behind me.

“Milady,” she says. “We don’t have—”

I spin on her, my eyes narrowing and jaw clenching. “Marisol, the dining room is right there.” I point to the doors at the end of the hall. “You’ve been an excellent guard dog, and I appreciate you leading me here. But you’re dismissed.”

A slight grin tips the corner of Paul’s face, although it’s easy to see the sorrow that fills his eyes.

“Now,” I hiss, when she doesn’t move.

She huffs. “You can’t be alone with a man in the hallway, milady. It’s untoward.”

“Let me worry about that.”

I step into her, and she stiffens her shoulders. “I’m tired of you always putting up a fight. I can tell that being in charge is important to you, and while I respect that, I’m kindly reminding you that you will never be in charge of me.”

Her lips thin, but she bends into a curtsy before traipsing down the hall, most likely to tattle on me like I’m a child. I spin back around to give Paul my attention, my chest pulling tight when I take in the deep frown lines marring his face.

“Paul, there’s—”

He shakes his head, nose scrunching as he glances down. “They’re not even going to have a proper burial for him.” He grits his teeth, his eyes flashing. “Can you believe that?”