Irace out of the palace, my feet carrying me from memory down the stairs, through the great hall, and out the front door. Gravel crunches beneath my sneakers, and I take off at a sprint, racing down the long-ass side of the palace until I finally get to the path. I don’t slow down. I don’t look back. I just run. The temptation to keep going, to never stop, is compelling, but my lungs have other ideas, and I practically slam into a tree on the edge of the woods, panting for my life as I collapse against it.
Gasps flee my chest, one after the other, my hand covering my racing heart as if that’ll slow it down. I have Rowan’s fucking cum on my ass and the back of my shirt. Ugh. Gross. Sticky and gross. Jesus fuck.
Visible tremors rack through me, and tears I refuse to let have their fun burn my eyes. But holding them back brings on a new set of heaving breaths.
“What did I just do? What did I just let him do?” Fuckup after fuckup.
This isn’t who I am. I’m strong because weakness isn’t an option. I do what has to be done because I’m a survivor.
I should go. I should leave this place behind and never look back. Except the only documents I have bear a name Antonia and the Signoria know. They’d hunt me down. They’d have me killed. Tortured and killed.
But worse, they’d kill Jaqueline.
They’d break her more than they already have. There would be nothing left of her, and then they’d toss her off the cliff once they deemed she was no longer of use to them. I’ve debated selling the earring somehow, taking the cash, taking Jaqueline, and going…anywhere. I don’t care at this point.
I’ll do what I have to do. I’ll hack the king’s laptop, and I’ll find out what Antonia and Signoria want to know. WhatIwant to know. Then I’ll take Jaqueline, and that will be that. We’ll leave it all behind. I’ll kill them if I have to—though I want my murdering days to be behind me. In the meantime, I have to stay away from Rowan. I can’t let that happen again.
I’ve got this. I’ve always got this. Fierce, determined, indestructible.
Pushing myself upright, I search around until I locate some leaves on the ground. I use them to wipe off the cum on my shirt. The wetness on my ass will have to wait for my shower tonight.
Veering off the path, I pass freshly mowed, manicured lawns, as well as flower and herb gardens. The air is sweetened with their earthy fragrance, and I suck in a deep breath, savoring it. Samil had sworn the king was dirty. Messalina, for not a huge country, is a wealthy and thriving country. Samil said it was because the king was involved in dirty deals with shady international corporations and world leaders.
I haven’t heard a peep about any of this from inside the palace, nor have any sketchy dignitaries or men come through. That doesn’t mean he’s wrong, though. If I discover that the king isn’t dirty, if everything Bellamy said to me about Samil is true, then I’ll leave the family in peace it so richly deserves.
There are a million variables to this. None of them are easy. All are dangerous, no matter how you look at it.
My work phone buzzes with an incoming text, and I slip it out to see it’s from the queen. She’s never texted me before, and nerves instantly hit me. Does she know? Nothing like getting finger fucked by your boss in the middle of the day and having him jerk off on you. Talk about a fireable offense. It’s not like you can fire the prince. The help is who gets tossed out with the trash.
Bellamy: I could use some help if you’re able. I don’t want to take you away from anything, but if you have a few minutes, I’m in the nursery.
Me: I’m on my way.
What Bellamy sees in me, I have no clue, but I’ll gladly take the distraction for what it is. I go in the opposite direction, heading to the palace through the back and past the pool. The children are splashing around with Oncle Rowan. Our eyes meet, and I do everything in my power not to look at his wet chest. As it is, his presence overwhelms everything. His carnal masculinity echoes through my body in a dark whisper.
One I have no intention of listening to again.
I look away, instantly dismissing him as I straighten my spine and brush my long bangs back from my face. I head inside, winding my way through and taking the spiral staircase up to the family wing. I don’t so much as glance at Prince Rowan’s door, now closed. It was a moment. A lapse. I already have too much on my mind…and on my shoulders. I have no space left in me for anything else.
The nursery is a large empty room beside an empty suite. It surprises me that it’s not closer to the king and queen’s. When I enter, I find Bellamy in the middle of the space, one hand onher back, as she surveys the walls as if trying to picture something.
“Bellamy?” I call softly so I don’t startle her.
She spins and hits me with a smile. “Thank you for coming. I have an ultrasound tomorrow, and it triggered the realization that I’m officially twenty-nine weeks pregnant with two months left to go before my C-section date. Sebastian and I have put off setting up the nursery, but I think we’re at the point of needing to get that going whether we like it or not.”
I step deeper into the room. “Do you mind if I ask why you’ve put it off?”
A flicker of unease creases her features. “It’s been a rough several months,” is all she says. “But part of being determined not to let this curse, whether real or perceived—I think the latter in case you’re curious—is planning and doing the things that need doing without fear. So here I am.”
I can’t help but respect that and respect her. “What can I do to help?”
“I don’t know. I have no clue where to start. I know there are designers and things for this, but I feel weird hiring someone to design a nursery. The people we met with wanted to do some elaborate thing with gold leaf and hand-painted murals, and that’s so not me.”
“What do you like?”
“I’m not sure. It all sounded so formal, and I’m not that.”
“You prefer simple,” I surmise.