But then I step inside, and my heart stops dead.
All the gowns Senan gifted me are spread across the floor, the colorful fabric shredded and torn. Above my bed, someone has written the word “WHORE” in bright red paint that drips like blood down the pristine wall.
I don’t belong with those awful people in the dining room.
I don’t belong in the caverns.
It’s beginning to feel like I don’t belong anywhere.
Forty-Seven
SENAN
Allette whispers somethingto Aeron and then slowly rises from her chair. The wine has soaked the entire front of her skirt, no doubt ruining the fragile fabric. Heat floods my chest as I watch her walk toward the hallway. As much as I want to follow her out of the dining room, I know better. People would talk, and I don’t need to give them any more fodder. So I remain rooted to my chair next to my unwanted fiancée, who looks as if she ate something sour, and Lord Philip fucking Windell.
The servant who knocked over Allette’s wine doesn’t seem the least bit repentant. Usually when something like that happens—which, admittedly, isn’t often—the servant rushes to correct the error. This one simply walked away as if he had done nothing wrong.
Not even my own fucking brother had helped her. Aeron and I will be having words after this, and he is not going to like what I have to say.
How long must I wait until I can leave as well? This charade is so fucking tiresome. If I had my way, I’d climb onto the middle of this table and shout so loud the stars could hear me declare that Allette is mine.
The longer it takes for her to return, the clearer it becomes that she isn’t coming back. And with the way she left, I have a sinking feeling that she is going to do something foolish, like try to run away. She can’t leave yet. Not without me. And I cannot go until Jeston gives me that fucking antidote. What a disaster.
I suppose the time has come to explain the truth of my dire situation so she understands why I haven’t stolen her away to safety.
I take a deep drink of wine and set my glass aside, but when I try to swallow, the bitter liquid goes down the wrong tube, and I end up spluttering. I steal Rhainn’s serviette to cover my mouth. Leeri pats my back, her brow tightened in concern. When I’ve finally finished making a spectacle out of myself, I ball up the serviette, drop it to the ground, and give it a kick under the table so no one notices how much blood is splattered over the white cloth.
When I push back from the table, my head starts to swim.
It takes a moment to get my bearings and stumble for the door. But of course, my luck is shit, and Boris catches me, gripping my arm and escorting me out into the hallway.
“Have you lost your fucking mind? First, you sack the House Master, and now this?”
I knew I wouldn’t get away with firing the man but had hoped to be long gone before Boris found out.
From his pocket, the king removes a glowing vial and slams the stardust into my scarred palm.
What the fuck is he doing? “Why the hell are you giving me this?” While I like to think I have control over my vices, my hands start to tremble. He knows I struggle, and yet he just handed me the only thing besides Allette that I can never seem to resist.
“Because it’s yours.”
“No, it isn’t.” Every vial I’ve purchased has been consumed. Probably not the sort of information that would be very helpful right now, though. Is this vial tainted or pure? Not that it matters since I’ve sworn off the stuff for the rest of my days—however few they may be.
Boris paces to the window and back, his shoulders curled and face set in anger. “I found this in our brother’s room.”
“Rhainn doesn’t dust.” At least, I don’t think he does. Gods, I hope it’s pure. It kills me to think of my younger brother going down the same dark, deadly path I’ve chosen.
Boris shakes his head. “Not Rhainn.”
My heart stutters. “Aeron?” And he gave me shit about dusting. Hypocrite.
Again, Boris shakes his head.
We only have one brother left, but…
No.No. Kyff would never do something so foolish. He is only a child.
“That boy looks up to you. Heaven knows why,” Boris mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.